This Is Me and You Until We've Got Nothing Left

The puppy sat in my lap, sleeping, napping while Pete went and showered. I pet the puppy's rough fur back, and my fingers massaging the top of his head. He was such a loving little dog that needed to be loved and I was willing to do so, even if it was a hassle.

Pete had come back into the living room, freshly dressed and holding his sidekick phone; "Will got me a new ticket for 5." Pete announced.

"It's 3 now." I replied quietly, still massaging the pup's head, "We've got to leave soon."

"Yeah, I'm sorry." He murmured.

"It's okay, Peter. So, what do we name this little guy?"

Pete sat beside me, his hand running through the tough fur on the puppy's back, "I dunno."

"Caulfield?" I murmured as my eyes scanned the coffee table, looking for some hint.

"Nah...something different."

I thought deeply; the 2 of us were silent for a moment; "This is hard," I exasperated, "We haven't even picked names for our baby."

Pete shrugged, "I'm stumped."

I giggled, "What about Patrick?"

"No way, he'd kill me."

I hummed, "I dunno...I can't think of a good name for him."

Pete stood and went over to his carry on and shuffled through it; "What's the soldier's name in Farewell to Arms?"

"Tenente...that's what the Italian soldiers called him."

Pete grumbled, "No."

He picked up the book and looked at the cover, "Hemingway?"

I smiled, "Yeah, that sounds pretty cool."

Pete smiled and set his carry on and book down, "Hemingway Wentz it is."

I pet the puppy; Hemingway, "Your name is Hemingway, buddy. If you weren't asleep, I'd lift you up like that scene in the Lion King."

Pete chuckled, "He's a cute little dog. I love him."

I smiled, "I love him too. I'm glad you rescued him."

Pete nodded, "Me too."


With Pete gone, I took good care of Hemingway as if he was my baby. I fed him, I walked him, let him hop around the yard and let him sleep on the bed with me. I was falling in love with a dog; he's very affectionate and so tiny. But, he began to get bigger as the weeks passed. Amy had taken care of him while I went to school; Abbey loves Hemingway; he was gentle and loving in her presence.

All was completely amazing until the 3rd week of March...

I was in lecture when I got a call from Mrs. Wentz. I felt bad for ignoring her call, but I had to; I didn't think any thing of it. I sat through the lecture, gathered my things and then began to check my messages; I had 2 from Pete, 1 from Mrs. Wentz and 1 from my dad.

I listened to Pete's first: "Navy..." His voice was slurred, "Guess where I am! Where I've been!" There was a few seconds of silence before he spoke again, "I called to say I'll miss you."

I felt my stomach fall and my hands grow clammy. I called his phone, getting nothing but his voicemail. I then called Mrs. Wentz, not bothering to listen to her message, because I knew that it was about Pete.

The phone rang 2 times before she picked up, "Oh, thank God, Naomi, I need you to come to St. John's Hospital."

"What happened?" I asked frantically, "What did he do now?"

She sighed and her tone cracked, "He did it again. He was in a parking lot, he took some pills. He called me to come get him because he said he made a mistake..." Her voice broke now, she began to sob, "He said he didn't want to die."

I felt my own emotion building and beginning to pour out of me, "Is he okay?"

"He's in a room by himself, they won't let me see him."

"Is he wake?"

"He's alive, he's asleep."

I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel, "I'll--I'll be down there in a few minutes."

"Thank you, honey."

I hung up and started my car, driving like a bat out of hell. I tried to drive as safely as I could, but all my mind was focused on was getting to the hospital and checking for Pete. Mrs. Wentz had said he was alive, but that didn't suit me; I had to see for myself.

I parked crookedly, jumping out my car, frantically running into the hospital entrance. I slid on the floor, causing people to look at me; I saw Mrs. Wentz at the far end, near the Urgent Care entrance; I ran over and stood in front of her, panting from adrenaline and my running.

"I came as fast I could." I said in a sputter.

Mrs. Wentz stood and pulled me into a hug; my breathing calmed as I hugged her back. The tears built and began to rush down my face; I felt like I was going to ball my eyes out. Shit, I did; I sobbed like a little baby, my bump pressed against Mrs. Wentz's stomach; I was pulling her closer to me.

"He's alright, honey." She told me, cooing me to calm down.

"He's such an idiot." I sobbed.

She chuckled softly, "I know."

We sat after a few moments; I noticed Mr. Wentz sitting beside her, and I hurried over and hugged him, kneeling. He embraced me, "Are you alright, Mr. Wentz?"

He replied in a soft hum, "Yes, just fine. How are you? You shouldn't stress, don't wanna harm my grandchild now, do ya?"

I laughed quietly, "No way. I'm sorry, I just..." I trailed.

He gave a nod; we parted and he kissed my cheek, "He's fine, we just need to wait out his recovery to see him."

I sat between them, "What did he do?"

"He took a bunch of Ativan," Mr. Wentz began, "He sat in the Best Buy parking lot on Lincoln and then he got scared. He called you," he showed me his sidekick, giving it to me, "Then he called Dale."

I swallowed as I looked over the recent contacts; Pete had called me at 1:36. I had just entered my lecture, that very minute, I remember looking at my watch. I felt sick, internally beating myself up for not answering.

"He called me," Mrs. Wentz added, "He said he didn't want to die, he made a big mistake."

I wiped my face and then shut my eyes, "Jesus Christ. When did he get into town? He didn't tell me anything about coming to Wilmette."

"He didn't tell us either," she explained while wiping her own eyes, "He just called me and told me to come get him."

