Four Letter Feelings (The Jeremy Lewis Series Book 1)

by Lasairiona McMaster

  “C’mon,” she announced, stepping forward. “Let’s get you home.”

  “Why are you doing this?” he asked, stopping, feeling the familiar lump reappear in his throat. She must have felt the shaking in his hand because she picked up his hand and kissed each of the bruised knuckles one by one.

  “Because you need someone, Jeremy Lewis, and while I have vowed off dating hockey players, I’m still a human being… and I care about you.” Seeing the shock on his face she quickly added, “I’ll deny it if anyone ever asks me, though.”

  He smiled and choked back his tears, the air felt heavy with unspoken words. As they walked hand-in-hand Jeremy felt almost normal for the first time in months. When they got back to his house, he invited Chelsea inside, assuring her he wouldn’t attempt to get her naked, unless she wanted to. With an eye roll she pushed past him and walked inside.

  As he stepped into the house behind her, something immediately felt wrong, or out of place. He glanced at the door he’d just unlocked and opened and gave the handle a shake before glancing at the panes of still intact glass around the door. Sweeping his eyes across the dimly lit space in front of him, the hair stood on the back of his neck. He grabbed Chelsea by the arm and held a finger to his lips, indicating she should be quiet as he pulled out his phone and called AJ to see if he was home. Following the sound of the ringing into the living room he saw AJ’s arm dangling off the edge of the sofa.

  “Dude,” Jeremy began. “You fell asleep—”

  Breathing a sigh of relief, convincing himself that no one smart would break in while someone was home, and reassuring himself that the door had actually been locked. His brain seemed to put together the pieces of what he was seeing at lightning speed.

  “Call an ambulance,” he barked at Chelsea, as he stuck his fingers against AJ’s skin to feel for a pulse. “Shit, shit, shit! AJ don’t you fucking dare die on me, man. Don’t you fucking dare!” He knew to rub his knuckles over his friend’s chest bone and when he didn’t get a response, he felt again for a pulse. He nodded at Chelsea, “It’s weak though, Chels.” He made a series of quick decisions about what to do. When he and AJ first became friends, he’d done some reading up on depression and had fallen down the rabbit hole of articles about how to proceed if his friend ever tried to take his life. He’d read the protocol for overdoses and he knew that the majority of overdose patients actually died from respiratory failure.

  Ignoring the empty bottles of pills and the folded note on the table he quickly pulled the coffee table away from the sofa and gently slipped his friend onto the floor, shaking his head, blinking back tears, he looked to Chelsea who was nodding.

  “They say if he’s not breathing to start rescue breathing, Jer.” She sounded calm, but he could see fear in her eyes as she talked to the 9-1-1 operator over the open line.

  “I know,” Jer answered, as he tilted his friend’s head, lifted his chin, pinched his nose and sealed his lips over AJ’s.

  Two quick breaths and a long breath every five seconds, he repeated to himself as he proceeded to attempt to save his best friend, his brother, the one person he had left in all the world and the one person he’d been avoiding for weeks.

  I wasn’t there for you, either. Guilt stabbed at his chest and tears poured down his cheeks. I’m so sorry, AJ. I’m so sorry. Please don’t die. He closed his eyes and pleaded with God. Please don’t take him, too. Please, I’ll do whatever I have to, please just don’t take him from me, too.

  “Chels, I need you to go into my room. First door on the left at the top of the stairs. Top drawer, way at the back there’s a black case, bring it to me quickly please.” He sounded way calmer than he felt, but he knew that he was going to do all he could to make sure his friend survived so he could kick his ass for trying to leave him.

  During his research, he’d discovered that Naloxone was a drug that could help reverse the effects of an overdose on the body. It didn’t require a prescription so he’d picked up a couple and hidden them away in the back of his drawer in case the unspeakable ever happened. He’d never been gladder that he’d researched as he had, or that AJ hadn’t tried to hang himself or cut his wrists rather than take an overdose. He kicked himself for having abandoned AJ over the last months, he had no idea what was going on with his friend, he had no idea why he’d suddenly want to take his own life and just as Chelsea was running back towards him he picked up AJ’s note and shoved it into his pocket. He stared at the bottles of meds scattered across the coffee table and took a deep breath, not knowing how many his friend had taken and praying that it wasn’t too many.

