40. Johnny

As soon as the video ends, I bolt from the court and throw up in the nearest bathroom.

Kurt follows behind me and pats my back as I retch. He brings me wet paper towels to wipe my face. He finds a bottle of water to rinse my mouth and holds me as I shake, not letting me go.

But my brain is going haywire.

I'm no good for him. I've gotta save him from me. He shouldn't be stuck with some worthless piece of meat—someone who couldn't defend himself. Someone weak. Someone who could be violated like that. Someone so fucking stupid.

Distantly, something tells me I'm thinking shit I shouldn't, but I can't stop myself. My thoughts are spiraling down the drain, and they just keep coming and coming, and I want to hit my head against the wall to get them to stop.

Loser.

Victim.

Weak.

Couldn't save my mama. Had to have other people do it for me.

The violins have been quieter for months, but they're screeching now.

He lost the election because of you.

You have no money.

You owe him everything.

And it's only going to get worse. Gary Pinkerton is testifying on Tuesday, when the trial starts up again. I don't know that I'm going to be able to handle that lowlife spewing his lies about me.

Though maybe they're not lies. Maybe I deserved all of it. Maybe I asked for it when I said yes to that first producer back when I was eighteen.

Kurt murmurs quiet words, but I barely hear him.

He drives us home. I don't remember the ride.

He makes dinner, but I don't eat. He doesn't even let me go to the bathroom alone.

He holds me all Friday night. We don't talk much. There's nothing to say.

On Saturday, we stay in bed most of the morning, only going outside in sweats to walk Lady around the neighborhood.

"Are you still spiraling?" Kurt asks.

I don't say anything. Eventually, I nod.

"Do you want to go to the hospital?"

I shake my head. Because what are they gonna do? They can't fix this. "Just stay with me," I whisper.

"I'm not letting you out of my sight," he says fervently.

I wish I could feel the squeeze in my heart his words usually give me.

Right now, though, I'm worse than numb.

I'm negative. I'm nothing. I'm radio static. I don't exist.

On Sunday, we lounge around watching television. I'm not even sure what show Kurt put on. We take Lady for a walk, and her velvet ears do get to me a little. As does her sweet puppy scent. When we get back, Kurt says, "Are you gonna be okay if I take a shower? Or do you want to come in with me?"

While I wanna tell him I'll be okay, I know that's not true, so I get in the shower with him. He washes me carefully, his hands caressing me everywhere. And while it feels good, it doesn't stop the intrusive thoughts running around my head.

I can't stand this.

I don't want to be here anymore. I can't do this.

I want to rip out my hair.

I want to be gone.

I take a deep breath.

"It's fucking hard, Kurt. Things had been getting better, the thoughts were quieter, but now they're shouting."

He nods, his eyes soft and sad. He kisses me, and I kind of kiss him back. His presence is keeping me from fully drowning.

We get out of the shower, dry off, and get dressed and return to the couch. Kurt's mom calls, and he answers, checking in with how she's feeling post-surgery.

While he talks with her, I go into the kitchen.

The keys have to be around here somewhere. Kurt said not to go looking for them, but he didn't say that they'd be particularly hard to find.

I start opening drawers like I'm looking for a spatula or something, but I don't find any keys.

Then I remember the day we first got here. When he came back from hiding my gun, he'd been going up and down the stairs.

I grab the BMW key and go out to the garage while Kurt's got his back to me, listening to his mom. I beep the locks open and open up the console in the middle, but there's nothing in there except a few quarters and some lip balm. I look in the glove compartment and take out the manual and Kurt's sunglasses. Nothing. Then I check the pockets behind the seats. And there I find a set of small keys.

My heart is pounding. Hands shaking, I hastily put everything back to rights.

Kurt has a few locking cabinets—all shiny gray lacquer—but it only takes two attempts before I get a key to work in one. I open it, but it's full of paperwork. I lock it back up and try the next.

Pay dirt. Inside is not only my derringer, but everything else Kurt has deemed dangerous: razors, a Swiss Army knife, medications. My note to Mama.

Still trembling, I pull the gun from its holster and check the ammunition. It's loaded.

Kurt didn't take out the bullets. Maybe he didn't know how.

Then I slide my ass down to the floor, staring at the gun, feeling its weight in my hands.

I hold it to my temple. The metal is cool against my skin.

They say your life flashes in front of your eyes when you're about to die, but all I see is Kurt's face.

He cares about me enough to lock up all this shit that I could use to hurt myself.

He took me to see my mama and May Ella. He got my mama the surgery she needed and May Ella a chance at a job doing the thing she was born to do.

He got me a job working with horses. He got me the sweetest dog in the world.

He's paid for all my care.

He stood by me through losing the election and never blamed me.

He claimed me, sounding proud and happy.

He watches me without complaint when I'm sad, when I can't give him back anything at all.

He's let me be myself—all the parts of me, even the ugly ones that I don't want to show anyone else.

I gently place the gun down by my hip. Then I put my face in my hands and start sobbing. Ugly sobbing. Chest heaving, inhuman noises coming out of my mouth.

