Page 21 of Notorious

Does it matter, though? Because even if he doesn’t want anything to do with me, I don’t care.

Johnny Haskell’s not killing himself on my watch. Not now. Not ever.

And, if I’m being honest, this isn’t only for his sake.

I can’t go through another suicide.

I’m sweating, and I squeeze my eyes shut, seeing black spots. “Why?” I whisper, opening my eyes to study him.

He sits staring at his hands for a long time. Then he looks up at me. “My mama’s on dialysis. She needs new kidneys. But her insurance company denied coverage, even though she was on the transplant list. So I found someone … I found a supplier, so she won’t have to wait on the list again. And my life insurance is enough to pay for it all.”

“You were going to kill yourself so your mom could live,” I say flatly, not entirely believing him. But everything about him exudes sincerity. “On the night you got a lifetime achievement award,” I add, one more fragment of memory coming clear.

He nods, his eyes empty and sad.

This changes everything.

CHAPTER 8

Kurt

Ireach out and take one of Johnny’s hands. Fuck, what do I do? Is this all stemming from desperation over his mother, or is there something else wrong? I have no idea.

One thing’s for sure: He’s going to need help beyond what I can offer, professional help. But I can stay with him until he gets it.

We sit, silent, for long moments, because what the hell do you say to someone with the means and the intent to kill himself, who thinks the world will be better off if he’s not here? He’s wrong, of course, but I don’t know how to convince him of that. I’m a graphic designer and a senatorial candidate, not a therapist.

But. I can’t mess this up.

I’m not missing anything this time. I thought I was doing the right thing with Andrei—I thought I cared, thought I was helping. I never believed he’d go through with it.

I learned I can never know what’s going on inside someone else’s head. They may seem like everything is okay, and it could be the furthest thing from the truth.

Johnny’s my responsibility now.

Nausea threatens to swamp me, but I have to get control of the situation and make good decisions.

“Do you think that your mom would want you to stay alive?” I ask.

“I’m worth more dead than alive,” he mutters.

If I’m hurting at hearing him say that—and more importantly, believe it about himself—I wonder how much pain he’s in?

“Did you see if you could be a donor?” I ask, thinking he could get over the list issue while we deal with insurance.

“Not a match.” His voice sounds hollow.

“How far?” I swallow hard. “How far along on this plan were you? Besides getting the pills. Did you do anything else?”

Again, Johnny looks at me for a long time before answering. “I moved out of my apartment. Got rid of my truck, sold all my shit, and put almost all the money in an account for my mama. She’ll be set for a long time. I spent most of the last of my own money last night on booze. I recorded a message for my fans and had it ready to go live on Ad/VICE after things were done.” He coughs. “Mind, I just deleted it, so at least there won’t be a big fuss over me faking my death. I had it all arranged so she’d know what to do. All the information she’d need to collect on my life insurance. So she could finally be healthy. It’s all in an email I was going to send after I took the pills. I wrote her a note. And the obituary: ‘John H. Haskell was born in Odessa, Texas. Attended high school in Fresno, California. Became a porn star in the San Fernando Valley. And died in Las Vegas, Nevada, saving his mama.’”

His words make my eyes burn and my insides clench. Johnny has some serious mental health issues that I don’t know how to fix.

But I can keep him in my sight at all times until I can get him help.

“I’m so damn sorry you feel that bad,” I reply unsteadily, knowing that my words are utter crap but not knowing what else to say. “Have you talked with anyone about it?”

Johnny shakes his head. “Ain’t nobody’s business.”

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