CHAPTER 45

Not even the crash of something breaking in the kitchen is enough to make me lift my head from the pillow.

Tears wet my cheek, falling silently, and for reasons I can't yet tell you.

All I know is that the world has lost its vibrance, and everything has shifted to morbid grays. My sadness is incalculable. I can't find a single shred of joy. Not even from the earth-shattering tenderness of moments earlier.

I dress lethargically. This is the worst crash I've ever had, and I know this is just the beginning. The last mixed episode I had, Daniel and Terri had to come and get me from some dump somewhere.

I make my way to the kitchen.

If my heart could've broken any more than it already was, I might've died of heartbreak. The canvas of Nicholas's smiling face lies discarded on the floor, the peace lily next to it, soil scattered everywhere.

Inexplicably, I'm not able to bear the sight of Nicholas and his plant lying on the floor, broken and unwanted.

Moving my uncooperative body, I pick up the canvas and try to cover it again with the ripped wrapping paper. I don't do a very good job, but maybe I do my best, I don't know.

Then, with tears falling down my face for the peace lily, I bend over to scoop up some of the soil. The pot is broken, so I gather the soil into a brown paper bag from the bottom sink drawer, trying to be careful with the plant when I lay it inside the bag.

I know Hayden is in his office. I don't know why he did this to the things that mean so much to him. I want nothing more than to go to him, but my mind and body won't cooperate. With tears still streaming down my face, I gather the paper bag and the canvas to my chest and slip out of the house quietly.

"Merry Christmas, Hayden," I whisper into the cold night.

When I arrive home, I set my phone to charge and then watch sixteen missed call notifications come through, along with a dozen text messages. None are from Hayden.

I return a few Merry Christmas messages from Daniel and Terri. I send Sasha a Christmas message, even though she won't get it.

Then, I let my parents and David know that I'm home and safe and how sorry I am for leaving the way I did. Several more apologies for ruining Christmas once again. And finally, a handful of sorries for waking the baby up.

David responds immediately: No need to apologize. As long as you're okay. We managed to get the baby down. Sorry for making a big deal about it. New dad here lol.

My Dad sends me a hug and heart emoji, and: Come by when you're feeling better. Plenty of food left.

My mother calls as soon as I send my text. I stare at her name for several minutes, watching three consecutive calls go to voicemail. And then, finally, a text from her too: That was very selfish of you. It was David and Mary's first Christmas with the baby, and we all ate dinner like someone died.

I leave the calls to Dr. Emily and Laura for tomorrow. Even if they have repeatedly told me (and I'm sure their other patients too) that they are available anytime, day and night, it feels awful calling them on Christmas night.

I search the kitchen for a pot and place the peace lily inside, dropping the soil around it. I make sure all the roots are covered, but it's still not enough. I'll need to get more soil. Tomorrow. I'll get more soil tomorrow.

Tomorrow, I'll save myself. I'll save Hayden's peace lily. I won't let either of us die. We'll live. We'll make it. The peace lily will make it. And Hayden will make it too. Whatever triggered him tonight was likely as cataclysmic as my crash was to me. I won't judge him. How can I? I'm surely one of the reasons he lost it.

Tomorrow I'll try and get stable, and I'll try and make things right with Hayden.

Sleep doesn't come, so I take a few sleeping pills, being careful to keep out the voices in my head telling me a few more would make it all go away.

In the bathroom, I place my hands on the sink, letting my head hang down and I talk myself through the thick, suffocating fog. I'm making it through. Say it, Levi.

Lifting my head to face the mirror, I lock my gaze with the one in my reflection. "I'm making it through," I croak. And then, less afraid, I strengthen my voice. "I'm making it through."

I set aside the remaining pills, repeating the mantra inside my head. I'm making it through. I'm making it through. I'm here, in the present moment. It's bad. This low is crushing me, but I'm making it through.

I wake up the next morning with my body in a chokehold, riddled with anxiety over the condition of the peace lily. The fog inside my brain is heavier. My arms and legs are too heavy. I can't move them. My muscles ache, and the buzz in my ear is now a dull hum, reminding me that nothing in this world is worth any effort. My sadness is overwhelming. It's hard to breathe.

But the peace lily . . .

I can't let it die.

I get up. Brush my teeth. It's the best I can do. A shower is too much. Then, after dragging my body into a change of clothes and not bothering with a hairbrush, I work through a piece of toast and a cup of Earl Gray tea. I gag twice, unable to eat more than two bites. But I know I'm at risk of starving myself if this low gets worse, so I force the food down. "I'm making it through," I tell the peace lily. "We're making it through. I'm not dying today, and neither are you."

Hayden's Christmas gift is still on the kitchen counter. I don't know what to do with it. He tried to destroy it. I can't stand the thought of him being so sad or angry or hurt. I'm not sure what he was feeling.

Carrying the painting to my bedroom, I prop it up carefully against the wall near my bed. I know it hurts to look at the things that we can't have, but maybe . . . maybe they deserve to be seen anyway. Nicholas deserves to be seen, even if he was broken on the inside. Like me. I'm not right in many ways, but maybe I, too, deserve to be seen. Hayden too.

I sit down to watch Gotham, season two, episode fifteen, hardly seeing anything. I switch to The Dark Knight Rises, finding comfort in the darkness of Batman's mind. Another cup of tea. Then, I try to read. I don't have the energy for a book, so I choose a poem suitable for the current situation: Do not go gentle into that good night. One of my Dylan Thomas favorites.

Like this, with your head filled with devils and sirens calling for you to try and stop them, it's, unfortunately, not easy to rage against death, as the poem says.

But I'll try. I have to try. I don't think I would ever have the privilege of living life to the fullest, to live this life I've been given with passion and spirit, but I have to try. I mustn"t surrender so easily or quietly. I must rage against the call of death, like the poem tells me to. I must. I'll fight through this.

For me and for Hayden. And for the peace lily. I'll do my best to find the good inside this dark place, and I'll find the light again.

I still have the gallery car, but I decide to walk to the market. It's not too far. The cold is pleasant on my face. Its sharp nip keeps me awake and halfway alert. I count my steps as I walk but I lose track after some time. I start again. One. Two. Three . . .

I send Hayden a text to tell him I'm low but I'm okay and that I'm sorry for how we left things. He responds immediately, telling me how sorry he is, and that he's there for me no matter what. I don't respond to him immediately because I don't know if I deserve that kind of devotion.

Via text, I confirm with Dr. Emily that I'll see her tomorrow. Laura, two days after that.

I'll get better. I'll try harder.

There's a faint drip, drip, drip beginning to echo inside my head. I do my best to ignore it.

I'll be okay.

The peace lily will be okay.

Hayden will be okay.

It'll be okay. Everything will be okay.