47. TYLER
Chapter 47
TYLER
T he house is eerily quiet as I open the front door, quiet enough I could hear a pin drop. The blast of cool air that hits my face sends a chill down my spine, and I shiver. My footsteps are loud as I cross the living room, my boots making the hardwood floors creak. Everything is heightened right now, and my blood rushes in my ears the closer I get to the bedroom. I’m too scared to go any faster. When I finally make it to the bedroom, I take a deep breath before taking a hold of the doorknob and twisting it.
My eyes are closed as I push the door open slowly, and I breathe in deeply, the tangy, coppery smell of blood invading my senses. It’s so strong I can taste it, and when I open my eyes, I wish I hadn’t.
There’s blood. So much fucking blood.
Noah’s pale and lifeless body lies on the bed, and he looks so fucking blue. I run to his side, smelling the blood and gagging. This can’t be happening. This can’t be fucking happening right now.
I check his pulse, and it’s weak, so fucking weak, but it’s there. Barely . My hands shake as I take my phone out of my back pocket and call 911. I scream at the lady, telling her he’s dying, and she tells me what to do. I wrap the bedsheets around his arms and apply pressure, and he moans.
“Baby, what did you do?” I cry out. “What did you fucking do?! Don’t you dare die on me, Noah Milner, I can’t live without you! You don’t get to leave me, you hear me? I won’t let you!”
I sob, my entire body shaking as I straddle him and put pressure on both arms. I look at his face, and he looks so relaxed. I fucking hate it. He can’t do this to me. Doesn’t he know I love him more than life? Doesn’t he know I’d give up mine for his?
I hear my front door open, hear the paramedics yelling for me, and I yell back, “In the bedroom! Door is open!”
They rush in here, putting him on a stretcher in the blink of an eye, and suddenly I’m in the back of an ambulance. The ride is bumpy, and I feel hot tears rolling down my face as I look at him. The monitor starts beeping, beeping, beeping slowly, then stops. I cry out, sobbing harder, as the paramedic begins chest compressions. It feels like it’s my ribs breaking, like my chest is caving in as I watch the love of my life die before my eyes.
I don’t think I will ever recover from this.
We pull up to the ambulance bay and they waste no time, getting him out as the paramedic straddles him and does chest compressions. I run after them, and nurses swarm us like flies as soon as we enter.
“Trauma room one, let’s go!” someone yells.
“We’re ready!” another nurse says.
“Noah Milner, twenty-nine year old male, lacerations to both wrists. Suicide attempt.” One of the paramedics says as he pushes the stretcher, the other one not stopping chest compressions.
But it’s not an attempt if he’s dead.
He’s fucking dead.
He left me.
He left me.
The severity of the situation crashes over me like waves against rocks, and I don’t know when someone directed me here, but I’m now in a waiting room with a couch and recliners. The room is sterile white, there’s a TV, and I turn the volume down. Burying my face in my hands, I cry in earnest. My hands are bloody when I pull them away from my face, but I don’t care. I can’t care right now.
Taking out my phone, I try to check the time but instead find the last text message from Noah.
Noah: I wish it didn’t have to be this way. That I could find the will to live for you. For us. But I don’t have it in me, Ty. I hope you understand and love me anyway. I hope you know you’re everything to me. That I love you more than anything or anyone in the world. I hope you know this isn’t your fault. I’m just not strong enough.
I sob harder. How the hell did this happen? Why didn’t I force more help on him? Why didn’t I see the signs faster? When the hell did he think he was better off dead? Did he remember everything? What the fuck happened to him to make him think this was the best option?
I can’t do this by myself, that much I do know.
Taking a deep breath, I dial my mom’s phone number.
“Tyler?” My mom sounds tired, and I know it must be her day off. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, mom,” I sob, “I’m at the hospital in the ER. Please come, I can't do this alone.”
“What the fuck happened?” There’s rustling in the background, and I hear keys and a door closing. My body deflates knowing she’s coming. I can hear my dad in the background as well. “Tyler, please talk to me.”
“It’s Noah!” I sob. “He killed himself.”
Mom gasps, and then there’s a long moment of silence from her as I sob in earnest. “I’m coming, Ty. I’m coming!”
“Please don’t leave me,” I beg her. “Please stay on the phone until you get here. I can’t be alone right now.”
I hear the sound of her car starting, the engine loud as I connect to Bluetooth. The sound of her tires peeling out of the driveway is loud, and she’s silent. But I don’t care if she doesn’t talk to me as long as she stays on the line. I need a semblance of support right now, even if it’s not real.