I coursed my hair and sat back in the hard, cushioned seat. This was all to familiar, the déjà vu of life. What was Pete's deal with suicide? What caused it this time; was it me? Was he trying to hurt me or get rid of his own hurt?


I was falling asleep on Mr. Wentz arm, having stayed up the night previous studying and then walking Hemy before I went back to studying again. I was a wreck, the tears and the sobbing had made me tired as well, adding to it. But, I was jolted up when a doctor had come in with a white clipboard, asking for the Wentz Family.

The 3 of us went over to him, me staying a ways off, not to ambush them. The doctor spoke quick, saying Pete was alert, but had to be sedated after he had tried to attack a nurse. I bit down hard on my lip, feeling more tears rush. I sucked in a breath, rubbing my bottom lip, soothing the rough pain from the bite. The doctor said that one person at a time could see him, and Mrs. Wentz went first, leaving Mr. Wentz and I to wait.

We didn't speak, he was busy in his own head, I could see. I licked my lips and decided to call my dad and Amy and tell them everything. I was really late on picking up Hemingway, so I knew that they'd wonder where I was.

I then noticed that I had left my phone in my car. I stood, "Mr. Wentz, I'm gonna go get my phone from the car."

He looked up, his eyes glossy, "Okay."

I leaned over and hugged him. He patted my back and let me go. I slowly started off, leaving the waiting room and heading outside.

The air was cool, the wind blew at my moistened cheeks; I exhaled and made it to my car. I got in and found my phone on the floor; dialing my dad's number, I tried to think of a way to speak without my voice cracking. My throat was thick, coated with emotion; I wasn't sure if I could talk without letting out at least one sob.

"Naomi, what's going on? We heard Pete was in the hospital. I called you and you didn't answer and you're not at home." My dad spoke fast. "I don't know-- are you alright?"

"I'm fine." I managed to say. "Pete tried to--he was...he took some pills again; he's at St. John's. I'm here with the Wentzs."

He sighed, "Shit, Naomi..."

"I..." My throat tightened, "I don't know what to do."

I had sobbed this, I wasn't sure if he understood my words.

"Do you want me to come get you?"

I swallowed, "I have to see him first. I'll get Hemingway after, I'm sorry--"

"Don't apologize, kiddo. Just...I don't know--you're strong, hang in there. Do you want me to come?"

"No, no...I'll be fine. I'll be okay."

I wasn't going to be fine or okay.

"Naomi, come home when you want to. I don't want you to be alone."

"I will."

He let out another sigh, "I love you."

"I love you, too, dad."

We hung up after saying a short goodbye. I had sat in my car for a few minutes before returning inside; Mrs. Wentz was already there, looking distraught. When I had approached, she cleared her throat and said, "Pete wants to see you."

I looked at Mr. Wentz, "But, Mr. Wentz should go."

"It's alright," he said, "Just go, I still need a minute."

I swallowed, "Alright."

They both forced smiles and then I was off; my heart was racing as I went down the hall, seeing his doctor towards the authorized doors. "Naomi?"

"Yeah." I affirmed.

"Follow me."

The doors opened and the doctor led me in; it was so bright and white; I think of imagined that this is what heaven would look like. It was kind of scary, I mean, I felt dead, I was walking through heaven.

But the brightness faded as I was escorted to a door, this one had a small window on the door as well. I went in, waving shortly to the doctor and immediately looked at Pete lying there in the hospital bed. The room was dim, the only sound was the heart monitor and Pete breathing deeply. I went over to his side of the bed and stared at him; his eyes were half lidded and he repeatedly licked his lips.

"Why?" The words shot out of my mouth.

"There is no why." He said in a thick croak.

"There's always a why. Why did you do it?"

"Because I hate everything."

"How could you hate everything? You've got that Sugar song out, everyone can't wait for the album, everyone loves you, Patrick, Joe and Andy. What's so wrong? Is it because you're going to be a father?"

Pete nodded, "I can't do this." He replied.

I stepped back, "So, you don't want the baby anymore? After setting up a nursery and buying us a house--"

"I did that for you. I wanted to help."

"Fuck you and wanting to help," I spat angrily, "I don't need a house like that, I don't need you to do things for me. I need you and I need love and admiration. I need you to be a father."

He shook his head from side to side, "I don't think I can."

I shut my eyes, "I feel so stupid."

I did feel stupid; stupid for trusting him. After everything I've ever done and helped him with, all I get is him buying me a house because he thought it was what I needed. He doesn't want our child, but he gives me a house to take care of them.

"The house is for what?" I asked sharply, "To help me out while I take care of your son or daughter? So I can take care of Hemingway? Was it your way of telling me you're dumping me?"

Pete was silent.

Then I just let my mouth take over, "God, I hate you. I wish you would've died. I could've told our kid that you died because you were sick in the head, not because you were a coward." I swallowed, "If that's how you feel about our baby, don't even bother, I'll do this by myself, I don't need you."

I began to leave, when I paused, and turned to face him, "I don't need you," I said again, "I never have and I never, ever will. You'll need me before I will ever need you."

I ripped off my necklace and threw it at him; I don't know of it hit him at all. His expression hadn't changed; it was just a blank stare. I can't even remember how he looked.

I left the room, leaving the hospital without making any acknowledgment towards the Wentzs. I got into my car and sat there for a moment; my baby had started to kick. I jumped slightly; even if the kicks hurt a bit, I loved to feel them; it was the best way to know that they were still alive.

I exhaled softly as the kicks grew, "I love you, bubba...whatever you are. I love you, please know that."

I rubbed my belly and then started my car. I cried the entire way to my parents house.