That One Moment (Lost in London #2)(11)
“The pain was minimal at first. Just a wincing sort of ache…Then it spread like wildfire to a burning, sweltering rage. I remember this strange twinge in my shoulders as the blood flooded out of my body and hit the concrete floor beneath me. When I looked down at the sea of red around my shiny dress shoes, I forgot about the pain. I forgot about the cause. I forgot about everything leading up to this one incredibly profound moment. This one moment that I chose was permanent. In that one moment…I had finally erased my life forever.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see my mum clap her hand over her mouth. Her eyes strain against the tears flowing out of them. She’s heard this story before, but I imagine hearing it like this—without any interruption from my therapist—is probably a great deal different.
“But dying that night was all right by me…That was the point, right? The gruesome blade had provided its service. It had yielded my death in a dramatic and manly fashion. I wasn’t sure how long it took to die. This was my first proper go at it. My watch still said 11:11 when my blinking started to feel sticky. It felt as though I was one second closer to not opening them ever again. One second closer to my requested death.”
I clear my throat and push back every shred of emotion attempting to erupt inside of me. Christ, not now Hayden! Get your shit together. I grip my leather cuffed wrists and touch the face of my watch and continue. “Just as I thought I was about to die, she arrived.” My eyes drift down the stage and land on Leslie. Her auburn hair lies softly around her shoulders, framing her face and accentuating her perfectly sincere smile. Leslie doesn’t smile like the British. She smiles like the beautiful, vulnerable, and quirky American that she is.
She gives me the tiniest nod and it’s like I’m transported back to that night all over again. “She wasn’t the woman occupying my thoughts in that moment,” I continue, staring straight into Leslie’s watery green gaze. “She was simply…reality.”
I break eye contact and look down at my hand that’s gripping the edge of the podium like I could break it. “You see, I knew I had loads of people who cared about me. But I couldn’t believe any of them. Not one. I was too entrenched in this emotional world of misery and horror. I felt alone and pointless and utterly wasted here on this earth. I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere. I wanted nothingness. I wanted f*cking oblivion.”
I snap out of my private reverie when I realise my very blatant curse. My mother shoots me a proper scowl and I purse my lips together to reel myself back in. “Having someone walk in on you just as you’ve thrashed your wrists to ribbons is ten times worse than having someone walk in on you in the loo. It’s horrifying and you curse yourself for not locking the bloody door. Why didn’t I lock the door? Why did she come in at that time?
“Regardless of the whys, the way she looked at me…The way her terrified gaze met mine made me realise far too late that I was living in the wrong world. Seeing myself through the look in her eyes made me desperate to take it all back. I wanted to save this poor woman from the absolute pain that my choice was causing her.”
Leslie shakes her head at me incredulously as we have a silent conversation amongst the several hundred people in the audience. My brother, Theo, moves to wrap a protective arm around her shoulder. He pulls her to him and I see a small tear slip out from beneath his thick-framed glasses. My heart lurches at the sight. There’s something utterly raw and humbling about witnessing your strong, older brother break down. His love for me after everything that’s happened still floors me. It crushes me in the most vulnerable and real way. The honesty of it is almost too much for me to take.
Leslie’s eyes don’t flicker to Theo’s, though. They stay locked on mine in a silent chastisement. I continue quickly before she marches on stage and curses me out for continuing to apologise over what I put her through. Because Leslie Lincoln is just the type to do that.
“This woman who walked in on me skidded to the floor in an evening gown and scooped me up. She held my head in her lap and my life in her hands as her real, wet tears dripped onto my face.”
I close my eyes and recall her shaky hands holding my wrists tightly to help stop the flow of blood. Her frantic fumbling to call 999 on her phone. Her crying. Her questioning. Her pain. I laid there lifelessly watching this nearly perfect stranger desperate to save my life.
“I realised in that moment that reality and emotions can live in entirely differently worlds,” I frown, desperate for the audience to understand exactly what I feel so strongly in my heart. “And nothing was more real than what I had just done to this poor innocent person. Watching her cry as she stood above me was more painful than the slits I had carved into my wrists. It was more painful than the pain I felt in my heart leading up to that moment. Living in the world of my misery and wanting to leave it was unrealistic. I was running away. And looking into the eyes of just one person who gave a damn—especially someone who didn’t know me all that well at the time—was such a beautiful reality that I didn’t even know existed.”
I clench my jaw to stop the tears that like to come every time I picture Leslie in that one horrendous moment. The agony I put her through is soul-crushing. But it’s also exactly what makes my decision to continue living so incredibly easy. I never want to put that hurt on her face again, or anyone else’s for that matter.
“I can’t take away the pain that I’ve caused everyone close to me. But I can keep continuing to fight the darkness that I nearly let swallow me whole. And I’m not just doing that for myself. I’m doing that for the person who saved my life…and the person who lost hers.”