  Chelsea held out the needle and Jeremy shook his head, telling her she had to prep the needle for him, drawing one cc of Naloxone into the syringe so he could inject it. Her phone balanced between her cheek and her shoulder, her hands shook as she handed the syringe to him. He gave her a thin smile, mustering as much reassurance as he could. Without hesitation he slammed the needle into his friend’s thigh and injected the liquid into his muscle before he discarded the empty syringe on the coffee table and resumed his rescue breathing.

  They didn’t live far from the hospital, so it wasn’t long before he heard a siren and yet it felt like hours. He continued rescue breathing and as he was contemplating a second dose of Naloxone, the EMTs made their way into the house and got AJ on a stretcher. He answered all of their questions, gave them the medication bottles and told them about the dose of Naloxone and gave them the empty syringe to dispose of safely as they rolled the stretcher into the ambulance.

  Jeremy contemplated driving, but considering there was still whisky in his system and he didn’t want to end up arrested or in a hospital bed next to AJ, he opted to ride along in the back of the bus so AJ wasn’t alone. Chelsea reluctantly agreed not to follow, but made him promise he’d update her on how things went.

  As he rode in the ambulance to the hospital, Jeremy stayed out of the EMTs way. He hung his head in his hands and fought the tears.

  I dunno what I’ve done to fuck up so badly, but please just let him live. Please, please let him live. I can’t lose him, too.

  He dragged his hands through his hair in desperation.

  I should have been there for you, Pim. I’m so fucking sorry. I was so lost in my own grief, in trying to numb the pain, in trying to keep everyone away so I could pretend I was fine. I’m so fucking sorry.

  I’ll go back to therapy, I’ll cut down my drinking and partying, I’ll do better in school… whatever it takes please… just make this pain go away and save him. Please, God, just don’t take him and tell me how to fix this hole in my chest. I don’t know what to do. I’m so lost and alone. I almost lost the one person I had left. He glanced over to where AJ was lying and the EMTs were working on him, taking his blood pressure and talking to him as they went, explaining what they were doing.

  As he waited in the waiting room Jeremy contemplated calling AJ’s parents, but he wanted to give that option to AJ when he woke up.

  If he wakes up.

  No. Stop that! He WILL wake up. He has to.

  He started awake when he felt a hand on his arm shaking gently. “Mr. Williams? Mr. Williams? Wake up Mr. Williams, your brother is awake and asking to see you,” she explained.

  Jeremy jumped up off the uncomfortable seat, and followed closely on her heels. AJ was sitting up in bed, hooked up to an IV and as Jeremy walked into the room, he passed someone he guessed was a psychiatrist. Bursting into tears, he launched himself at AJ and threw his arms around his friend who, upon seeing Jeremy crying, started crying as well.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered into Jeremy’s ear. “I’m so, so sorry Jer.” He gripped Jeremy tightly as both men cried to each other, releasing months of anguish and sorrow.

  “I’m sorry too,” Jeremy managed between sobs. “I’ve been so out of it; I had no idea you were even suffering. I’m so sorry, Pim.”

  He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, embracing each other but he knew they both ne
eded it. Relief flooded his entire body that his friend was still alive and his suicide attempt hadn’t been successful.

  “Did you call my parents?” he asked, clearly terrified.

  “No,” Jeremy shook his head. “I wanted to leave the decision up to you to tell them about this.”

  “You knew I’d wake up?” AJ asked, searching Jeremy’s face for something.

  “You can’t leave me, Pim. You’re all I’ve got.” He realized his voice sounded needy and verged on pathetic desperation, he realized he was shaking and his tears wouldn’t stop falling, but it was the truth. AJ was the only family he had left now that his parents were gone.

  AJ clamped his lips between his teeth, seemingly not able to trust his own voice and nodded, wordlessly. He released his lips and pursed them, Jeremy could tell that something else was on his mind.

