Page 11 of Heart Sick

“Mom! No! There’s no going back.”

“That’s the point. I don’t want to go back,” I say into thin air, replying to the voice which isn’t there.

“You don’t want to do this.”

But I ignore Misha because he isn’t here. He never will be again.

However, as I flip off the white lid of the bottle and peer in the mirror and see him standing behind me, I know a way that I can see him again.

“If I die too, then I can find you. I don’t believe in heaven, but I know there is more to life…than this.”

Misha shakes his head desperately, begging me with those poignant eyes that I don’t do this.

But it’s too late.

I throw back my head and empty the entire bottle of pills into my mouth. Cupping a handful of water, I swallow it, sending the pills down into my empty stomach.

Once I’ve ingested them all, I open the other bottle, which is another medication to help me sleep. They have dangerous consequences if mixed, that’s what the doctor told me, which is why I repeat the same action as I did with the first bottle.

Once it’s empty, I drop it into the sink, and it skates around the porcelain until it comes to rest in the drain.

I peer at my reflection in the mirror, gripping the basin to stop from falling because things become a little blurry.

“There’s still time. Throw them up.”

“No,” I stubbornly argue into the mirror.

“Mom, please.”

It seems the closer I come to death, the more vivid Misha’s voice sounds. It’s like music. A lullaby I wish to get lost in.

I stagger out of the en suite and crash into the wall as I attempt to navigate my way out the door. The hallway becomes a spinning tunnel and I smile as I know it’s almost time.

“I won’t let you do this!”

But this isn’t Misha’s choice.

I stumble into his bedroom because there is no other place I wish to be than in here. My stomach churns and my heart begins to race. My body wants me to expel the drugs, but there is no way. As each moment blurs in time, the pain subsides as everything is moving in slow motion.

“Mom, please, no…forgive me.”

I collapse face-first onto Misha’s bed. His scent engulfs me and wraps me into a tight embrace. I inhale deeply and sigh contently.

The silence is welcomed as I close my eyes and transport myself to happier times—when Misha was alive. I start from the beginning, from when I first held him in my arms.

Moving pictures flicker in and out of focus, cataloging my life with Misha. This is where I want to be forever. I may not have had any control over Misha’s death, but I do over mine. And this is what I choose.

“I love you. Please live…live for me.”

As I feel the bed dip beside me and Misha’s arms wrapping around me, I let go of the sadness and embrace this fate.

Tears are heavy in my eyes as, with my final breath, I whisper, “I love you too.”

Bright lights blind me.

Is this the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel most speak of?

Am I dead?

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