Page 78 of Fractured

Looking down, I inspect the little brown bottle. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I honestly don’t care anymore what could happen. How could things possibly get any worse?

Chapter Twenty-Five

Kat

Popping the top off of the bottle, I pour the white pill into my hand and examine it momentarily. How could this little thing have caused so much damage? So desperate for relief, my past indiscretions under the influence of this chemical are not stopping me. I think to myself,I have to do this. I need to sleep. Swallowing the pill with my wine, I close my eyes in prayer.Lord, I need something to change. I need help. I can’t do this alone anymore. Crying again, I beg, “Please, help me.”

Pushing myself up off of the floor, I head back to the bed. I grab my phone and select a random song, putting on my headphones. The beginning chords of a Staind song begins, and I see a text has just popped onto my phone.

9:42 p.m.

Nick Barnes

Nick: Please talk to me

9:45 p.m.

Nick Barnes

Nick: Let me help, please.

Clutching the phone to my chest, I lie back onto the sheets. As Aaron Lewis belts out “Something to Remind You”, I try to hold onto the phone like it’s my lifeline. This song is tough to listen to on an average day, but today, even more so. Yet, I don’t have the strength to choose a new tune. Praying it’s the zolpidem kicking in, I relax into the song and hold onto the only connection with Nick I can handle right now.

Nick

10:20 p.m.

Kat Kelly

Kat: I’m done

What the hell does that mean? ‘I’m done.’ I pace around my kitchen, feeling unglued.

The last few days have been torture. I decided this morning I couldn’t take it any longer and called Ava, asking if she could see any of the patients scheduled that didn’t need me specifically. As always, she came to my rescue, and I drove the distance to the flower shop my dad and I always get Mom’s flowers. I needed them to reflect how special Kat is to me. But I sat there like a chump on her front porch, turned away again. Yet, I can’t blame her. Obviously, she’s going through something monumental. I’m not walking away until the exit sign is flashing in my face.

Abruptly, I stop my pacing as a thought comes to me. Does she mean she’s done with me? It didn’t say we’re done. It said I’m done.

I know I’m being melodramatic. I’m stewing in my own misery. Yet, I can’t shake this feeling something is terribly wrong. Not just with her hospitalization and disappearing act, but the feeling is more ominous. What could be so bad she can’t tell me?Did she try to hurt herself?

My stomach lurches at the thought. I refuse to believe she could’ve done anything of the sort. She’s been through a lot. But I’ve never gotten the impression she’s a quitter. And as caring as she is with her patients, I cannot fathom her doing anything like that. But then again, everyone has their limits.

I sit staring at my food. I ordered Thai as that usually helps when I’m down. Yet as I pick at the pad Thai, I finally push the plate away, knowing I just don’t have any appetite. Dropping my head to my hands, I try to calm my nerves. I shouldn’t continue to interfere. Her car was there this morning. I know she was home. She simply didn’t want to see me.

Standing from the kitchen island, I walk to the couch where the realtor’s listings beckon from the laptop. I try to flip through the images, but I can’t concentrate. Returning to the phone, I reread her text as if the two little words on the screen aren’t printed in English.What the hell does this mean?

I’m starting to lose it. This is crazy. I’m on-call tomorrow, but I can’t sit idly by while she suffers. She’s going to let me in this time. The neighbors can call the damn police for all I care. I’m banging that fucking door down if I have to.

Grabbing my keys, I head for the car. As the garage door opens, and I look out the rearview mirror, I notice it’s raining. “Fitting,” I mutter. Backing out, I try to focus. I’m rattled. It’s beyond feeling like I’ve been shut out. I just can’t figure out why this anxiety is suddenly hugging me like a glove. Am I starting to have another panic attack?

Focus on the road, Nick.The drive to Kat’s house is only about twenty minutes from mine. Honestly, I’ve been spending a great deal of time looking for new homes in her area. She may not know it yet, but she will. She’s going to be mine. I don’t care what’s happened. I need to make her understand.

As I drive the distance to her home, the rain pelts into the windshield. It’s almost raining perpendicular to the ground due to the whipping wind. My Audi has always handled the elements well, but I have to be cautious of other drivers. As I pull into her neighborhood, my heart rate begins to hasten. I’m bracing for a storm, and I don’t mean the one outside. As I pull into her drive, I realize her car isn’t here. “Fuck.” She doesn’t usually park in her garage, and I can’t imagine that’s changed as she has things stored there, which wouldn’t allow room for her SUV.

Hitting my steering wheel in frustration, I turn back toward my home. Maybe she’s with Mel and Jake. Then why do I still have this portentous feeling? Perhaps thisisthe beginning of an anxiety attack.

Approximately ten minutes later, I approach a light. I can see a police officer down a side road with his blue lights flashing behind a car. Looking closer, I determine it isn’t Kat’s vehicle. The light turns green, and I carefully pull forward. The rain is really coming down now. I make it a few more blocks when I see something peculiar in the tree-lined street to my right. It’s just behind a gas station, but the car appears to be off of the road with the headlights pointed in my direction.That’s odd.I follow my ridiculous instinct that has so far led me on a wild goose chase and turn onto the side street connecting with the back of the gas station.Fuck!

I abruptly turn my car around and park in a space at the rear of the convenience store attached to the gas station. Running back to the car, I look into the driver’s side window and see Katarina slumped over the steering wheel. Bang! Bang! Bang! I practically break the glass of the window, trying to get her attention. On a whim, I grab for her door and find it’s unlocked. Shaking my swollen hand, I think,should’ve started with that, you dumb ass.I need to get a handle on myself. Lifting her chin, she appears to be unconscious. Is she hurt? Leaning in to check a pulse, I smell alcohol on her breath.What? Kat doesn’t drink like that.Realizing that is a conversation for another day, I focus on the priorities.

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