You Are Exactly My Brand of Heroin

I didn't sleep. I couldn't. I walked through the door last night with the intention of crawling beneath the sheets in hopes of finding sleep, but I just couldn't. I retired to the studio instead, staring at the lyrics scrawled along the walls. I sauntered over to the desk, grabbing the envelope filled with the photographs that Abby had taken for Schecter as I sat in the matching, cushioned chair. I stared at each and every last picture, basking in the beauty of a woman that I'd once hoped to call my wife. I cried, too. I cried more than I do believe that I've ever cried in all of my existence. I tossed the photographs onto the desk, resting my elbow beside the pile of paper as I continued to stare at Abby's scantily clothed figure. I gently traced my lips, kissing my fingertips as I placed a kiss upon each photograph. I sighed as I turned away from the desk, resting my elbows on my knees as I clasped my hands tightly together and hung my head. I closed my eyes, attempting to alleviate the throbbing inside my head and my chest. I finally surrendered to the pain, resting my chin atop my clasped hands as I stared at the line of guitars along the wall. I felt tears begin to fill my eyes again as I remembered receiving the call.

I bounded down the stairs, destined for the kitchen in order to retrieve some cold beers from the refrigerator, but I was startled upon nearly colliding with Abby as I reached the bottom of the marble staircase. She seemed distraught as she attempted to rush by, sobs escaping from her throat, tears streaming down her cheeks. I was instantly concerned, wearing a puzzled expression. I tightly gripped her bicep, ceasing her steps as I remained firmly planted. She stared into my eyes as though she were bewildered by my action. "What's the matter, Abby?" I questioned.

"I'm fine," she assured. "I just need to go for a drive. I'm fine. I promise."

As I furiously shook my head and involuntarily tightened the grip I held on Abby's arm, I closed the distance between us and demanded, "Don't lie. What's going on?" I grew angrier with each passing moment of silence, disgusted with Abby's conviction that I would ever believe this facade. She longingly exchanged glances between my eyes and her arm, silently begging for a release. I instantly softened, allowing her to retrieve her keys, her Coach bag, and her BlackBerry before I entered the kitchen. I was greeted by several sympathetic gazes as I opened the refrigerator, dismissing Leana's instantaneous departure. "Anyone care to explain Abby's behavior?" I asked as I gathered the alcohol, placing the bottles on the island as I awaited a reply, which I never received. I quietly left, juggling four beers as I climbed the stairs.

I returned to the studio, offering beers to each of the guys as I plopped into the chair I'd previously sat in directly across from Zach. I quickly and easily removed the cap on my very own beer, emptying the bottle far faster than I'd intended. I tossed the glass into a nearby recycling bin, watching as Zach steadily strummed a rhythm on his guitar. I was concerned about Abby. She'd been ridiculously overwhelmed lately as she juggled Thanksgiving, Christmas, and wedding plans along with song writing and modeling. She was also pregnant. I recall specifically telling her that I'd take the duty of being stressed and feeling worried upon myself, but I know that I hadn't convinced her of so. She was an independent woman, and she was going to do whatever she wanted to do, but she tended to allow all of her tasks and responsibilities to become a burden.

"What's eatin' you, Gates?" Jimmy asked. He'd ignored his beer as he twirled his drum sticks round and round instead.

I simply shrugged. "I'm alright, man."

Clearing his throat, Matt added, "And so the writing process continues." He reached for one of my signature Schecter guitars lining the wall, offering the instrument to me as he donned a coy smirk. He knew that I wasn't willing to discuss the debilitations in the relationship that his sister and I were involved in, especially not with him, but he knew that I could express all of my emotions with every fiber of my being in the form of music. I accepted the guitar, removing a pick from the pocket of my shorts as I prepared to play. I held the pick over the strings, my fingers in the perfect position along the fret board. I closed my eyes and imagined Abby's beautiful face, the notes instantly flowing from my fingers.

