CHAPTER 41 johnnie THEN
johnnie
THEN
There’s nothing, absolutely nothing, that could convince me I’m a decent person.
A life was growing inside of me, and all I wanted was for it to go away.
Every fiber of my being wanted that baby to belong to Collins, and yet, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make myself believe it was. I knew deep down, in that place you can’t lie to, I knew it belonged to Lee.
Lee.
I can’t even think his name without my heart sinking, without everything inside me drowning under the weight of it. Rational thoughts don’t stand a chance.
Carrying a reminder of the worst night of my life, the idea of looking into those eyes forever felt impossible. Unbearable.
It was like I was crawling inside my own skin, desperate to escape it. Disgusted by the girl staring back at me in the mirror. Repulsed by every inch of who I’d become. And now that there is no baby, I can honestly say I don’t feel much different.
If anything, it’s worse.
I think even my relentless mother has given up on me. I’ve become a shell of the person I was, only fragments of Johnnie exist now. And although my parents have tried, there’s only so much you can do to help a person if they don’t want to be better.
I don’t.
They live in their own personal hell unless they decide to climb their way out.
I won’t be climbing.
Except for the stairs leading to my bedroom, a small orange bottle clutched tightly in my hand.
My dad is at work and my mother is at her daily yoga class. She’ll inevitably linger afterward, sipping her disgusting green smoothie, laughing with her friends, solving the world’s problems, and trading bits of gossip.
Which means I’ll be alone for a while.
Plenty of time.
I found it strange at first, that my mom kept a prescription of pain pills in her medicine cabinet. She barely even takes Tylenol. But last week when I went looking for a fresh towel—towels on one shelf, medicine on the next—I saw them. And without thinking, I slipped the bottle into my bra.
I’ve turned it over in my mind every day since then, searching for a reason not to take them.
I haven’t found one.
My hands brace against the edge of the sink as I stare into the mirror, once again not recognizing the girl looking back at me. Not only do I not know her, I can’t stand her. There’s something hollow in her eyes, something broken beyond repair.
With a shaky breath, I reach deep into my pocket, fingers searching until they find the cool metal I’ve been carrying. The familiar shape presses into my palm, comforting me. A reminder of what I had.
What we had.
My fingers tighten around the tab before I pull it free, the bathroom light catching on its dull silver surface. For a moment, I just stare at it, my chest tightening, my pulse loud in my ears. Then I open the bottle and pour the pills onto the vanity.
One. Two. Three…
I keep counting.
Eight.
Eight small white pills.
Surely that’s enough.
I gather them into my hand, not letting myself think or feel, before tossing them into my mouth.
They catch in my throat immediately, too many at once, and I gag, panic flickering at the edges.
I grab the plastic cup beside the sink, fill it with water, and force it down, swallowing hard until the chalky bitterness disappears.
And then—
Nothing.
Everything inside me stays numb. Still. Just like it’s been since that night.
But when I lift my gaze back to the mirror, something shifts. Something so sudden it knocks the breath from my lungs.
Blue eyes.
Ocean blue.
They aren’t empty.
They aren’t lifeless.
They’re alive.
And staring back into them—
Toffee-colored eyes.
My heart seizes and panic rips through me.
Oh no.
No, no, no.
What have I done?
The thought hits me like a scream inside my skull, pounding.
I don’t want to die.
I hear the soft ping of the beer tab hitting the tile beneath me just as I lurch forward, barely catching myself on the toilet as I flip the lid and crash to my knees. The impact sends a jolt through me. My eyes squeeze shut, but the tears come anyway, spilling over.
I shove my fingers down my throat. Desperate, gagging again and again, but nothing comes up. Nothing. Just that awful, hollow retching. Panic surges through me, sharp and consuming, my chest tightening as I gasp for air.
I can’t breathe.
Somewhere in the distance, I hear the faint beeping of the security system, the sound cutting through the haze. My eyes go wide.
Someone’s here.
“Help.” My voice is barely more than a whisper, too small, too weak to carry beyond these walls. I swallow hard, forcing it out again, even though it hurts. “Help.”
