I go in and out of consciousness on the way to the hospital. Claire is in the back of the ambulance with me, feverishly texting on her phone, sending messages and canceling events. I don’t see her once I’m in the ER. I can hardly stay awake as I go through a battery of tests. Things start to get hazy again, and I pass out or fall asleep, not waking until I’m in a room.
Claire and my agent are there. Ah, fuck. I realized I’m screwed the same time I realize I’m lonely, so fucking lonely. I’m Aiden Shepherd. Popular, loved by millions, with loyal, devoted fans. I hang out with other rich and famous actors, date super models…yet no one knows me. No one cares.
“Aiden?” Claire asks softly. “Can you hear me?”
“Yeah,” I croak. I’m hooked up to machines and have wires attached to all parts. “What happened?”
“You overdosed,” Thomas says point blank. He looks pissed. Claire’s still scared and worried. “You’re goddamn lucky your assistant found you when she did. She saved your life.”
“I would have been fine,” I say, and I try to smile. I’m so weak, it’s hard to even keep my eyes open.
“No, you wouldn’t have.” Thomas pushes off the register he was leaning against. “I saw the tox report. You had three different narcotics, sleeping pills, and a high blood alcohol content. What the hell were you thinking?”
I was thinking about the horrible things that could happen to Haley. I don’t know why those thoughts went through my head. I don’t want them to. But I can’t stop them. Once those thoughts settle in and take over, the pain starts. I had to stop it before it hurt me.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I mumble. “I didn’t mean to—”
“I don’t care what you did or didn’t mean to do,” Thomas says. “People don’t mean to overdose most of the time. They just do, and let me repeat how lucky you are someone found you.”
I close my eyes again. “I’m fine now. I can work.”
Thomas lets out a snort. “No. You’re not well enough yet. It’s already been handled. You’re in the hospital with dehydration and exhaustion. You were sick all week, so this works. The fans love you, and you’re getting a lot of sympathy. You’re lucky, kid.”
I hate when he calls me that. It’s his way of reminding me I’m new at this, that he knows much more than I do and I need to shut up and listen. Maybe he’s right. I sigh and nod.
“Thanks,” I say, and both Thomas and Claire look stunned. “I can do a video update for the show,” I offer.
“That’s actually a good idea,” Thomas says. “Let me make a call.” He leaves the room, and a nurse comes in to check on me. I’m recovering well and am allowed to eat lunch. The mention of food makes me realize how hungry I am.
Claire sits on a chair next to the bed once the nurse leaves. “Haley called,” she says. “I don’t know if you remember that.”
“I don’t. I don’t remember anything. Just waking up here.”
“That’s probably good.”
I turn my head. “Thanks, Claire.”
She shrugs. “It’s what I do. And if you die, I’m out of a job.”
I smile. “Nice.”
She looks up, blinking away tears. “Aiden, you need help. You can’t keep doing this.”
“I won’t do it again,” I say. “I can stop when I want. I don’t always take the pills.”
Claire presses her lips together, not believing me. “It’s okay to ask for help,” she says softly, and I’m reminded of something similar I said to Haley. Or had she said it to me? Fuck. I still can’t think straight.
“I don’t need help,” I say. I just need Haley. I lean back on the stiff hospital pillow. “Do you have my phone?”
She digs it out of her oversized bag and hands it to me. I have a slew of messages from my so-called friends asking if I’m okay. They don’t really care about me, but they want me to care about them, so I will invite them to a Shadowland party. It’s the most successful TV show in history. The last premiere shattered records. I’m starring in this new movie based off a book that sat at #1 on the New York Times best sellers list for two solid months. I’m doing as well as any new actor can be.
I unlock my phone and open my pictures. I only have a few of Haley. The first one, with us around Aurelia, another of her right after sex, holding the sheets over her breasts, her hair a mess, giving me a why-the-hell-are-you-taking-my-picture look, and two taken before I left. She’s smiling in one, and the other is a badly positioned selfie of us kissing. My eyes were closed and I cut off half my face. At least I can see her.
“What are you going to tell her?” Claire asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t know.” I flick my eyes up. I haven’t said anything to Claire, or to anyone, but she knows how much Haley means to me. If it were just sex, I’d go back to the hotel and then back to L.A. once I got a week off work. I wouldn’t leave the hotel for a farmhouse with weak Wi-Fi and no one to run my errands and bring me espresso when I wanted it. And I never would stay at the house, alone, while Haley went to work. I wouldn’t sit out in the barn, talking to a damaged horse with scars from a fire along her neck, if I didn’t care about Haley.
“The truth is a good place to start.” Claire stands. I nod and look back at the phone. I’m not afraid to tell Haley the truth. I never have been, and I’ve never felt judgment from her. She believes in second chances, after all. She believes that the worst of the worst can be healed with time and love, and can go on to live a life worth living.
Have I already had my second chance? The heart monitor beeps a little faster when I think about that night. Before I cut myself, before I decided I wanted to die, I hid under my bed with a pillow over my ears, drowning out the sound of my mum crying and my dad yelling. Mum said she knew what he’d done to me—what he’d been doing to me—and knew he wasn’t going to stop. I couldn’t hide the bruises forever. She was calling the police. The fight went on for hours, and the police never came.
When I left my room to get the knife, I could hear the moaning and groaning coming from Mum and Dad’s room. She’d forgiven him, like she always had, and like she always would. She’d chosen him over me yet again, because I didn’t matter. I’d never matter.
I shut my eyes and the darkness consumes me. I remember it all clearly. The cold steel blade of the knife pressing into my skin. I hesitated, afraid of the pain. I didn’t want to feel hurt. I just wanted it to end. The little pain I was about to feel was worth the infinite black that would take over. I closed my eyes and dragged the knife along my skin. I hadn’t pressed down hard enough. I bled, but it wasn’t not enough. The pain, the blood, it excited me. Each drop that spilled out was bringing me closer and closer to the end.
I lined the knife back on the red track, pushed, and sliced. It stung, and the pain radiated up my arm. The knife clattered to the ground, slipping out of my fingers. The pain, the years of hurt and abuse, poured out of me as the blood rushed down, dripping onto the bedroom floor.
Moonlight reflected off the crimson and I watched, waiting, wanting to feel my life slip away. I held my arm out, wanting it to drain faster. I wanted to die. I couldn’t find the knife in the dark. I felt around for it, holding my bleeding arm out. As soon as my fingers wrapped around the blade, my sister came into the room.
Lucky.
That’s what they said. Lucky she found me, lucky she was only eighteen but had enough sense to wrap my wound and take me to the hospital. Lucky my heart didn’t give up when so much of my blood had left my body. I hadn’t felt lucky.
It was an accident. I didn’t really try to kill myself. Why would someone like me be depressed? The doctors and nurses questioned me over and over, but I stuck with the lie Dad had decided was the truth. Sometimes I think he actually believed it. Being depressed was a choice, he’d say. I was being dramatic and needed to stop. Asking for help several weeks before that was a cry for attention. He wasn’t going to waste his hard-earned money on a crackpot therapist. And I cut myself to make a mess and get a rise out of my mother. I didn’t really want to die. People like me didn’t get depressed.