I'd only just begun to form a few verses of an unknown song when I faintly heard the sound of my BlackBerry vibrating against the desk. I ceased my actions to retrieve the gyrating device, cradling the phone between my ear and my shoulder as I answered the call. "Hello?" I casually beckoned.

I never imagined that I'd hear the words that I had. I never imagined that I'd be a recipient of such a call. I'm almost certain that I terrified the young physician on the other line, but I was least concerned about the well-being of the intern. I rose from the chair as I walked over to the line of guitars that I'd been staring at for quite some time. I gently traced the freshly waxed outline of one, staring at the others. I couldn't control the anger that had begun to build, tears filling my eyes once again as I wrapped my hand around the neck of the nearest guitar. I firmly gripped the neck in both of my hands after removing the guitar from a designated stand, raising the instrument above my head as I used every ounce of strength in my body to easily force each and every electric and acoustic guitar from the line of stands. I became a beast in that very moment. I couldn't control the anger combined with adrenaline flowing through my veins, the guttural growls of sheer pain escaping from deep within my chest. I also couldn't control the sorrow blackening my heart. I continuously bashed and beat every single guitar, leaving not a single sliver of splintered wood, plastic, and metal untouched.

I tossed the electric guitar that I'd used as a weapon to the floor, reaching for the numerous notebooks and journals filled with countless lyrics that had been written from the very beginning of my affair with music. I shredded and tore as many as I could, reaching for my lighter to burn the remains. I was breathless and intensely angry, hovering over the desk as I stared down at my clenched fists. I harshly grit my teeth, managing to bear the pain in my hands. I was still crying, but I could clearly see the lesions on both of my hands, blood seeming to seep from every pore. I grabbed the only salvageable guitar that remained, leaving the room before descending the stairs with the instrument clutched in my right hand. I quickly reached the foyer, briskly walking toward the baby grand piano that Abby had chosen to place in said destination for purposes of entertainment, but I had other ideas. I threw the matching bench aside as I launched the remains of the guitar into the very center of the piano, hammering until the two halves finally caved in. I was utterly exhausted and entirely crushed, but I was still infuriated. I had elevated from crying to hysterically sobbing, screaming and shouting my fiancee's name as I destroyed my valuables.

I threw every vase in the area to the marble floor, gathering the irises that had once filled them as I did so. I clutched the wet flowers to my chest as I approached the crackling fire burning in the den, startling Pinkly, who had once slept soundly by said fire. I wasted not a moment's time in disposing of the sweet-smelling flowers, their scent reminiscent of Abby's. I only offered a fleeting glance in the direction of the hearth, noticing the flames morphing and changing in color. I returned to the foyer, passing a terrified Pinkly, who had hidden beneath one of the sofas, as I did so. I paused in the foyer entrance, staring up at the chandelier hanging above my head. I watched the artificial light reflecting along the surface of the dangling crystals, wishing that I had such a simple and beautiful existence. I still wasn't satisfied, though, and as a final attempt to relieve the pain inside, I hurtled my fist into the nearest wall, which I penetrated. I retracted my hand, finding waterfalls of blood spilling from my knuckles. I sighed contentedly as I felt the familiar ache and sting of the lacerations and broken bones. At last. Sweet relief.

I cradled my crippled hand in the hem of my shirt as I sauntered over to the piano bench, plopping down on the cushion surface when I arrived. I stared aimlessly around the room for an eternity. I felt as though I hadn't blinked in ages, endless crying leaving my eyes intensely throbbing and swollen, red and bloodshot. I despised the ache in my chest, my racing heart beating against my fragile bones, my pounding lungs threatening to escape my chest cavity. I managed to swallow between gasping breaths, finding my mouth to be dry, but I didn't recognize any signs of thirst. I felt my stomach burn and growl with hunger pangs, but I had no desire to eat. I wanted only to lie amongst the shards of broken glass and wither into non-existence. I wanted death. I craved death. I desired to be one with Abby again, and I knew that I could only achieve that goal by joining her on the other side. I was drawn from my suicidal thoughts, yet again, by the sound of Pinkly's paws cautiously maneuvering through the rubble scattered across the marble floor. I actually smiled upon seeing the rather shaken Maltese, pulling her into my lap upon her arrival at my feet. I gently stroked her coat with my left hand, staring into her large, brown eyes. I may have only been delusional, but I could've sworn that I saw sorrow deep within those eyes.

