CHAPTER 14

I consider telling my mother about Levi.

Maybe even Evaline. I know she still remembers Nicholas's exact combination of pills before he died. She was on the list of emergency contacts with all his doctors and the hospital staff. Evaline wouldn't need much to recognize the signs in Levi.

What would they say if they learned that I finally found someone I was willing to have a conversation with and that he was just like Nicholas? I can't decide if meeting Levi is some kind of cruel cosmic joke or a second chance no one could have predicted.

Very few people knew about Nicholas's mental health issues. Fewer people knew the extent of it. Only I know the guilt of not being there when he needed me the most.

It's been a week since I commissioned Levi Anderson to paint me the first thing I could not have. Him. His face, when it hangs on my wall, will not be the face of Levi, Gallery Assistant, or Levi, Bipolar Disorder Sufferer. He won't even be Levi, The Painter. He'll be Levi, A Place Not Found.

Had it not been for Nicholas, I might've allowed my ego to get a little bruised over Levi thinking he was something I couldn't have in this world. But Nicholas taught me that nothing is ever as it seems. Levi was telling me that he, himself, can't have himself. He doesn't know where to look. And if he can't have himself, how can I?

I decide I won't tell my mother anything yet. Or Evaline. Besides, what is there to tell? Despite my instant and involuntary attraction to Levi, I've only known him a few weeks.

It isn't good manners to go around telling people about someone else's mental disorders. And my arrangement with Levi is . . . professional. I don't go around talking about my professional engagements. Why start now?

I open my drawer and retrieve Nicholas's phone. My hands shake with the effort it takes to power it on. The phone sits in the center of my palm, heavy with memories and heartbreak. When did we break? How did I miss the signs? My throat shuts off. I'm unable to swallow past the lump there. How did I not know that he wasn't stable anymore? He hid them well, is what I say when I stand before myself, accused of his death. He didn't tell me.

A tormented sigh escapes my lips. I shouldn't torture myself like this, but what is there left, if not this? This torture is the most comforting part of my existence. The pain tells me I'm still alive.

I bring up Nicholas's last text messages.

Nicholas - 09h29: Hayden?

Hayden - 09h29: Honey, presenting my report in two secs – the big one for the amalgamated banks, remember? Call you back in 30.

And then began the nightmare that I would never be able to wake up from. Not then, and not now.

Nicholas - 09h32: Honey, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. Can you ask for a two minute break? I don't feel good. I love you.

Nicholas - 09h43: I know you're busy. Please call me back as soon as you can. I love you.

Nicholas - 09h46: I love you, Hayden

Nicholas - 09h46: I love you so much. I'm sorry.

Nicholas - 09h46: I love you so much

Nicholas - 09h48: Hayden, my skin won't stop moving. Red ants underneath. Millions of them. I can see them.

Nicholas - 09h50: I dug through it. The skin. I'm so sorry. I took some meds to make it stop. I just want to sleep, Hayden. I'm manic. It's so bad.

Nicholas - 09h55: I love you, Hayden. I love you so much.

Nicholas - 09h55: I love you so much. Went through the emergency contact list. I told Dr Stuart I haven't been taking my meds. He said we'll evaluate immediately. Called Mom and Dad. And Evaline too. She's called emergency services and she's on her way too.

Nicholas - 09h59: Don't forget to water the plant. I'll be so mad if you let it die.

Nicholas - 09h59: I love you, Hayden

I can't breathe. Pain moves from my clogged throat to my temples. Short bursts of air entering and exiting my nostrils while my jaw locks, trying to keep the choking sobs away.

Nicholas slit his wrists somewhere between 09h29 and 09h50. He ingested the pills somewhere between 09h29 and 09h59. All of them. A month's supply of pills just to get rid of the millions of red ants underneath his skin and to quiet the demons inside his head. He got into his car and crashed between 10h15 and 10h25. Evaline arrived at the accident scene at 10h27. Nicholas had shared his location with her before leaving the house.

My return call to Nicholas was at 10h34, my stomach churning as I bolted out of the boardroom, my father racing with me as he tried to get through to emergency services, and then our families.

I was already at the intersection near our home, breaking every speed limit when Evaline answered the call I'd placed to her, after not getting through to Nicholas.

"There's been an accident, Hayden. I'm with him in the ambulance," she said, her voice a broken whisper. Spinning the car around and onto the oncoming lane, I turned left in the direction of the hospital, barely registering the drive.

"Is he okay?" I screamed into the phone. My father's comforting hand on my arm did nothing to soothe my greatest fear. His murmured prayers as we flew through the traffic did nothing to stop the unthinkable thoughts drilling their way through my head.

"Get to the hospital, Hayden," Evaline said.

He was already gone when I got there. He was already gone when I'd spoken to Evaline on the phone. She just couldn't tell me. If his slit veins hadn't killed him, the overdose would have. And if the overdose hadn't killed him then the injuries he'd sustained in the crash would have. Either way, the doctors said later, he wouldn't have made it to the hospital alive. The injuries had been too great.

