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

I returned home with groceries and found the apartment completely quiet. I hiked the bags in and called out for Pete, "Babe?"

It was eerily quiet and my stomach suddenly had this sick feeling. I went in and put the groceries on the counter and left them to go find Pete. "Pete?"

I entered the bedroom, where I found him in bed still, but there was something different. I went over to him, sitting beside his still body and looked him over. His breathing was hollow, deep, like he couldn't breathe and I looked around out of panic; "What did you do?" I asked with an edge to my tone.

I shook him, "Hey! Hey, wake up! Get up!"

His body just flopped there like a dead fish; my eye caught the orange prescription bottle lying near him. I picked it up and saw he had taken an the entire bottle of Ambien I had been prescribed a few months back for my long hours of school work. I shook him again, throwing the bottle to the floor; "You son of a bitch!" I screamed, "Wake up!"

He gurgled and spit started to leak from his mouth. I felt tears forming; I felt scared and my brain went completely blank. I stood up and ran to get the phone; I tripped along the way, scraping my knee on the hardwood in the kitchen and scrambled to get up and grab the cordless phone. I dialed 911 immediately and ran back to Pete, shaking him again; "Wake up! Pete, please!"

He gargled again and I pulled him onto his side to at least make him throw up. The operator answered while I had been doing so, but I spoke over her, "My boyfriend took over 25 pills of Ambien and I don't know how long ago and he's gargling--" I sputtered as I cried, "What do I do?"

"Induce vomiting." She said simply, but urgently.

I held the phone between my shoulder and cheek, and turned Pete's head in an awkward position; without thinking I stuck two fingers into his mouth and down his throat. He coughed and gagged and I forced him to; I pulled my fingers out and vomit came flowing out. He spit and gagged, spitting up the blue pills, staining the comforter and down to the carpet.

"Did you do it?" The operator asked.

"Yes, what do I do now?"

"Try and make him alert, an ambulance is on the way."

I set the phone down without another word, because I completely lost any thought of speaking. I only ran on adrenaline to bring Pete back to life; I shook him and continuously shoved a finger in his mouth, down his throat to make him throw up. He sputtered a few times before he actually opened his eyes; they rolled back and I instinctively smack him across the face, "Don't you dare go to sleep!" I scream out of fear, "If you die, I'll kill you, Pete!"

He rolled onto his stomach and started to throw up again, gagging. I rubbed his back and let the tears flow, "Please don't die," I muttered, "Please, I need you."

He was so out of it; even when the ambulance arrived, he didn't open his eyes again. They wheeled him to the awaiting ambulance and let me ride with him; they checked his pulse and told me he would be okay. The male medic asked me when he had taken the pills and what they were.

"I don't know...I was out and I came home," I began to tear up, "I was gone for almost two hours."

"How many were in the bottle?"

I couldn't remember; "Over 20, I hadn't taken any in a while, they're old."

"They were prescribed to you?"

"Yes."

"What's your name?"

"Naomi Valentino."

The ride to the hospital was quick and my head was fuzzy and I wasn't sure what to do with myself. I had left everything at home and was left to sit in the waiting room while they continued to pump Pete's stomach.

I went to the front desk and asked a nurse to call Pete's mom and dad. I was so lost and felt like I was floating in outer space. I sat back down, rubbing my eyes away, thinking of what I would say to the Wentz's.

This was my fault. If I hadn't of left him home alone, angry, with a bottle of pills he wouldn't be in the hospital. If I had changed my clothes like he wanted me to, maybe he wouldn't of gotten so mad...

I felt all fucked up over this.

Sitting with my own self anger was the worst; I sat there for what seemed like forever before I saw Mrs. Wentz come running in with Mr. Wentz behind her. I stood up, my knees trembled as I went over to them at the nurse's station.

"Where's my son? His name is Peter Wentz--"

Mrs. Wentz was cut off by the nurse, "He's in recovery, you can see him soon, ma'am, please have a seat."

She growled angrily, but didn't fight; when they both turned, we met. Her eyes grew and she immediately pulled me into a hug, "What happened to him?"

I choked up, my mouth bobbing a few times before I said, "He took some of my sleeping pills. I'm sorry, Mrs. Wentz, it's all my fault."