I felt a familiar heaviness in my eyelids, associating the occurrence to the need of sleep, which I longed for. I stood, holding Pinkly beneath my left arm as I ascended the marble staircase. I reached the landing, passing a locked door on my journey to the room that I had once shared with my deceased fiancee. I paused at the door, staring at the lock. I placed Pinkly on the floor, waiting until I saw her enter the master bedroom before I kicked the lock from the door without risking startling her again. I pushed the mahogany aside, gazing upon the beauty behind a thick sheet of glass. I had always been an avid gun collector. I visited a shooting range on a regular basis while I was dating Michelle to relieve my anger, but I'd been so satisfied with my life as of late that I hadn't given visiting another shooting range a second thought. I tore the padlock from the silver cabinet, opening the door before I grasped one of the nearest pistols. I pondered my actions with the weapon, exchanging glances between the device in my hands and the boxes of bullets and magazines beneath the display case. I could finally join Abby. I could finally find peace, but I couldn't bring myself to insert a magazine, put the gun to my head, and pull the trigger. I replaced the pistol, closing the case and the door as I sauntered into the room that Abby and I had once shared.

I gazed upon the disheveled white sheets, dragging my feet along the hardwood floor as I collapsed onto Abby's side of the bed. I deeply inhaled her scent, seemingly feeling her warmth. I fought the tears again as I sat up, removing my clothing. I crawled beneath the silk sheets, relative to the feeling of my fiancee's touch. I folded my arms behind my head, staring at the ceiling once more. I briefly closed my eyes, listening to the faint sound of rain falling and the wind blowing. I sighed heavily in an attempt to relieve myself of the demons that had taken over my mind, body, and soul only moments before, but I knew that I was battling in a nearly unwinnable feat. I allowed Pinkly to curl up at my side, a significant change from her previous sleeping quarters, as I opened my eyes again. I watched the rain falling now, wondering about the possibility of the perilous waterfall causing the death of the only woman I'd ever loved. I had once adored rain, but I suddenly despised every ounce of precipitation that had ever fallen on Earth. I wanted someone or something to blame. I needed an alternative to feeling guilty, to feeling as though I'd caused this highly preventable accident. I should've talked to her. I shouldn't have allowed her to leave. I should've been the fiance that I'd promised to be. In the midst of my erratic thought process, I managed to drift into a deep slumber, if only for a short while.

I awoke at dawn, visions of the accident forming nightmares. I was doused in sweat and short of breath, terrified beyond belief. I was startled upon hearing thunder crackling outside, a horrendous storm raging just beyond the walls of my home. I tossed the soaked sheets aside, placing my feet on the icy floor. I walked downstairs, ignoring the splinters of glass as I did so. I glanced at the grandfather clock in the foyer to find the time to be only six. In doing so, I noticed a pile of mail lying by the door having been delivered through the specialized slot in the mahogany beneath the glass pane. I carefully gathered the mail, rifling through plenty of useless ads as I entered the kitchen. I smirked upon crossing the latest issue of Hustler magazine. I was a lifetime subscriber, and I was a bit embarrassed when I was forced to tell Abby. I placed the magazine on the island as I threw the remaining mail into a recycling bin, making a mental note to add the pointless pages filled with nude women to the ongoing collection hidden in a box inside my closet. I lightly drummed my fingers against the marble counter, glancing around the room for the possible object of my hunger, but I found that I, truthfully, wasn't hungry at all. I settled for a simple cup of coffee, taking a seat in the den with the scorching liquid in hand.

