Too Much

“Alex, I need you.” There was a hint of panic in the message.

The next one, more frantic. “Please Alex, come get me.”

And the next. “Alex, oh God, please pick up your phone. I just need to talk to you.”

The next, you were hyperventilating. “Dear God, Alex, not you too. Please pick up the damn phone.”

“Alex! Please! I’m so scared. Please.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ, Alex. I’m about to fucking have a panic attack. Please just call me back so I know!”

“Hello, Alexander Gaskarth-Barakat? This is the NYPD dispatch calling in regards to your husband, Zack. No need to worry, but please give us a call as soon as possible. You can reach us at-”

“Hi, hello?” I rushed. “This is Alex Gaskarth-Barakat. I have received a few calls from my husband, Jack, and one from you-”

“Yes, sir. Your husband’s fine, sir. Don’t worry. We need you to come down to the precinct, though, sir. He’s safe, but we just want to release him to a loved one....”

When I arrived at the precinct, you immediately crawled into my arms, crying hysterically. Your arms wrapped around my neck, your legs around my waist. I shifted you slightly, to get a better grip on you. In my ear, I kept hearing you whimper. At first, nothing coherent passed your lips. But then the scene around me finally made sense.

“Jack? Jack, baby, where’s Michelangelo?”

You had been out walking him while I decided to take a shower. You had been thinking about doing it all afternoon but had yet to get off my lap and go. And when you did, I immediately went for a shower.

At the name of our dog, you erupted into more hysterics. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” You kept repeating that one line, hiding your face in my shoulder.

I set you down, kneeling in front of you carefully. “Jack, honey, it’s okay. I know it’s not your fault. But I need you to tell me what’s wrong. What happened?”

You shook your head stubbornly. “Nuh-uh.”

“Baby, please. I love you so much. But I need to know what’s wrong.” My hands rested on your knees reassuringly.

You hid your face in your hands. “I’m sorry, Alex. I was walking him.” Sobs erupted from your throat as you shifted into my arms again.

“It’s okay, baby. I promise.”

You shook your head, no. “No, it’s not. I was walking him and he slipped from his collar. He ran out in the middle of the road and a car.... A car hit him!” You returned to crying loudly in my ear.

I stroked your back gently. “Baby, it’s okay. I love you.”

“No!” You pushed me away heavily. Anger burned in your eyes. “I killed my dog! How can you say that everything will be all right?”

“You’re alive. That’s how I know everything will be all right. Had it been you who’d been hit by the car.... Baby, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.” There was nothing I could say about the dog. Had I said what I was thinking – that there will be other dogs – you would have had my head. I know you loved Michelangelo, but I just needed to know that you were okay. I pulled you into my arms again and kissed you lightly.

“But I killed the puppy!”

“Babe, you didn’t kill the puppy. You weren’t the one in the car.”

“But I was the one who let him slip through the collar!”

Once you calmed down some, I collected you in my arms and carried you to the car. You curled up to the window and sobbed on the way home. I pressed the palm of my hand to your stomach and sighed. “Baby....”

Your hand crawled on top of mine, but you refused to look at me. “I’m so sorry, Alex.”

“It’s not your fault, Love. I promise.”

You pushed me away. “Don’t say that.”

When I got home, I carried you inside and set you on the bed. You curled into the blankets, turning your back on me. I pulled the covers over you and kissed the top of your head. “Jack, please. I love you so much.”

You just hid further in the sheets. I pulled back and let you grieve in silence, claiming to my own space down in the living room. I curled my knees to my chest and chewed on my bottom lip. I hated seeing you like this, so torn up and broken over the death of our dog.

Late that evening, you finally came trudging out of our room. You stopping in front of me, looking down at me. Then, you curled up into my lap. Your hand folded into the fabric of my shirt. I wrapped my arms around you and pulled you protectively to my chest. We didn’t say anything; I don’t really think we could. But right now, you needed me not to say anything. And I needed you there in my arms.