I'd thought I'd been low before, but this is it. A time when even though I have everything—love, because yes, I damn well love Kurt, and despite all the reasons he shouldn't, he seems to love me; a mother on the way to good health; a safe place to live; a good job—I still can't function.

"Fuck, damn," I hiss. I try to wipe away the tears, but they just keep coming, and I curl up next to the wall. I manage to pull out my phone, because I promised Kurt I'd call him if I was like this. Before I can place a call, though, the door from the house opens, and Kurt races in.

I go stock-still, like he's ensnared me in the net of his panicked gaze. I'm caught and unable to move.

He flies over to me. "Johnny! What's wrong? What are you doing? Are you hurt?" He shoves the gun away with his foot, metal scraping along the floor, and pulls me to him.

I put my head on his shoulder and sob.

"Hey," he says huskily. "Hey, it's okay. I'm here with you. We'll fix it. You can make it through. I'll do whatever you need. We can solve it together."

"I'm in love with you," I blurt. "I goddamn love you."

Kurt stills, his arms around me. Then he squeezes me tighter. "I'm in love with you, too. I love you so much."

"I'm sorry I'm such a damn mess."

"You can be a mess with me," he whispers. "I can take it. The only thing I couldn't take is you not being here."

He leans back, and I kiss him. It's a messy kiss—snotty, full of tears, with zero finesse. But it's the best kiss of my life.

I love him.

And I know I'm strong.

I've faced my demons, and they keep coming back. But I can fight this fight.

Kurt has tears in his eyes, too. "Were you sitting here with the gun, thinking about aiming it at yourself?"

"I did," I whisper.

His face falls. "Oh, babe. No. No, then … we need to get you some more help."

I sniffle. "Sure, yeah. Okay. But I realized something."

"What's that?" He looks so stricken I wanna kick my own ass.

"I don't actually want to kill myself. I'm in so much pain, and I'm desperate for help—but you help me. And I fucking wanna—I wanna be with you. I don't want to leave you."

"I want to be with you, too. No matter what." He huffs a laugh. "We got married, and I have no idea what our vows were. But aren't wedding vows usually like, ‘I will be with you in sickness and in health, for richer and poorer,' all that?"

"Yeah."

"Well, call this the sickness part. Or maybe the worse part of ‘for better and for worse.' But no matter what, I'm staying with you. For as long as you'll have me, I'm yours. I'm so in love with you, Johnny, you have no idea. I couldn't fall in love with the man I saw on my screen—he wasn't real—but I have fallen in love with you. Messy you, who calls me precious and who treats me like I'm exactly that. Who enforces honesty even when you don't want to. Even when it's so painful to do."

I blink at him. "I dunno what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. I think this is the pressures of the trial and the election and all kinds of shit piling on top of each other. It's not surprising that you're feeling really bad right now. But, babe, you know that mental health isn't just magically fixed. You're going to have days like this."

Looking over at the gun, I mutter, "I hope not. This hurts too much."

"If we need to check you back into the hospital, then that's what we do. It's okay. You're going to be okay, and all you have to do right now is decide to stay alive for the rest of today. Can you do that?"

"I can," I say.

"Fuck, you scared me," Kurt says. "I thought this was going to be Andrei again. Except worse, because I love you so much more."

My stomach clenches. There's no way on the green earth of the Lord that I wanted to make Kurt feel bad. I was only thinking about myself. "I'm so sorry."

He lifts up my chin. "Do not feel guilty."

"Of course I feel guilty. I never want to hurt you."

"Then … let's go talk to Christian again."

I smile at him. A creaky smile, but a smile nonetheless. "I think that's a wise idea."

"Do you think you're ready to get out of the garage? The floor is cold, and Lady's probably worried about us."

"Yeah." I stare at the gun. "Can you put that away somewhere?"

"Of course." He sighs. "I don't know where to hide the keys, though. That was my best hiding spot."

"It wasn't very good. It didn't take me long to find it. I guess ‘out of sight, out of mind' is what we'll have to do for now."

"Okay. Wait for me just outside the door," he orders.

I raise an eyebrow. "You the dom now, darlin'?"

"Never."

I kiss him. "I'll wait."

He meets me in the hallway after a minute, and we go up the stairs to the living room. "This is the scariest fucking day of my life," he says. "I'm making an appointment with Christian for first thing tomorrow morning."

"I'm sorry," I say again.

"It's your mental illness. People don't understand how much that can take over. But I do. I have infinite patience for you, okay, babe? We can get through this. Would it help to tell me what was going through your brain? Or would you rather be distracted?"

"Both, I think," I say.

"Then tell me, and after that you can have your pick of distractions. Your choices are a mindless movie, playing with your puppy, or fucking me into the mattress."

"I'll take D, all of the above," I say.

And, while I'm still feeling raw and out of sorts, I slowly start to unclench. I tell him what went wrong in my head. We walk Lady. We watch Must Love Dogs.

By the time Kurt's naked and writhing under me, I feel … not normal. But like I can live for another day.

And that's all I have to do.