She rubbed my back, "No, no, Naomi, it isn't your fault."

I couldn't reply to her, I just started to cry against her shoulder. She patted my back and maneuvered me over back to the waiting room seats. I sat with my face in my palms, sobbing freely, letting it all out. My head had begun to pound and I felt sick; everything ached and hurt and I could barely breathe. I wanted someone to save me, to save Pete; we needed salvation.


Pete didn't wake up until the next morning. I had been at the hospital until 9PM, and then my dad had picked me up and took me home to get a change of clothes and then took me home to their house. I slept on the couch...but, I didn't sleep, that's why I was on the couch; I had watched TV until I dozed off. The next morning I had gotten up, showered, dressed and then ate a little before asking my dad to take me home so I could get my car and go see Pete. My dad had agreed, and given me that sympathetic look, but didn't say anything.

The drive to my apartment was quiet, and I couldn't help but to start crying as soon as my dad parked. I had held it in for as long as I could before the dam burst. My dad pulled me over the cab of the truck and pulled me into a hug and held me against him.

"It's all my fault!" I had sobbed.

"No it isn't, Naomi." He relayed like everyone else had.

I cried against my dad for well over 15 minutes before I calmed down and took a breath. I had climbed out the cab and took a deep breath, my dad sighed softly and told me to get back in; "I'll drive you, you can't drive on your own."

I didn't refuse, I got back in, rubbed my eyes and sat back. He drove off, silently, not uttering a word; the only sound was my sniffles. The ride to the hospital was just like the day before, only I sat in the truck for a few minutes before going in.

Mrs. Wentz told me Pete was awake, and that he was held on suicide watch in another wing. I had to take any item that was dangerous off of my person and then I could see him. Every thought flashed through my head, my feet felt like cement bricks, making it hard to walk.

A nurse had led me to his room; there was a small window at the door, and I could see him sitting up in a bed with a saline drip. The nurse pushed the door open, "You can visit for 15 minutes."

"Thank you." I mumbled as I surpassed her to enter.

The door shut behind me and my eyes went over to Pete. Boy, he looked so old and fatigued; my heart ached and I felt terribly sad. Tears once more filled my eyes, easily overflowing and rolling on down my cheeks.

"Navy, I'm sorry." His voice was thick and scratchy.

I went over and immediately hugged him. I sobbed against his shoulder, my arms tightening around him, fingers digging into skin to make sure he was still here with me. My heart was beating so fast and the tears blinded me; there was so much I wanted to say, but my throat constricted and I couldn't.

"Please don't cry," he murmured, "I love you."

I shook my head, "It's my fault." I told him with my voice muffled, "I left you--I upset you."

"I was an idiot." He whispered, "It wasn't your fault. I promise."

I lifted my head, kissed him and then pressed my forehead against his, "I love you so much."

"I'm sorry," he said again, "I'm an idiot."

I kissed him repeatedly, my grip on him loosening, "Are you okay?"

"My throat hurts, that's all."

I swallowed, "I had to stick my fingers down your throat."

"I'll live."

I exhaled softly, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry." He told me, "I'm sorry...I shouldn't...I don't know what I was thinking."

"Were you mad at me?"

"I've been mad at myself." He sat pulling me into his lap on the bed, "I...I need to talk to you when I get out of here."

I nodded slowly, "Okay."

I hadn't cared what we needed to talk about then, because he was here and alive. I had Pete and him expressing a possible future event made me happy that he was alive. He wasn't dead, he wasn't going to die -not any time soon so I was so, so grateful.

"They said you'll be in here for 48 more hours."

He nodded slowly, "Yeah, I know."

"Are you...uh, going to New York when you're released?"

He shook his head, "No, I wanna stay with you."

I smiled, "I can't wait."

His expression didn't change; he seemed so down and wiped out. "I'm so sorry I did this. I'm not...I don't know what the hell I was doing."

"It's okay," I said softly, "It's just fine, you're alive and I love you."

He kissed me, "I don't deserve you."

"Yes you do." I told him, "Don't even try and say otherwise."

He grinned, "Sure?"

"Positive. I love you."

He chuckled and kissed me again, "I love you, too, baby."