  “I didn’t read it,” he answered the unasked question. “I have it in my pocket. I didn’t read it. I won’t read it, not if you don’t want me to, I just, I didn’t want the EMTs taking it, or, I dunno, whatever.”

  AJ shook his head, and heavy tears fell onto his shirt. “Don’t read it, please Jer, just give it back so I can destroy it. I’m going back on my meds, I’m going back to my psychiatrist and my psychologist, I’m going to get my head on right, go back to school, get back on the ice. I’m going to fix it all.”

  Guilt twisted in his chest as he realized things were much worse than he’d thought. AJ hadn’t been at school, or playing hockey and Jeremy hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t paid attention to anything outside his own tunnel vision of grief. Once again, he felt like a failure, like he’d let his family down, again. All over again he was reminded of just how lacking he was.

  “Thank god you came home early, Jer. You saved me!” The relief and gratitude in his friend’s voice was tangible. He elected not to tell AJ that Chelsea had been there too and made a mental note to tell her to take that secret with her to the grave. He also needed to send that woman some flowers.

  Chapter 29

  Chelsea: How is he?

  Jeremy: He’s ok, he’s been home for a few hours now. He’s doing all the right things, daily therapy sessions, he’s back on his meds, he’s sleeping, he’s just… quiet.

  Chelsea: I’m glad he’s ok, you’re a really good friend, Jer. You stayed so calm, it was impressive.

  Jeremy: You were incredible. Can I send you flowers? Chocolate? Anything to say thank you for being there for both of us that night.

  Chelsea: I’m not giving you my address, creeper.

  She added a winky emoji. Jeremy smiled. It had been a couple of days since the night neither of the men would talk about, and other than a daily ‘How is he?’ followed by a ‘How are you?’ message from Chelsea, she’d given him space to take care of his friend.

  Chelsea: How are you holding up?

  They’d kept AJ in hospital for observation and assessment for a couple days before allowing him to go home. Between school, hockey and spending time with AJ, Jeremy found himself exhausted. He’d picked up some groceries earlier that morning before collecting AJ from the hospital to bring him home and his plan was to do some batch cooking. He hadn’t cooked in what felt like months and when he actually thought about it, he realized he hadn’t really cooked since Christmas. He was going to fix that today and set the two of them up for an easier life for a few days.

  Jeremy: To be honest, I’m exhausted. But I’ll get there. I feel like I’m coming out of a really long sleep, yet I’m still dog-tired. I have to use my brain again, trying to help both myself and AJ find reason and strength to fight is hard.

  Chelsea: Depression does that to you. Be gentle with yourself, Jer. He’s not your responsibility either, there are people to help him. Take care of you.

  He stopped and re-read the message, wondering to himself if that’s what he’d actually been going through this whole time. Depression. As far as he knew he was firmly in the ‘anger’ stage of his grieving and had depression to ‘look forward’ to.

  AJ had gone for a nap and as Jeremy mixed and kneaded dough for a double batch of cinnamon rolls, he gave it some further thought.

  She can’t be right, can she? I’m not depressed. There are stages to grief, right? And I haven’t even got beyond feeling pissed that they’re gone. He sighed. Some days it feels like I’ll be angry forever.

  But the more he considered the idea that he was depressed, the more things started to make sense.

  You know the signs. You did the research for AJ… Pushing everyone away, mood swings, sleeping a lot, not eating, over-eating… shit. She might be right.

  While the dough was proving, he made some homemade pasta, and started the tomato sauce base in a large pot on the stove. He was making lasagna, potato and Italian sausage soup and salsa verde shredded chicken for tacos. All things he’d made countless times before and things he knew would freeze well, comfort food that felt like home. He decided to add a batch of bacon mac and cheese to the list while he pulled ingredients out of the fridge and got to work.

  He called his therapist as the sauce was simmering, expecting to leave her a message. When she answered, he started to splutter, not really sure what to say.

  “Jeremy? Jeremy, is that you?” he heard her say, as he bumbled around the kitchen.

  “Yes ma’am, it’s me. Hi, Sheila.”

  “It’s been a while. How are you, Jeremy?”