It’s only a few minutes before she’s at the front desk, telling the lady she’s here for Noah, and it sounds like there’s a door opening. I close my eyes and rub my chest with my fist, but it’s useless, it feels like someone took a hammer to it. It fucking physically hurts somehow, and now I understand how people can die from a broken heart. Maybe that will be me. Maybe I’ll die right along with him.
But no .
He’s going to live.
He has to.
“I’m coming, Tyler,” Mom murmurs. “I’m right here.”
The line goes dead, and I put my phone down on my lap, burying my face in my bloody hands. The tears won’t stop coming, and I don’t want them to. I want to let them out. Maybe I’ll drown in them.
The door opens and in comes my parents. I only know because I smell my mom’s fruity scent right before she kneels in front of me, hugging my waist and sobbing. I rub her back soothingly, and somehow it calms me slightly that she’s this affected by the situation.
“Oh my God, Ty,” Mom sobs. “How did this even happen?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, and she looks up at me with sad eyes filled with tears. They stream down her face in a rush, pooling on her chin as they drip onto her sweatshirt. There’s snot on her face, and I don’t even want to know what I look like right now. “It’s okay. It’s okay. He can’t die. He can’t leave me.”
“He can’t,” Mom whispers. “I know he’s going to be okay. He has to be.”
My dad comes to my side, squeezing my shoulder in what I know is a show of support, and I sob harder.
The door to the waiting room opens, and we all look toward it. A nurse in navy blue scrubs comes in, looking tired, and I tense. She can’t have bad news. She can’t?—
“We were able to get a pulse back, but he’s in critical condition,” she says slowly, softly. As if she’s trying to gauge our reaction to the situation. “He lost a lot of blood, so he’s getting a couple of infusions, but he’s in surgery now.”
“He’s alive?” I question, even though she just said he is. But I need reassurance. I need to hear it again. I need to know it’s real. That he didn’t leave me all alone in this world.
“He is,” she reiterates. “Once he’s done with surgery he will be moved upstairs to the ICU. Only one family member can come in. Who are you to him?”
“I’m—”
“His husband,” Mom says for me, and my breath stalls in my lungs at the lie. “Ty, we can come back tomorrow when he’s more stable.”
I nod. “Stay with me until he’s done, please.”
“We will.”
“Do y’all need anything right now?” the nurse asks. “Water, snacks?”
“I’m good,” I tell her, looking down at my hands.
“Do you maybe have some wipes?” Mom asks, and the nurse takes one look at me and nods, sympathy in her eyes. “I’d really appreciate some.”
The nurse comes back with the wipes, and my mom makes quick work of cleaning me up as I sit there, tears streaming down my face without my permission. She’s being gentle, and I appreciate the gesture. I don’t think I could do it for myself right now. I frankly don’t care about how I look at the moment.
After she finishes cleaning me up, we wait in silence. It’s a long time before a nurse comes to get me, several hours I’d say. I haven’t really looked at my phone or the time. I’ll make phone calls tomorrow.
Saying goodbye to my parents, they give me one last hug. “Call me if anything happens,” Mom murmurs.
“Nothing else is going to,” I tell her, then follow after the nurse.
We walk through bright hallways, the walls white, the tiles whiter. It’s making my eyes hurt, and all I want to do is be with Noah and get some sleep. But I know I won’t be sleeping a goddamned wink any time soon. The nurse presses the button to open the elevator doors, and we step into it in deafening silence. She hits the number to the seventh floor, looking forward the entire time. I get it, she doesn’t want to make conversation, but I want answers.
“How is he?” I ask her, fidgeting with my now clean fingers.
“He’s still in critical condition,” she replies, the elevator stopping on the correct floor. “He’s getting a blood infusion as we speak.”
Stepping out of the elevator, I nod and follow after her.
“He’s going to look really bad off—I just want to warn you.” She stops and looks at me. “Be prepared to see him at his worst. He has a tube down his throat, and he’s pale.”
I nod again. “I understand.”
But the truth is, I don’t understand. At all. Not until she opens the glass door, moving the curtain aside. I gasp when I see him, and my eyes momentarily close. I blink repeatedly at the sight because surely my eyes are failing me right now.
Noah is lying in bed at an angle, a tube down his throat. His face is white as a sheet, and his arms are covered in bandages that are already soaked with blood. There’s a red bag of blood infusing into an IV in his neck, because clearly his arms are closed for business, and my legs almost give out on me at the sight. There’s no part of him that looks alive right now, and I’m terrified as I close the distance between us and pull the chair to his side. Resting my head on his legs, I sob loudly, hearing the nurse’s retreating footsteps. But I don’t look up. I just close my eyes and wish it was me in this hospital bed. Not Noah.
Never Noah.