Page 53 of Blackout

Chapter Seventeen

Lacey

For the first time in our relationship, the roles were reversed, and I was the one overdosing. There was no bottle. No needle either. The poison killing me came disguised as everything I ever wished for and it was labeled love. Narcan could sometimes reverse the effects of a drug overdose but it couldn’t reverse the damage of a broken heart. So, there I laid the victim, drowning in heartache, wishing I hadn’t taken that last hit.

I shouldn’t have let him go, but I wasn’t thinking clearly, and his words, as true as they might be, they inflicted so much pain.

Too much pain.

I never thought it would hurt to be in the same room as the man I love. That I’d look him in the eye and wish he’d disappear. Everything he said, every fear he shared, they were all valid and all very possible. It’s nothing I didn’t know. Nothing I didn’t fear too. But once he spoke of them, once he said those things aloud, he put them in the universe, and I couldn’t bear that.

There’s this book, The Secret and the message between the pages says we create our destinies by what we put out in the world. If you believe you won’t amount to anything, you won’t. If you believe you can conquer any challenge, you will. It’s hard for someone with a failing mind to rely on positive energy, but when your faith is tested, it’s all you got.

I didn’t need Blackie tossing shade on the little light that remained shining and so, I acted out of grief. Instead of realizing we were both suffering, I ignored his feelings and let my own pain take away my common sense. It was just another selfish act to add to the long list.

A beep sounds, cueing me to leave a message.

“Blackie, I’m sorry,” I rasp. “I shouldn’t have asked you to leave. Please come home or at least answer the phone. I need to know you’re okay.” I pause, pushing away my glum thoughts. “I love you,” I add, barely audible.

Disconnecting the call, I lean forward and place the phone on the coffee table. My eyes slice to the bay window and I swallow the lump in my throat as the sun begins to rise. It’s the dawn of a new day and instead of waking up next to my husband, I’m left wondering if I sent him to wrestle his demons.

For a moment, I contemplate calling my father, but he doesn’t even know I’m pregnant. No one knows, well, except for Reina. I suppose I could call her, but she’s not going to send the cavalry out to search for my husband. The only thing I can do is pray for him.

For me.

For us.

For this baby.

Placing my hand over my flat stomach, I tear my eyes away from the window.

“We’re going to be okay,” I whisper. “You and me, whatever happens, however this plays out, we’re going to be okay.”

I’m not sure if I believe it, but I say it anyway.

I call Blackie again, and again, I get his voicemail. However, this time his inbox is full and doesn’t accept another message from me. Ending the call, I scroll through my list of contacts and pause when I spot my therapists name. I can’t bring my husband back to me, but I can honor his concerns by speaking with Dr. Spiegel. I can tell her I’m pregnant and that my doctor is concerned about me being on Lithium. That my husband doesn’t want to lose me to my mental illness, that he fears I’ll have a psychotic break and he’ll be left alone, raising our child.

My thumb presses against the little icon of a phone and I lift it to my ear, not caring about the early hour. Dr. Spiegel picks up on the third ring and sounds just as chipper as she does when I’m sitting across from her in her office.

“Lacey,” she greets. “How are you?”

How am I?

I’m a fucking mess.

My throat goes dry and my response doesn’t come.

“Lacey, are you there?”

“I’m here,” I reply hoarsely.

“Is everything okay?”

The tears fall from my eyes and I hate that they’re not tears of happiness or joy. At the risk of sounding like a spoiled child, it’s not fair. It’s just so incredibly unfair.

“I’m pregnant,” I sob.

The line goes silent for a moment before Dr. Spiegel responds to my news.

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