Thoughts of suicide were the only thing that kept me going. I’d purposely cross streets that were heavy with traffic, even as I listened to Freddie whining and holding me back. He didn’t understand why I wasn’t paying attention to his signals, and neither did I. I kept hoping a bus would run me over and take the decision out of my hands. That wasn’t going as planned because vehicles would come to a screeching halt inches away from me. The reprimands I’d receive from irate drivers were nothing compared to what was going on in my head. I couldn’t believe it was so fucking difficult to get hit by a car in New York City, of all places.
Since that wasn’t working, I decided to go with Plan B. I was a historian after all, and it would be far better to go the way of the samurai. It would be an honorable act Noriko could understand. She’d be devastated, of course, but eventually, she’d realize that I’d done the right thing. If I exited this marriage properly, she would be able to remain in America as my widow, retaining the privileges of being a wife and a mother. Everything she wanted and deserved. The boys’ financial future was secure, and my mother and sisters could provide whatever family they would require beyond what Noriko had to offer. There was no need for my children to be burdened with a blind parent. I would only hinder their progress and make them feel guilty whenever I couldn’t participate in an activity with them. Better to just disappear from their lives altogether, so they could realize their full potential.
I made my way over to my bookshelf and pulled out a thick volume that would contain the information I required. I had everything a samurai would need by way of clothing, but I needed the tantō, the deadly weapon that would see this time-honored method of suicide to fruition. Any decent antique shop that carried Oriental swords would have a vast array of choices. I’d have to forego an attendant, a kaishakunin, to help with the daunting task of committing seppuku in the ancient manner. A swift decapitation, immediately following the plunge of my blade, would not be possible. I would have to go this alone, fully prepared to make the proper incision to disembowel myself. Doing it correctly and to the letter was imperative. Departing this world honorably would be far better than languishing in a sea of melancholia and psychiatric help. That was not my choice for me or my family. Even in this final act, my sense of duty was steeped into my brain by a culture I’d studied over the years. I was not about to shame anyone by ending up in a straightjacket. This was a far better solution.
Chapter 24
AFTER TRENT’S big reveal, our relationship moved up to another level altogether. We had purged most of our doubts through mutual forgiveness. He’d acknowledged that my indiscretion with Cole had been impulsive and innocent, and I realized that my master was not the iconic and indestructible man I’d made him out to be. He had fears and insecurities that were just as debilitating as mine, only his were masked behind the cool façade of competence and strength. His admission had humanized him, and I loved him that much more. The prospect of spending the rest of my life under his wing was no longer daunting or as complicated. I knew that whatever parameters we imposed on each other would be well thought out and mutually beneficial. I had no problem admitting I was his submissive, and I was willing and able to accommodate his needs, so long as he continued to demonstrate equal amounts of trust and a desire to make me happy.
The dreaded cock cage and other methods of deprivation were no longer in use, and I was thriving in this new atmosphere. It was like our honeymoon before the marriage. Now that Trent was willing to make the big commitment, I wasn’t in a rush to stand in front of the judge. I’d waited a lifetime for my happy ending, and I wanted to enjoy every blissful moment.
Tin was back in town and assumed the official title of wedding planner. Trent and I happily handed over that time-consuming chore, leaving the trivia in his capable French hands. We’d decided on a garden wedding at Max’s property in Montauk since it was there that I’d opened my mind to the prospect of another man taking Cole’s place in my life.
It was early March, and spring was right around the corner. Temperatures were starting to rise, and Trent had convinced me to go jogging with him every morning after our meditation. He said it would strengthen my legs and keep me fit, plus it would increase my appetite. He’d slowly realized what a pain in the ass I was about food and tried to get me to eat three square meals a day. I would have been happy surviving on coffee and cigarettes, but I was losing weight, and both Max and Trent weren’t about to let it continue.
We usually ran along the Hudson at seven in the morning, along with the rest of the crazies who enjoyed jogging in any kind of weather. We’d complete our three-mile run in under forty minutes, and that was because I held Trent back. He would have been done in less than thirty minutes, but he’d adjusted his pace to accommodate me. It was typical of him to do these little things to make me happy. And he reaped the benefits of my good humor because I let him have his way with me as soon as we crossed over the threshold. Our sex life continued to improve, and although his problem was at the back of my mind, I was biding my time. Breaching Trent would take a lot of patience and cunning. After all, the man was not stupid, and anytime I got a few inches away from my target, he’d slowly change position. It was a game we played without discussing a strategy.
This morning we’d just completed our run and were debating the merits of showering together or separately when my phone chimed. I ignored it, preferring to nuzzle Trent’s neck.
“Aren’t you going to get that?”
“It’s probably Tin asking more questions. I swear, all he cares about are color schemes and flavors for our wedding cake. It can wait.”
“You should answer it. I hate white cake, by the way.”
“Do you? What about chocolate?”
“Do we have to have a cake?”