You eventually fell asleep to me humming, your soft snores carefully caressing the fabric covering my chest. I managed to stand up, carrying your sleeping form back to our bedroom. I stripped you down to your boxers and then did the same for me. I settled next to you, pulling you back into my side as the covers rustled into their place over us.

Days, weeks maybe, passed where you were just huddled on the couch, staring blankly at nothing in particular. You had a constant case of the sniffles, no matter how much I managed to soothe you. You were plagued with memories that had you reduced to crying mass in no time.

“Do you remember when he would bite our toes when we were watching a movie together?” you would say, and then the waterworks would follow. “He was so cute.”

“Do you remember when we got him? He was just a puppy with too-big ears. He was so cute.”

“Do you remember when he turned three?” Which had been a few months earlier. “He acted like he was big stuff because I spoiled him to death? He was so cute.” But at your previous word choice, you were tearing up again.

I had to join you on the couch and pull you onto my lap. Soft words were shared to try and get you to calm down. But it usually left you sadder than before. Because apparently, me saying that everything was okay, just made everything not okay.

When you finally got back into the swing of things, where you didn’t need constant supervision in case you started bawling again and I felt like maybe you could stand to go outside for a few minutes, you took the liberty of getting changed. Then you left, pressing a kiss to my cheek and a “see you in an hour.”

When you returned, you were more bubbly. I could tell in an instant because you were laughing and whistling our wedding song. I had been in the kitchen, not able to see you when you entered. It took me a second to register the quiet scratch of claws on the hardwood floors. But when I did, I stalked out to the living room. You were sitting on the floor with a dog in your arms and one by your legs.

“Jack.”

“Alex! Look at the puppies!” You looked like a kid on Christmas morning, smiling like you hadn’t in a little over two weeks.

“Jack, where did you get those dogs?”

“The shelter!”

“Jack, what are you doing with those dogs?”

You turned to the dog in your arms and started using a weird baby voice. “You belong here now, Sebastian! Yes, you do!”

“You do realize that once you name the food you become attached to it, right?” I joked.

You glared at me. “You’re an asshole.” Then you returned your attention to the dog. “I would never eat you, Baz. You’re too cute.”

“So we have two dogs now?”

“This one’s Sebastian,” you told me, rocking the dog in your arms. “And this one,” you nudged the one on the floor with your knee, “is Peyton. Isn’t this exciting, Alex?!”

“Jack, we can’t have two dogs.”

You stood up and came over to me. “Look at the puppy, Alex. How can you say no to this face?”

I refused to look down at the dog; once you do, you become attached because those eyes can tear down anyone’s walls. “I’m heartless, Jack.” I rolled my eyes. “Baby, I know you’re still mourning Michelangelo, but this isn’t the way to do it. We can’t house two dogs. You know how our landlord is.”

“He said it’s fine. Along with, ‘Look at these angels’. So I think we’re good,” you smiled.



It was a dull day, just like any other, I suppose. I mean, it wasn’t like every other day I’ve experienced. It was different in the sense that I was having an existential day. It was a “Why?” day. It was a “Why?” week, as well. I don’t know why that surprised me as much as it did.

Ever since Michelangelo died, you weren’t quite the same Jack that I married. You distanced yourself to be with the dogs. You took to caressing them in the midnight hours instead of I, your trusty husband. But it didn’t bother me. There were still nights that you remember that I existed. But it wasn’t often.

Along with caressing Baz and Pey, you took to anger. Anger for no apparent reason. So I was three minutes after when I said I would be home. So I had to take a piss. So I smiled at you (Heaven forbid). But whatever it was, it led to heavy fights about nothing in particular. Everything led to a fight.

Prior to Michelangelo passing, we did fight. I would be the first to admit that. But they were logical fights. Money was tight. I forgot your birthday. You wanted to go to your parents’ place for Christmas while I wanted to visit mine. Those things, I understood why we would fight about.

