Page 22 of Beautifully Broken

Enid

“Has he called you back?” Mace asks me for the fifth time over the past forty-eight hours that Conrad has gone dark on us.

“Not yet,” I do my best to smile at Mace, I’m sure it appears more like a grimace.

“Are you going to go check on him?” Mace asks, his tone filled with apprehensiveness.

“Yes, while you’re at school today,” I assure him as I pull up to the drop-off lane at his school.

“You’ll text me after, right?”

“Of course.” I leave out the part where I say it depends on the state that I find him in.

My brain has sent me on a spiral of all the potential options.

I could see the signs of depression, his withdrawal, his attitude, but I couldn’t force him to open up to me.

I tried so many times when his eyes felt lifeless, his kisses were less passionate, and his skating was slower.

This is what scares me the most about showing up at his place today.

“Have a good day at school. Love you.”

“Love ya, Sis,” Mace tells me before exiting the car.

***

As I approach Conrad’s house, his car is here, but it appears that no internal lights are on. My anxiety ratchets, and my hands begin to shake as I turn my car off and walk to his front door .

I bang on the front door three times and wait. No answer. I try again, this time knocking harder, deciding that if he doesn’t answer, I will risk a felony and break into his home.

Just as I’m turning to walk down and grab a rock from his garden, the front door lock clicks and the knob turns.

This version of Conrad I’ve never experienced before.

His clothes are wrinkled, he looks simultaneously like he has and hasn’t been sleeping, his hair sticking up in all directions, and his skin so pale it’s almost grey.

“Enid?” He asks as if he wasn’t expecting me to just show up.

“You haven’t been answering your phone. We were worried about you.” I try to keep my tone even; I don’t want to get him worked up if he’s in such a fragile state.

“I’m fine. You should just go.”

“No, you need to talk to me. He already lost one father figure, and I won’t put him through that again, Conrad.

Tell me what’s going on.” My voice breaks at the end as I try to inhale a shaky breath, but I take a step closer to him, hoping he will let me inside.

He does, but his steps sway a little as we step into the open-concept kitchen.

“Please just go, Enid.” His voice is slightly slurred, and that’s when I see it. The empty bottle of whiskey and the pistol sitting on his kitchen island. My eyes widen with fear, but he’s too drunk to notice.

“No! No! You don’t get to do this! Tell me what’s going on.” I beg him, slowly stepping around and putting myself between him and the countertop. I can’t, no, I won’t let him do this to himself or me.

“I don’t know.” He gasps for air. “It’s all going so well, yet everything inside me is telling me that I shouldn't be here, that my teammates have no reason for me to be their friend, that I don’t deserve this life, you, or Mace.

There’s this cloud that lingers above me, sucking every ounce of happiness.

I don’t know what to do. I couldn’t go through with it.

Please, don’t let yourself get dragged down by me. ”

“Conrad.”

“I’m begging you. Just leave.”

“Conrad, I’m here.” I turn towards the gun, click the safety on, and then set it back on the counter .

“You shouldn’t be.” Conrad’s voice shakes as sobs escape him.

“I want to be. We need you, Conrad. We want you here. I need you to hear me when I say that.” I carefully step toward him, wrapping my body around his vibrating form.

Slowly, his breaths regulate, and his arms wrap around me. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

We need to have a conversation, but I know that it needs to wait until he’s sobered up and rested.

“Do you want to lie down?” I ask him, he doesn’t speak, instead nodding his head against my shoulder, “Can you tell me where the gun goes?”

“My closet, I have a safe.”

“Okay. Go, I’m going to grab some water for you.”

As I grab water, I have a quick conversation with Mace via text.

Me: Mace, he’s okay.

Mace: I’m mad at him.

Me: I know but he needs us right now.

“Enid?” Conrad’s weak voice comes down the hallway.

“Coming, one second.” I holler back.

Mace: Fine. Should I see if I can stay with Troy tonight?

Me: Will you be okay?

Mace: Yes, he needs you more than I do right now.

Me: You sure?

Mace: Promise.

Me: Love you. Call me if you need anything.

Mace: Always. Love you .

With the water and gun in my hand, I head towards Conrad’s room.

“Code to the lock?” I ask, approaching the gun safe in his closet.

“2-8-4-6-3-0”

I enter the numbers as he rattles them off, pondering if we should change them going forward. After the safe clicks open, I place the pistol inside, shutting and locking it with a hefty sigh.

I place myself on the side of the bed closest to the closet and snuggle into Conrad’s arms. He quickly falls asleep, and while I’m emotionally and physically exhausted, sleep evades me.

I opt to scroll on my phone, trying to find resources about what steps to take next.

He sleeps peacefully with his arms wrapped around my middle.

Some of these steps include finding a therapist and potentially getting on medications, but the biggest takeaway is being present for the person as they experience the aftermath of their suicide attempt.

While there are conversations that need to be had, tonight, I know the things Conrad needs most are sleep and me.