Nicholas died at 10h34 on a crisp Monday morning while I raced through the city trying to get to him. He died because I didn't call him back. Because I was giving a fucking presentation to the board of fucking directors on the impending world-wide financial crisis. He died with his bloodied hands clutched around Evaline's wrists. He fought so hard, Evaline told me later. The last thing he said was Hayden, she said.

The last thing Nicholas ever uttered in this world, while he fought so hard to undo what he'd done, the last word on his last breath was Hayden. Me. His person. I had trained for that moment for seven years, knowing I would one day be called upon to act when Nicholas couldn't. To bring him back from that place where all his demons lay in wait for him, salivating with victory that they would finally be able to devour him whole. I was Plan A. I was Step One. In any and all situations, call Hayden first. That had always been the plan.

I failed him. I failed the greatest test of our lives. The only test that had ever mattered. All because of a fucking financial presentation. All I'd needed to have done was pause the meeting for two fucking minutes and call him back.

My tears flow now. He made a mistake. He didn't want to die. He just wanted the noise inside his head to stop. For his skin to stop moving. He tried to fix everything, but he broke everything instead. After the funeral, we managed to piece everything together. Nicholas had a fatal psychotic episode. For a time – the time just before he texted me – he recognized the signs and tried to fix it. He followed our pre-agreed protocols to the letter. Our crisis plan. He called and texted me. Then, he called Evaline, his parents, and his doctor. Evaline called medical services.

Wiping away my tears, I slide my thumb across the screen and tap on the camera roll. Then, carefully avoiding our private folder of manic sex videos, I search for the last picture we took together. It'd been taken in the early hours of that morning.

I trace his face with my thumb. You can see only half my face. I told him not to hog the camera while he took the picture.

"I'm focusing on these marks on your neck. My gosh, Hayden. What happened to you?" So innocent. Like he hadn't spent all night trying to suck the blood right out of my neck.

"I'm marrying a vampire."

The bruises on my neck should've been another sign. But he'd been playful. Not manic playful. We were the kind of happy we'd been for a long time. Nicholas's meds had worked like magic for three years by then. We finally got the magic formula, and we'd forgotten how devastating Nicholas's psychosis could get. How could I have forgotten?

In the picture, Nicholas is smiling for the camera, but only retrospect could have provided me with the evidence that he was not okay. I was in a hurry that morning. The financial report I was delivering had dire international implications. I'd been consumed by it for weeks. Nicholas had been traveling, first to France and then South Africa for work, returning home three times in two months. We barely saw each other those six weeks before his death, but it hadn't seemed like we were missing each other. We talked for hours at night, or when our time zones matched. Yet, through it all, I had missed some of the most obvious signs.

Now, I stare into his enlarged pupils on the screen. Now, I can see so clearly that his mania had already breached the surface. He was already drowning. His eyes, already screaming for help. I swipe up to check the time the photo was taken: 06h20.

He would live another four hours and fourteen minutes.

I should've never allowed us to let our guard down. Should've never had such blind faith in his meds. Should've watched more closely for the cracks in our happiness. Should have. Should have. Should have. So many fucking should- haves.

I switch the phone off. Watch the screen go black, holding it in my hand for several minutes before setting it back in its place at the back of the drawer. If it were possible, I would've traded places with him. He deserved to live. He'd fought so hard to just live and he deserved a longer life than the one he had.

Nicky, my love.

I have everything. But not you. I don't have you anymore. You left me. But you tried so hard, my love. The noise was too much. The knives only you could see and feel pierced through your skin too harshly that day. You thought the meds would quiet the noise and stop the pain. You fought until there was nothing left in you.

It's okay, my love. What we have – had – have – is eternal.

Like a pull toward an unknown place, my eyes are drawn to the painting on the wall. Nicky is there, somewhere in those stars. I'll never reach him, but he's there somewhere.

Running my hand over my face, I sink deeper into my chair. I should go to bed. I've been holed up in this office for exactly thirteen hours.

Without my permission, my eyes shift to the piece of paper on my desk. Levi's sketched face gazes up at me. I've been carrying it around with me.

I don't know what I'll do with the painting of Levi's face when – if – it arrives. After thinking about it, it doesn't seem appropriate to have his face hanging on my wall, even if it's true that he is something I can't have. And especially because it's also true that he is something I don't want to have. I have no real interest in Levi Anderson, as I have not had any real interest in anyone and anything since Nicholas died.

Yet . . .

I pick up the piece of paper. My need to see Levi's face hanging on my wall feels as comforting as when I'd kissed Nicholas goodbye that morning, promising to get home early for dinner. I didn't know then that I would never eat dinner with Nicholas again in this lifetime. All I knew then was that I was happy. And all I know now is that Levi's face hanging on my wall would make me happy, even if it would be a reminder that he is something I can't have.

My phone lights up with a text.

Evaline: Please, Hayden. I beg you. Go to bed.

I switch off the desk light, pick up the sketch and take it with me to bed.