Now, it seemed like me breathing was a reason to argue. But I loved you so much that I didn’t see it as you did. You saw fighting. I saw grief.

It was there, however – three years of tension after the dog died – that was when the honeymoon phase of our relationship ended.

I was sitting on the counter in the kitchen, staring at the fridge. It was the type that had two doors for the refrigerator and the freezer was below it. You had picked it out after your old one shit the bed and we needed to replace it. You were so happy to see one like it. As soon as we got it home, it was covered in those little letter magnets and pictures of us in various scenarios. The magnets always made some sort of silly quip; like ‘jacky wuvs lexy’ or ‘b back in 1 hr’ or ‘jack-o-lantern, i lost my pants’. That last one your parents had the luxury of seeing when they came to visit one time. They looked at me like they didn’t know what happens in our bedroom. Or any bedroom, I suppose.

But as I sat there on the counter, thinking about what the hell went wrong, I stared at the little letters.

I had returned from work on a Friday evening with takeout and plans to watch Home Alone with you. But I entered a silent house, and there was no trace of you. There was no evidence that the place ever housed two people. That’s right, it was like you had completely erased yourself from my life. Except for the ring on my finger. I still had that.

The little letters spelled out something that I wish I never saw: ‘b back for rest l8r’.

The pictures that used to live on the fridge were now gone, found in shreds among last night’s trash.

This couldn’t be happening. There was no way you were gone. I hopped off the counter and ran down the hallway toward our bedroom. I hadn’t made it past the little letters spelling my doom in my haste to understand what the actual fuck was going on.

The bedroom was bare except my stuff. Realization flooded over me. You, my supposèd soulmate, my lover, had left me with my biggest fear.

Home Alone all right.

You had left me with nothing more than an empty bed. And no goodbye.

My hand covered my mouth to keep me from hyperventilating. Maybe, just maybe, I was dreaming. Any second now, I would wake up in your arms on our wedding night with you whispering sweet nothings in my ear. Yes, I decided. That was it. This was all some bad nightmare.

One endless nightmare.

I stumbled out to the living room, bumping into the wall a few times but I couldn’t feel it. I was numb to everything. I fell onto the couch, curling in on myself. This was all a dream. I just had to keep telling myself, reminding myself, that this was all just a dream. I would wake up sooner or later.

But I didn’t. This was the reality. You were gone and I was here alone. You had even taken the dogs in your haste to leave me nothing but a memory.

Two months, Jack. Two freaking months. I kept denying the inevitable. Not that long, I suppose. Six years of “happiness” gone in two months. But you took it with you when you left, so I shouldn’t have expected more.

I withered, Jack, withered to bone. In my fear for you, I stop caring about myself. I stopped eating, I stopped caring how I looked. I worried about you. Because no matter how much I wanted to kill you for doing this to me, my love for you would always take precedence.

Remember that one time when you made a joke about how in a past life I was an alcoholic? That was this life. That was me wasting away to nothing.

I didn’t leave the apartment for anything except to buy more alcohol. You can attest to that, can’t you Jacky? You walked in when I was having one of my better moments.

I couldn’t tell you the date, or how long you had been gone. All I knew was that you weren’t coming back, and I was a terrible mess.

But I was wrong.

I was laying on the floor in front of the couch, almost passed out from too much alcohol, when I heard the front door rattle. I was having an out-of-body experience; I was sitting in the chair, watching the wreck on the floor. I looked up at the sound of the door jiggling, my attention not on the idiot on the floor.

The door opened and you came in, missing the body on the floor in your haste (Jesus Christ, Jack; could you be more impatient?). You immediately went down the hall toward our room and called out my name. “Lex? Are you home?”

I don’t know why you would care. You were only here for your stuff.

You came out and went to the kitchen. I followed you to find you playing with the magnets on the fridge and rearranging them from your previous message. ‘came home, u werent here. luv jay’.