“It’s tradition,” I said, pouting a little. “You promised we’d do this my way.”
“Fine,” Trent acquiesced. “What about a nice lemon cake?”
“That would be refreshing since we’re getting married on a beach at the height of summer.”
“We could have an ice cream cake?”
“Trent, the logistics of keeping the cake from melting all over the table would be a nightmare Tin can do without.”
“How about foregoing the cake altogether and just serving champagne and cupcakes?”
“Cupcakes?”
“We can have many different flavors.”
“Could we still feed each other for our photo op?”
“Of course we can. This way everyone gets what they want. We’ll have thirty-one flavors.”
“You definitely have ice cream on your mind.”
“I know, but I’ll bet a baker could come up with just as many flavors.”
“I can only think of five―chocolate, vanilla, mocha, red velvet, and strawberry.”
“There’s lemon, carrot cake, dulce de leche, almond, pistachio, raspberry, apricot―”
“Stop,” I interrupted, laughing. “You’ve made your point.”
Trent grinned. “Cupcakes it is.”
The phone chimed again, and I reached over and cussed when I saw who was on caller ID.
“What is it?” Trent asked, instantly on the alert.
“A 911 message from Cole. I’m so not in the mood to deal with his bullshit. You take it.”
“Me? Why in the fuck would I want to talk to that asshole?”
“Maybe he needs to hear you telling him to stay out of my life.”
“He’d call back again. Talk to him and see what’s so urgent.”
I punched in accept and barked, “What do you want?” I waited, bracing for another fight. The man was relentless and didn’t know when to quit. After his “concerned” phone call to my father accusing me of cutting again, he’d been read the riot act, and Dad had told him in no uncertain terms to leave me alone. And here he was, not a month later, calling again.
“It’s not Cole, Sloan.”
“Obviously. Where’s the fire, Noriko?”
/>
“What fire?”
“Oh, for God’s sake. What do you want?”
She started to cry, and I was derailed. “Is there a problem?” Why on earth would she be calling me?
“I’m at the emergency room.”
“Is it one of the kids?”
“He tried to kill himself, Sloan.”
The horror of the words took a moment to sink in. Finally, I whispered, “Cole?”
“Yes. He tried to commit seppuku but failed. He’s bleeding internally, and they’re taking him into surgery.”
“Where are you?”
“Mt. Sinai.”
“I’ll be right there.” I disconnected and looked at Trent through tear-filled eyes.
“What is it, babe?”
“Trent… I have to go.”
“Talk to me.”
I closed my eyes and tried to answer him, but I was shaking so hard I couldn’t speak. He closed the space between us and wrapped around me like a comforter. When I was able to talk without chattering, I said, “Cole tried to kill himself, but he’s still alive. Noriko’s at Mt. Sinai. I have to see if there’s anything I can do to help.” I was unaware of the tears that covered my face until Trent wiped them away with his hand.
“I’ll come with you.”
“Thank you.”
THE RIDE to the hospital was interminable, but we finally got there and headed straight to the emergency room. Noriko was pacing outside the closed doors, looking crazed. Her hair was pulled back in a sloppy ponytail with tendrils falling around her face, and her eyes were puffy from crying. The worst thing was her outfit. She must not have had time to change because the bloodstains were clearly visible on her gray sweatpants.
“How bad is it?”
“I don’t know. He’s still in surgery.”
“What did he do?” People in New York jumped off bridges or took pills. What could have possibly produced so much blood?
“He tried to commit seppuku.”
“You said that over the phone,” I snapped. “What does that entail? A gun?”
“No,” she trilled. “A knife! He tried to disembowel himself.”
“Jesus,” I whispered, backing away from her in shock. “How far did he get?”
“The doctors haven’t come out to tell me anything. All I know is that there was blood everywhere.”
“Was he conscious?”
“Yes, and he kept calling for you.”
“Me?”
“It’s always been you….”
I buried my face in Trent’s shoulder and let him hold me. I was too shocked to cry or say anything to comfort Noriko. A part of me blamed her for this tragedy. If she’d been a better wife, she’d have noticed something was wrong and wouldn’t have left him alone. Suddenly I was enraged and turned on her.
“Where in fuck were you when this was going down?”
“I was with the children,” she said, covering her face with both hands. “He would not allow me into his bedroom without permission.”
“How long was he in there by himself?”
“Since last night.”
“Didn’t he have dinner? Breakfast?”
“He refused to join me for dinner last night, and when I knocked this morning, there was no response. After several hours I began to worry and finally called 911.”
I looked at the ceiling and muttered. “This is fucking unbelievable.”
“I didn’t know he was planning this, Sloan,” Noriko said haltingly. “I thought we’d be okay once the children were born, but things got worse instead of better.”
“I knew it,” I said in resignation. I was sickened by this turn of events. For once, I wished I’d been wrong and he’d been right. His children were supposed to comfort him and make everything in his life that much better. In truth, his reality was so far removed from the fairytale ending he’d imagined that he hadn’t been able to cope. The last thing I wanted to say to him was I told you so, but it kept repeating like a bad case of indigestion.
