by T. R. Cupak
“Come on, Jordan. Breathe goddammit!” Monte yells.
There’s a tightness in my chest that makes it harder for me to breathe. The restriction comes with every chest compression Monte delivers to Jordan.
“Come on, Jordan. Breathe goddammit!” Monte yells the same words at her in between each respiratory breath and chest compression.
“You breathe, I breathe,” I whisper over and over.
The sirens are close. Within minutes, chaos surrounds me and I feel like my world is ending in slow motion.
“I love you, Jordan. Don’t leave me.”
The words “Dead on Arrival” ring through my ears every second of every day. The sight of the coroner zipping up Jordan’s lifeless body in the body bag haunts me more than the horrific visions Armen engrained into my memory. She was gone. Jordan was taken from my life and I was never going to have her in my arms again. I wasn’t going to get the chance to call her my wife. I wasn’t going to have babies with her. We weren’t getting our happily ever after.
Monte said that there was nothing we could do. The autopsy stated it was heart failure. We knew this may come to fruition at some point, but not this soon.
When Jordan was taken to the hospital after being kidnapped by Armen, the doctors ran a bunch of tests on her. Managing her medication while in the hospital was part of her physical treatment, not just mental.
They explained to her that she should begin to do dialysis, but she refused. At the time, she hated herself; she hated life. Monte and I thought that once we got her here, to the cottage, that we would have a chance to change her mind about her medical care. I think we might have succeeded if I wasn’t such a weak motherfucker who couldn’t resist her. I’m the reason she’s dead. I’m the reason my life is meaningless.
“FUCK!”
It’s been two dark and dismal weeks since my universe was destroyed. I’ve locked myself away in her cottage, refusing to see anyone. All I wanted was to feel close to her and this was where she finally said she loved me and meant it. I knew then that we had a fighting chance. At least that’s what I thought.
“You breathe, I breathe,” I repeat to myself like a broken record.
The razor blade drops to the bottom of the tub. I feel nothing as my blood begins to stream from the cuts I made into my arms. Looking down, I see the water turning pinkish as the droplets of blood trickle down the sides of Jordan’s bathtub. As my darkness begins to set in, I release a piece of one of Jordan’s poems and watch as it flutters to the bathroom floor.
“You breathe, I breathe.”
My overpowering weakness makes me slice down my vein from wrist to mid-forearm as deep as I can go before blood begins to drain, my heart begins to slow. One last glance down at what I have done, the red hued water only confirms that my demons have won.
Chapter Thirty-One
Monte
Standing over the bludgeoned, lifeless body of the shit-bag private investigator that sold out Jordan to Armen, has me thinking about her and Boss. Some have said Hunter was crazy, or selfish for killing himself, but I knew differently. I knew him. His heart stopped beating when Jordan’s stopped beating. Hunter and Jordan were the tragic love story.
“I got your back.”
The End
A note from the Author
This story was written from the heart. The raw emotion I felt while writing could be the sole reason why it took me so long to complete Jordan’s story.
Scars don’t have to be visible to be a constant reminder of what someone has gone through in their lifetime. I’m no longer afraid to admit I’m a survivor. Depression is real, and I personally struggle with it daily. I believe my depression became more crippling at times while writing about sexual abuse, drug and alcohol addiction, and suicide. Each one of these debilitating and difficult subjects has directly affected me, and my family. Some of these actions or addictions were combined efforts, like Jordan’s. She struggled with depression at an early age, but after being raped she spiraled. Drugs and alcohol became her coping mechanism because she felt like she was alone, even after therapy, where she heard other’s stories. Sadly, it happens where you still feel like no one truly understands what haunts you.
Then you have the silent demons that eat away at good people, until there’s nothing left. Be mindful of others. You don’t know what someone is going through. Some people are that transparent and wear their feelings on their sleeves, while others are smiling on the outside but could be dying on the inside.
Everyone is different. We all know that. Some will give into their darkness while others fight every day to survive. It’s not easy being a survivor. I know first-hand. I fight to live a happy life and for me; it’s the hardest thing I do every single day, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything else. It’s what make me—me.
So, for those of you who struggle every day, please hear me when I say you’re not alone. Not by a long shot. And please, if you feel you have a possible life threatening addiction or suicidal tendencies, utilize the links and phone numbers provided below. They may not have the answers for you yet, but they will try to find you the proper resources that can help you. The hardest part for you may be admitting you need help, or you just need someone to “hear” you. Once you have taken that leap over that first hurdle, you can begin to fight your upward battle to live the life you want.
Thank you again for reading Jordan’s Shadow. I know it wasn’t the fluffy happily ever after that everyone looks for in a romance, but it’s a story I had to tell.
American Addiction Centers: http://americanaddictioncenters.org
Suicide Prevention: https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org
Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255
RAINN (National Sexual Assault): https://goo.gl/96ssQS
RAINN Hotline: 1-800-656-HOPE (4673)
NIH: https://goo.gl/73NeaL
About the Author
T. R. Cupak was born and raised in the California Bay Area. She now lives in a quiet town south of where she grew up with her husband and their Shih Tzu Harley. She is obsessed with cars, especially fast ones, and enjoys her music louder than anyone should. When she's not at work or busy writing, you can find her curled up, reading while enjoying a delectable glass of wine or T’s special drink.
Despite her lifelong love of literature, Cupak lost touch with her creative side in her early twenties. Her passion for reading was rekindled a few years ago, however, in 2013 she started journaling. This practice helped Cupak hone her creative aspirations, and soon she saw her characters come to life. She has rediscovered her passion for storytelling and wants to share her words with everyone who wants to read them.
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