“You’re an idiot,” I growled to myself, speaking of you.

“I know I’m an idiot for doing what I did,” you whispered, looking at the magnets for a quick second. Then you turned and walked out to the living room, where a body still resided on the floor.

You stopped, seeing the mess of glass bottles and such. “Lex?” You peered over the back of the couch and saw the unconscious mass on the floor. “Fuck, Lexy! What did you do?” You rushed around the couch and collected the limp body in your arms.

“I honestly don’t know why you give a flying fuck,” I muttered, cleaning the dirt out from underneath my dead nails.

Your panicked eyes looked at the glass that littered the ground and coffee table. “Baby, what happened to you?” You looked down at the near-lifeless body pressed against your chest. Your hand curled around the face and you leaned down to kiss the cold lips gently. “Lex, baby, can you hear me? Baby, I know you’re still awake, but I need you to open your eyes.”

My eyelids were really heavy. Every part of me was really heavy. It was a struggle to look up at you. Pain coursed through every inch of my body. “Jack?” Well duh, who the fuck else would it be?

“Lexy, hey baby.”

“....can’t call me baby,” I managed through the haze.

“I know, baby. I’m so sorry. Can you tell me what you were thinking?”

Somewhere at the edge of my reach was the orange pill bottle. “....no more pain, Jack-o’-lantern.”

You picked up the empty container and looked at the label. You immediately started tearing up. “Lex, oh God. Lex, why would you do such a thing? Where the hell did you get this Oxycontin?”

“....sur-gy,” I slurred, giggling slightly until I was consumed with pain.

“Surgery? My appendectomy?”

I nodded. “....no more pain, Jacky.”

You shifted underneath me, causing a bout of incredulous pain to shoot through me. I cried out as it felt like thousands of knives were being drawn through my stomach. “Baby, I’m so sorry,” you whispered. You looked down at your hand, which now held your phone. “Baby, I’m going to call 9-1-1.”

I made a sound of disgust. Through the haze came my moment of clarity. “Jack, I’m going to die.”

“No, you’re not, Lex. You’re going to the hospital and they’re going to save you.”

“Jack, I’m going to die. There’s nothing they can do.” I batted your phone out of your hands. “There’s nothing you can do.”

You choked back a sob. “I can’t just let you die, Alex.”

I coughed viciously. “...so don’t.”

You picked me up and set me on the couch. “I’ll be right back,” you muttered. Your footsteps retreated to the bedroom and then came back. You pulled me back into your arms as you grabbed one of the full bottles of alcohol. You quickly took a sip, wincing slightly. “Do you remember when we got married, Lexy?”

I nodded weakly.

“You were so beautiful, Alex. And I fell in love with you more every day.” Another sip. “We were so careless, but we didn’t care as long as we were together.” Your fingers slipped into mine as I tried to stay conscious. “Are you still with me babe?”

Again, I nodded. But the truth was right around the corner. I was dying, slow and painful. I deserved it. No coward ever deserved to die quickly.

When I focused on your words again, they were heavily slurred, just like mine had been. “We were so in love. What the fuck happened to us? Wait, babe... are you still with me?” Your voice hitched at the end. I could tell you wanted a reply from me more than anything.

I was barely able to shrug. I must’ve checked out for quite a while.

“Baby, just a few more minutes, I promise.” And then your voice faded into the darkness that was encompassing me.

I felt you move underneath me, then you laid something on my chest. I struggled to focus on the metal that felt like a thousand pounds. I honestly don’t know why we ever bought it; we lived in a very safe neighborhood with lovely tenants surrounding us. But that one night when I had a nervous breakdown, you promised that you would buy one just for the sake of my sanity.

The gun was starting to look like a savior now. To save us from the hell that had become our lives in the past few months.

I took a deep last breath. “I love you, Jack.”

And as incoherent darkness enveloped us both, you whispered, “I love you, Alex.”