I retrieved the remote, stabbing a red button only to receive a response from the plasma screen television. I began surfing through channels, sincerely uninterested in visual entertainment, but I was surprised to find myself and my deceased fiancee spread across several local news stations. I'd even managed to reach national channels such as MTV and Fuse. I didn't care, though. Neither I nor Abby's family had released an official statement concerning her status, and I, certainly, didn't intend to. I assumed that her family didn't, either. I had always been concerned about the media interfering with my life in a situation as severe as this, but I never imagined that I'd ever be faced with said situation. I'd barely drank half of my cup of coffee, staring into the brown liquid only to find the taste unappealing. I placed the ceramic mug in the sink before I bounded up the stairs to shower.

I dressed in simple California attire, donning a long-sleeved Archaic shirt with a matching jacket, designer jeans, and a pair of Converse, but I was distracted by the site of the garment bag hanging ominously along Abby's side of the walk-in closet, the contents of which were obvious. I could feel tears brimming my eyes once more as I reached for the zipper, tugging the metal contraption downward to catch a glimpse of the dress I had hoped to see the woman of my dreams wear during her journey down the aisle. I was shocked at the beauty of the thousand dollar dress, dazzled by the intricate beading and ruching. I could only imagine Abby wearing the material, hearing her anger at my sneaking a peek at her dress. I chuckled dryly as I closed the bag, returning to the bathroom. I actually willed myself to shave, applying deodorant and cologne before I styled my hair and quickly brushed my teeth. I retrieved my keys, my wallet, and my BlackBerry after doing so in order to drive to the Huntington Beach Medical Center, the current location of my fiancee's body. As I cautiously drove through soaked streets, I was reminded of the weather when I arrived at the hospital only yesterday to discover the fate of the woman I loved.

I ran through the endless rain, the only audible sounds being that of my feet pounding against the wet pavement and the whistle of oxygen entering and exiting my lungs. I was absolutely breathless when I finally reached the front entrance, bursting through the automatic doors with my friends and my family in tow. I assumed that Abby's parents and grandparents had been previously informed of the accident, and I knew that I had assumed correctly upon seeing the crowd gathered in the lobby near the nurses' station. I couldn't determine the severity of the situation based solely upon expressions, because I only saw tears streaming down each and every face. I watched as Jimmy rushed to the nearest desk, begging the nurse for the location of his fiancee. He was jogging down an adjacent corridor a moment later, searching through the emergency room for Leana. I sighed, shoving my hands into the pockets of my shorts as I felt the familiar feeling of tears forming in my eyes.
I hadn't even to ask any questions before I was met by a sympathetic gaze belonging to Abby's obstetrician/gynecologist, Dr. Redmond. "It's nice to see you again, Brian. I was paged by an emergency physician nearly half an hour ago to be informed that a patient of mine had been in a terrible accident, but after I performed an ultrasound and physical exam, I found the fetus to be perfectly unharmed."
"What about Abby?" I questioned, finally seeking the answers that I so desperately wanted.
She exchanged glances with myself and Abby's mother, slightly nodding as she added, "I am so very sorry, Brian. I truly am." She quickly departed, disappearing through the same doors that Jimmy had.
With tears streaming down my cheeks, I begged, "What's going on? What could possibly be so awful?" I suddenly realized a rather confusing insinuation. "How can this be? It isn't logical."
"Machines," she inserted. "They'll keep her body functioning until the baby is born." I stared at her, utterly bewildered. I couldn't believe that I was actually suffering through the death of my fiancee, and I found the information overwhelming. I collapsed, my knees buckling before I sank to the floor. I promptly burst into hysterical tears, crying before every individual I cared about most for the first time in my entire life.

