Page 10 of Heart Sick

I know she doesn’t want to leave me alone, but she won’t push as she knows how stubborn I am. I stand in the doorway, waving goodbye, watching her car become a small dot in the distance. When I can no longer see her, I step inside, close the door and press my back toward it.

The house is so quiet.

The marble staircase in front of me used to be one of my favorite things. I close my eyes and clearly see Misha running up and down the stairs, his innocent laugh filling the hollowed void. He loved this house. We came from nothing to this lavish home in the suburbs.

It was something we were both proud of because the sacrifices made were to better our lives, and it was better.

Pushing off the door, I amble up the stairs, the cool marble against my bare feet sending a chill through me. However, I doubt I’ll ever feel any warmth ever again.

The hallways are decorated with expensive artwork, but it all seems so pointless now. This home is now just a house without Misha in it.

My heart begins to quicken and each beat is a silent fuck you, reminding me that someone else has Misha’s heart inside their chest.

“Dutch,” I whisper to myself in almost disgust.

That’s the name of the young man who got a second chance at life. I shouldn’t feel animosity toward him, but I do.

Everything feels heavy and each step suddenly feels like ten. I walk past my room and slowly open the door to Misha’s bedroom. Everything is the way he left it.

His football trophies line the shelves above his bed, and I remember how proud I was when he received each one. But even if he didn’t excel, I would have been proud. He was such a good son.

“I can’t do this without you.” I lean against the doorjamb, unable to step inside because I am afraid I’ll never resurface if I do. “I’m so sorry. This is my fault.”

“Yes, you can. You’re strong. Look what you did for me.”

His voice suddenly tackles me from behind and I grip on to the doorframe to stop from falling to my knees.

“Misha?” I cry, turning around so quickly, the room spins.

In a perfect world, he would be standing behind me with that gorgeous smile, telling me it was just a bad dream. But all I see is nothing.

All I feel is nothing.

“I was only strong for you. But I have nothing left to live for.”

The tears I’ve kept so hard to keep at bay threaten to break past the floodgates, and I know this time, it won’t be pretty. A thought suddenly collides into me, and it scares me. Even when times were unbearable, I never once thought that ending it would be so much easier than living.

But I look over the railing of the staircase and know it would be so easy to end this pain.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Why not? I’ve lost my reason to live.” I stagger toward the railing, gripping the cool balustrade in both hands.

Peering at the white polished floor below, I know the mess I’d make if I jumped would be horrific. I don’t wish for my cleaner, Lucinda, to have to clean blood and brain matter off the walls.

“Too messy.”

Overcome with purpose, something I haven’t felt in days, I make my way down the red carpeted hallway and enter my bathroom. I look at the extravagant claw-foot bathtub in my en suite.

“Too cliché.”

And besides, I don’t fancy being found naked, floating in my own blood from the slits I carved into my wrists.

“Please, Mom, don’t do this.”

As each morbid idea surfaces, Misha’s voice gets louder and louder. It comforts me which is why I race into the en suite and open my vanity mirror cabinet above the sink. Small orange bottles litter the shelves and I frantically turn the labels around so I can read what each one is.

My doctor prescribed me anti-depression pills because lately, things have been getting too much. And everything has been cloudy. He also thought some sleeping pills would help. And now seems like the perfect time to catch up on sleep…only to never rise.

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