Chapter 25
ABOUT TWO hours into our wait, a doctor in green scrubs showed up looking for a family member. “I am Mrs. Fujiwara,” Noriko said softly. “How is he doing, Doctor?”
“We had to perform a laparotomy to determine the extent of the damage. Miraculously, he missed the vital organs. His liver, colon, and small bowel are intact.”
“How is that possible?” Noriko asked. “There was so much blood.”
“He must have passed out as soon as he plunged in the knife, so he didn’t get a chance to cut across his abdomen. The worst we had to contend with was the bleeding. Once we got that under control, he stabilized.”
“Thank God,” I said. “Will there be any residual damage?”
“Peritonitis is always a concern with a knife wound, as is tetanus, but he’s been given all the shots to prevent any of that. He’ll be in a lot pain for several days, but he’s young and should heal quickly. We’ve put him on a morphine drip to get him comfortable for now.”
Noriko broke down and sobbed into her hands. I stepped forward and asked, “Is he conscious?”
“You are?”
“Sloan Driscoll, a… friend.”
The doctor appraised me, and recognition bloomed in his less than professional scrutiny. “Aren’t you the model for Klas?”
“Yes.”
“So you’re the one.”
“The one?”
“Mr. Fujiwara has been asking for you since they brought him in. The last thing he said before we put him under was ‘Tell Sloan I’m sorry.’ When he regained consciousness, the first thing he wanted to know was if you were here.”
“May I go and see him?” Noriko interjected.
“I can only let one person in, Mrs. Fujiwara, and unfortunately, he’s asked for Mr. Driscoll, not you.”
“She should go,” I said. “It’s her right.”
“There’s no need to agitate the man in his condition. He’s requested you.”
The more the doctor spoke, the more I recognized a kindred spirit. He was obviously attracted to me and more inclined to break the rules in my favor. “Are you sure I should go? His wife takes precedence over a friend.”
“I know this is totally against the rules,” the doc continued, “but you need to get in there and let him know you’re around. Did you guys have a fight, or what?”
“We did not have a fight, and furthermore, he’s not my partner anymore.”
“He was your partner?”
“Is this really relevant, Doctor?” Trent asked, frowning at the man who was far too interested in the personal aspects of this case.
“I’m just trying to get an idea of what we’re dealing with. Disembowelment is not your everyday occurrence. No one in their right mind would choose this method of suicide.”
“He is a historian, and this makes complete sense,” I pointed out, defending Cole for some reason. Privately, I had to admit he couldn’t have chosen a more dramatic exit, and I planned on telling him that when I next laid eyes on him, but right now, the doctor was pissing me off and needed to shut his pie hole.
“Maybe if he lived in Japan, but over here, it’s just plain nuts. We’ll have to put him on suicide watch, and I’ve requested a psyche visit.”
“He has a psychiatrist,” I said. “Let me call him.”
“He does?” Trent asked.
I nodded and pulled out my iPhone, praying that I still had John Butterman’s number in my contacts. I did, but he wasn’t picking up, so I left a voice mail asking him to call back on an urgent matter. I hadn’t seen John in over two years, but he’d been instrumental in helping Cole make the transition from a sighted to blind man. He’d been a counselor at the Lighthouse when Cole was starting to lose his eyesight, and he’d not only been his doctor, he’d become a good friend to both of us. If anyone could help Cole, John would be the most likely candidate.
“It’s done,” I said to the doc, who continued to stare at me intently. It was making me unco
mfortable, and I felt I was back in the modeling pool dealing with gossipy queens. If this guy was indeed gay, and I didn’t doubt it for one minute, Cole and I would be the topic of conversation for weeks.
“Let’s go and see your friend,” he said, walking away without a backward glance.
I kissed Trent briefly and squeezed his hand. “I’ll just be a minute.”
“Take your time,” he said. “He needs your support right now.”
“I love you,” I whispered, hugging him fiercely. “So fucking much!”
“I know, babe. Me too.”
Cole was in a private cubicle in the intensive care unit. He was surrounded by monitors that flashed and beeped, and there were bags of what I assumed were antibiotics and life-sustaining electrolytes hanging from the metal stands close to his bed. There was also a plastic container filled with bloody fluids underneath his bed. It was attached to a tube that disappeared underneath the blanket that covered his body. Cole’s eyes were closed, and his complexion was gray. If I hadn’t heard the bleeping of the heart monitor, I would have assumed he was dead. He looked that bad. His internal radar, however, was very much alive, and he croaked out my name as soon as I got close. I bent down and kissed him on lips that felt like marble. “Shogun, I’m here.”
“Shogun, my ass,” Cole whispered. “I fucked up my own seppuku.” Tears were leaking out of his eyes and rolling down his face, making a big wet spot on the pillowcase.
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