I arrived at the hospital around eight, choosing to visit Jimmy, Leana, and Alex before I spent the remainder of the day with Abby. I entered the elevator, traveling to the maternity ward. I approached the nurses' station, receiving the necessary information that I needed in order to see my friends and their newborn son before I followed the directions I'd been given by the nurse to Leana's room. When I reached the door, I softly knocked, entering without waiting for permission to do so. I smiled upon seeing Leana soundly sleeping, Jimmy relaxing in a nearby rocking chair with Alex resting on his chest. He smiled in response as I neared, gesturing to the cushioned, leather chair to his left. I took a seat, staring in amazement at the infant in my best friend's arms.

"Do you want to hold him?" Jimmy asked. I nodded before I realized the agreement I'd made. I was holding the tiny life before I even had a chance to breathe. He was an exact replica of his father. His hair was dark, chocolate brown, similar to his father's in his childhood. He slowly opened his eyes, wincing against the brightness of the dim lighting. His eyes were a rich, ocean blue, just like Jimmy's. He blinked several times before he finally closed his eyes again, returning to his slumber. I smiled yet again, clutching the swaddled infant. I could only imagine my child's features, wishing that I could hold him or her just like this. "We had planned to ask you and Abby to be his godparents, but we made the mutual decision to not burden you with another life, should we lose ours."

Shaking my head, I replied, "I'd be honored, Jim. I'd care for Alex as if I'd created him myself."

He smiled again. "Thanks, man."

"You're welcome, bro."

He sighed as silence settled, but he couldn't remain quiet for long. He'd been sitting in this room, listening to his fiancee breath and his child occasionally stir. He needed someone to talk to, as did I. "I told her last night. She cried herself to sleep." I exchanged glances between the child in my arms and the woman sleeping in the bed only feet away. Her eyes were still red and swollen from crying, her cheeks a deep shade of crimson. I was startled by the sound of Alex suddenly crying, but I didn't panic. I, instead, accepted the bottle that Jimmy offered, placing the nipple in Alex's mouth. His crying instantly ceased, his eyes lazily closing again as he ingested the formula. "You're a natural. You'll be a great father."

"I certainly hope so," I added.

I talked with Jimmy for as long as possible, managing to hide the lacerations on my hands. I didn't want to speak of the disaster I'd created in my own home, so I left. I walked the halls, walking until I reached the opposite side of the ward where Abby's room was located. I entered the last room, surprised to see Dr. Redmond making preparations to perform a sonogram. She smiled as she focused on the task at hand. "Good morning, Brian," she said. "How are you?"

I nodded as I lingered by the opposite side of Abby's bed. I stared down at her thinning frame, noticing the feeding tube protruding from her right nostril, the catheter stemming from beneath the sheets. I nearly burst into tears for the umpteenth time in the past two days. This state was permanent and irreversible. "I'm well. And you?" I noticed the stitches along Abby's right eyebrow and the left side of her lower lip. It was the very same tear that my step-brother had caused in his attempt to have his way with her. It must've re-opened upon impact.

"I'm fine. Thank you." She'd already begun the ultrasound, an image of my unborn child appearing on a nearby screen. I was shocked by the sight. The fetus had transformed from a tiny dot to a recognizable form in a matter of weeks. The head, the arms, the hands, and the feet were obvious now. I found myself reaching for Abby's hand as I felt tears building in my eyes again. I couldn't believe that I'd be caring for this life in seven months without her. "Everything looks fine. The baby is perfectly healthy and growing rapidly. It's larger than the average fetus in this week of development." I only nodded. It was all I could do.

As Dr. Redmond prepared to leave, I asked, "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

She smiled. "Of course."

I sighed heavily as I began, "I've never been as deeply depressed as I am now, but I'm, obviously, not alone in my suffering." I paused, gesturing to Abby as I continued, "She clearly isn't in any pain, but she's causing plenty. Our families are clutching on to false hope, wishing that Abby would somehow awaken, but our lives are slowly falling apart in the process of doing so." I paused as I gathered my thoughts. I'd been thinking about these words for countless hours, debating whom I'd actually say them to. "I want to discontinue life support, Dr. Redmond. I want to pull the plug. I don't want to myself or anyone else to suffer any longer."