  He wasn’t entirely sure how to answer her, but he knew that lying to her wouldn’t help him in the slightest and he’d already spent entirely too long lying to himself.

  “I don’t want to keep you, I know you’re busy.”

  “You let me handle my schedule, thank you,” she chided softly. “How are you?”

  He took a breath and shrugged, knowing she couldn’t see it.

  “I haven’t been great,” he answered, truthfully. “It’s been,” he paused and attempted to compose himself, “hard.”

  “I imagine that’s an understatement, I saw the news.”

  “Do you have a sec? I’m cooking for the first time in months or I’d cross town to see you, but I could really do with a chat. I think I’m ready to come back.”

  “I do. I have some time, what are you cooking? I didn’t know you cooked.”

  “Yeah,” he smiled sadly. “My mom taught me the basics when I was younger. She’d involve me in everything she made, no matter how messy the kitchen got. As I got older, I developed a curiosity for food, so when I went to Europe and had the opportunity to learn more about food, I took it. I don’t publicize it much ʼcause, y’know, it’s not cool to cook.”

  “Where do people come up with this stuff? I mean, who even decides what cool is?” he could hear her chuckling and imagined her shaking her head. “You want to catch me up on how you’ve been and what’s happened?”

  For the next two hours, as he cooked, he put his therapist on speakerphone and busied about the kitchen finishing the dishes. He brought her up to date on his life and everything that had happened over the last few months, starting with the death of his parents and finishing with AJ’s suicide attempt. He went into painful detail, pausing only when she had a question, fearful that if he stopped to take a moment, he wouldn’t be able to get everything out. By the time the double therapy session was over, he felt exhausted, drained and hot from spending so much time in the kitchen but the counter was covered in an expansive array of delicious food. He felt lighter, too. Talking to Sheila had helped clear some things up in his mind. He’d booked in with her for next week and had given her his word that he’d at least commit to a once weekly session with her for the foreseeable future. She had confirmed to him that the process of grieving wasn’t in fact linear. That expecting to progress through the gauntlet of grief in any kind of systematic fashion would only lead to frustration and disappointment. She told him that life didn’t abide by any such framework of ‘stages’ and confirmed his fear that everyone, and everyone’s grief, is different, so recovery isn’t ever as
simple as posting a flow chart on his refrigerator and ticking stages off as you go. Sheila emphasized how some people often experienced two ‘stages’ of grief at the same time, which sounded like what Jeremy had endured over the last few months with anger and depression, and that each person’s journey was unique to them. She impressed upon him numerous times how there was no shame in grieving, even for a long period of time, which was something Jeremy was certainly feeling, a pressure within himself to move forward.

  When he asked her about acceptance and how he could ever be ‘ok’ with the loss of his parents she clarified to him that acceptance doesn’t mean he’ll be ok. She explained that this stage is about accepting the reality that his parents are physically gone, forever, and recognizing that his new reality is permanent. Talking to her had lifted some of the load he had been carrying. He felt as though telling her how lost and afraid he felt, while feeling foolish, had helped. She had soothed his inner chaos somewhat with the fact that he wasn’t alone and that what he had been going through was completely normal. Hearing it from an external source, a professional, made it sink in just a little bit more than reading it on the internet or hearing it from Chelsea.

  “Ok, did you cook everything we had in the house?” AJ asked, wandering into the kitchen in only a pair of shorts. “This all smells incredible, Jer. Is it for us? ʼCause if it’s not for us, you’re gonna have a fight on your hands.” He picked up a burrito, unraveled a piece of the foil and sunk his teeth into the tortilla, moaning in satisfied approval.

  “It’s for us. I made way more than I’d expected. I called Sheila and chatted to her while I cooked. Time went faster than I realized and cooking helped keep me focused and not a crying mess. Win-win I guess.”

  “So,” AJ began, taking another bite of his breakfast burrito and looking like he’d gone to his happy place as he chewed and swallowed. “I feel like we need to talk. I know you’re pissed at me and you have every right to be, but I feel like we need to clear the air. You’ve been tip-toeing around me since The Incident and if we keep letting this,” he gestured between them with his burrito, “fester, we’re both going to explode.”