Drowned in Regret

I took a swig from my bottle of whiskey, and then smashed it against the tile wall of the shower. The sound was enough to alert Fred, who burst into the bathroom to find me down on my knees in the shower, fully clothed, and sobbing.
“Come on, Jeordie. Let’s get you cleaned up.” He gently brushed the shattered glass from my clothing and hair, leading me back to the couch. He’d taken it upon himself to move in with me two weeks ago, when this had all begun. Someone, he’d said, had to watch over me.
I lay down, bits of glass still in my hair. Fred must’ve decided that I was okay on my own for awhile, and took a broom, dustpan, and trash bag into the bathroom to clean up the mess I’d made. I hadn’t meant to break the bottle, not really. I just had fits of anger that seemed to often lead to things being smashed.
When Fred returned, he sat down in the armchair opposite the couch. “What do you feel like for dinner?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Jeordie, we’ve been over this. You have to eat.”
I groaned. I knew he was going to pester me until I at least made an attempt. “Fine. Get some Chinese.”
He reached for the phone, and put in the call. We had take out for every lunch and dinner. Fred was an awful cook, and I was in no state to be in the kitchen, even if he’d let me.
“I asked Jason to come over tonight.”
“Why?”
“He’s worried about you. So’s that John guy. He keeps calling.”
John always had been a good friend. It had been awhile since I’d seen him, though if things would’ve gone differently a few weeks ago, we would’ve been touring together again in a few months.
“You know, you’re going to have to start going out in public again. No one blames you for grieving, but you can’t stay here locked in your own prison forever.”
I gave Fred a dirty look, and raised my middle finger. What did he know about grieving? It wasn’t his best friend who was dead, it was mine.
“Okay. You just stay there and rest until dinner comes.”
I closed my eyes, trying to sleep. I hadn’t slept more than four hours in the past two weeks, and whenever I did, I was always startled awake by graphic nightmares. This time was no different.
I walked into the bedroom, and saw that the window was open. The curtain was gently blowing in the breeze. I walked over and closed it, feeling something brush against my shoulder. I looked up, and screamed. Hanging from the fan and light fixture attached to the high ceiling was my best friend, Brian. I had no idea how he could’ve even gotten up there, but somehow, he had. From the bluish color of his skin, I knew that he was dead. I crumpled onto the bed, and began to sob. I wished that I’d skipped the interview for Guitar World. If I had, this wouldn’t have happened. At least not today.
I relived the paramedics cutting him down, covering him with a sheet, telling me that he was dead. I’d touched his cold cheek, pressing my red lips to his purple ones just before they covered his face and took him away.
I found the note hours later, taped to my guitar case. He’d tried to explain that it wasn’t my fault, but deep down, I knew that it was. I was the one who never wanted to admit what we were. I had been so afraid of my love for him that I’d run away, years ago, and had tried to move on without him. That hadn’t worked out so well, and at the first chance, we were back together, close as ever, though I never let it leave the privacy of our home that we were more than friends.
He’d asked me, two days before his suicide, if I’d marry him. Of course, I’d told him no. I wasn’t afraid of loving him as I had been years ago, but I wasn’t ready to take that step. I was so stupid. He had given up so much for me, and I was completely unwilling to give him anything permanent in return. If I had said yes, he would still be alive.
Drifting in and out of sleep, I heard the doorbell ring. I sat up in time to see Fred shuffle to the door, take a large bag, and pay the delivery person a wad of bills.
“You awake?”
I nodded.
“Did you sleep at all?”
“A little.”
“Did you have the nightmare again?”
“Yeah.”
Fred sighed, and started putting containers down on the coffee table. “Maybe you should get out of this house.”
“It’s my home.”
“I know, Jeordie, but it’s not healthy for you to be here.”
“I’m not leaving. He’s here, Fred. I can still feel him. I see him.”
Fred rubbed his temples. “He’s dead, okay? We go over this every day. He’s in the ground. You were at his funeral. You know this.”
“That doesn’t mean that he’s not here. He loves me, Fred. He’s still here with me.”
Deciding that it was best not to start a fight, Fred offered me a plate, and I managed to eat a small amount of food. He was cleaning up when Jason arrived.
Though they both tried, I was determined to stay locked in my own miserable state, refusing to pay any attention to either of them while they tried their best to cheer me up. Nothing was going to cheer me up. Brian was dead, and he’d left me all alone.
Jason went home, and Fred fell asleep watching TV. I crept upstairs to the bedroom, and closed the door.
It was in our room that I saw Brian. I went there at every chance, but Fred had gotten wise to why I’d go up there, and never let me stay for long. Now that he was asleep, I had my chance to be alone with my lover again.
“Hi, baby. You look awful.”
I spun around to see Brian leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.
“I’m sorry about the nightmares. I’ll make them stop.”
“You can do that?”
He nodded. “I just wanted you to come up here, to talk to me.”
I sat down on the bed. “You’re dead.”
“Yes, but we need to talk.”
“Why?”
“Because I feel guilty for what I’ve done to you. I hurt you so much more than I meant to. I loved you, you know. All I ever wanted was for us to be together.”
“I wanted that, too.”
“Did you?”
I lay down, and felt the depression of Brian sitting on the bed beside me. I didn’t wonder why, even though I knew that ghosts shouldn’t have been able to leave anything behind. He wasn’t exactly a ghost, was he?
“You made me so happy.”
“Then why did you do it? Why did you kill yourself, and leave me to find you?” I had tears in my eyes. I seemed to always be crying, ever since Brian had killed himself.
He sighed. “I’m sorry about that.”
“You broke my heart.”
“You only miss me now that you can’t have me.”
I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut. I felt his fingertips brush away my tears.
“If you’re so unhappy here, you can come with me.”
“How?” I was interested. This was the first time he had suggested such a thing.
“How would you like to do it?”
I rolled onto my back. “Something quick and painless.”
Brian seemed to think for a moment. “Okay. How about drowning?”
I smiled. “Will that work?”
“Sure.”
“Yeah. I’ll drown in the bathtub.”
Brian stood in the doorway, waiting for me to follow.
I turned on the tap, plugging up the tub, and stripped naked.
Brian whistled, and I laughed. “There’s some wine on the counter. Drink it.”
I nodded. After I had downed the glass, another appeared. By the time I’d drunk three, the tub was full enough. I got in, and leaned back.
“Are you sure, Jeordie? Is this really what you want?”
“Yes.”
“All right. Hold your breath.”
I obeyed, and allowed Brian to gently hold me under the water. I understood why he’d gotten me drunk- the alcohol slowed my reaction time, and I didn’t struggle as the air left my body and water poured in.
I felt nothing as I drifted away. No pain, no guilt, no regret.
Brian’s hands gently stroked my cheeks as he handed me a towel. He was helping me out of the tub. “Do you want to see?”
I nodded, and he allowed me to lean over the tub, to see my body still and calm beneath the water.
“Fred will find you soon. He’ll know why you drowned.”
“I had to be with you.”
“I know. I’m so happy that you are.”
I followed Brian back into the bedroom. We lay on the bed, kissing for a long while. I realized, as we curled up together, that it didn’t matter to me that we were both dead. This was peaceful. And now, we could finally be together without judgment.