I can’t stand, my legs useless beneath me, but I drag myself forward anyway, fingers scraping against the floor as I crawl toward the door. My hand fumbles for the handle, twisting it just enough to pull it open.
The door swings wide—and I hear footsteps on the stairs.
Not rushed. Not panicked.
Normal.
Calm.
“Honey, I got the mail, there’s something for you.”
My dad.
“DAD!” I try again, but it comes out broken, thin, barely there. The strength drains out of me all at once, and I fall back against the floor, the world tilting, blurring at the edges as tears slip down my temples.
“Johnnie! What the hell—”
He’s beside me in an instant. I can’t see him clearly, just shapes and movement, but I feel him.
His hands are cradling my head, something rough brushing against my face.
A towel. Or maybe his shirt. I don’t know.
He’s wiping at my cheeks, my nose, my mouth, trying to clean away the mess I’ve become.
“Johnnie, what happened? Are you sick? What’s happening? Say something.” His voice is tight, breaking, his hands gripping my shoulders as he shakes me.
“I took pills.” The words scrape out of my throat, barely audible.
“Pills? What pills?”
His face comes into focus for a second, his eyes wide, frantic, darting around the bathroom until they land on the bottle. He grabs it, scanning the label, and it only takes a heartbeat for everything in him to change.
The bottle slips from his hand, clattering to the tile.
I can’t help but wonder if it lands beside the beer tab, the two of them resting there together on the floor, keeping each other company.
“How many did you take?” he asks, his voice sharp with urgency as he hooks his arms under mine, hauling me up and dragging me back toward the toilet.
I don’t even get a chance to answer before his fingers are down my throat, nails scraping the roof of my mouth.
“Come on, get them out,” he yells over and over. “Come on.”
The intrusion is violent, overwhelming, and my body reacts instantly.
Spasming as bile rises, spilling into the toilet.
I choke, gasping between heaves, but he doesn’t stop.
He keeps going, shoving his hand back down my throat again and again until everything blurs together, until I lose count of how many times I’ve thrown up.
“How many did you take, Johnnie?”
His voice sounds different now, frayed and broken. He lowers me back to the floor, propping me against the wall. I hear the slosh of water as he reaches into the toilet.
“Eight.” The word burns on the way out, my throat raw, aching.
I think he’s pulling pills from the water, tossing them into the sink. Then I hear him start counting.
“One, two, three—”
The beeping from downstairs cuts through everything again.
“Ann, get up here!” he shouts toward the hallway.
“Four, five…I only see five!”
Footsteps pound up the stairs this time, fast and frantic, nothing like before.
“Johnnie?” My mom appears in the doorway, her eyes going wide as they dart between us. “What’s going on?”
She moves to his side, their panic mirroring each other perfectly.
“She took pills, Ann.” He’s frantic and my heart hurts a little, thinking I caused this. “She took eight, I can only find five!”
“What pills?” Her gaze sweeps the room until it lands on the bottle on the floor. She picks it up, turning it in her hands. “These? Are these the pills you took, Johnnie?”
I nod, barely able to move.
And just like that, something shifts.
Her shoulders drop, tension melting out of her as quickly as it came. She reaches out, placing a steadying hand on my dad’s back.
“It’s okay,” she says, her voice soft but certain. “They’re only Tylenol. I put Tylenol in that empty bottle to carry in my purse sometimes, instead of the big bottle. She’s okay.”
I’m okay.
The words echo in my head, hollow and deafening all at once.
My dad sinks to the floor across from me, his knees pulled up, his head falling into his hands. My mom turns to me, wrapping her arms tightly around me, pulling me into her as she breaks, sobbing into the top of my head.
All three of us are crammed into this tiny bathroom. Sitting on the floor, crying, shaking, and trying to make sense of something none of us can fully grasp.
When I peek up from beneath her arm, my eyes land on the scattered mail across the floor. Envelopes fanned out where my dad must have dropped them.
One catches my attention.
It stops everything.
My breath.
My thoughts.
A letter addressed to me.
Return address—Laken, Ohio.
Collins Combs.