Trigger

Trigger

by L.A. Breaux

Cw suicide, mental health

Dedicated to the memory of Lauren Kennedy

I knew something was wrong the minute I pulled into the driveway. Getting out of the car, my spine chilled in the lone wind.

“Drew?” I said, quietly to not wake the whole neighborhood but strongly enough to be heard through an oak door. My voice shook like paper and there was nothing I could do to steady it.

I reached into my purse and fished out my phone, which felt like a lead weight in my hands. Flipping open my phone and pening up my texts, I looked at the last message I ever got from him:

bye katie, i’ll miss you..

Re-examining the incomplete ellipsis, my name in lowercase, and the general detached way that he typed this (which was against his usual of sending me long novels at a time) I knew I smelled bullshit. I should have just slammed the car door loudly and made my way off.

Looking up at the door though, I knew that wasn’t me. I wanted to be a nurse. It should be in me to want to help people, but…

I remembered how he is and how he used to be.

As I made my way up the stairs of his front porch, I chastised myself for being such a sucker. I’m falling for it, hook, line and sinker. But still…

Has he taken his medication? I think about how bad the last episode was… and how he…

“No, that won’t do now,” I whispered alone to myself.

To my astonishment, the oak behemoth creaked open at the first knock on the door. It wasn’t even closed…

“Drew?” I said normally as if he were greeting me right at the door.

Digging out my phone again, I hit the Call button and pressed 6, watching as the bright window reading “Calling Drew” began to blink.

That damn ringtone of his began its ghostly song across the hallway. Drew had a soft spot for old records, and one of the favorites he’d play was an old record by The Flamingos. 

I only have eyes for youuu…

I hated this song. It crawled up my spine like a spider web and I felt goose pimples all over my body. Tense.

Since the lights were off and the only streetlamp that could illuminate us was at the corner, I felt my way along the darkened hallway, hugging the wall as if it were a protective barrier. 

“Drew?” I whispered, unsure as to why I was.

Something was wrong.

The same feeling I got in the driveway trickled down into my stomach, obliterating all thought except “flee,” but I knew I had to keep going. 

As soon as I saw where the sound of his cell phone ringing was coming from, I turned the corner and entered his bedroom…

All I saw was red. Blood splattered the ceiling and the gun in his limp hand.

I wasn’t much help to the police. I guess there are cases where suicides can be staged, but I’m not even sure if that’s what they were asking for.

“When did you realize your boyfriend was going to kill himself for you?”

“What.”

“When did you realize your boyfriend was going to kill himself?”

“Oh.”

My ears were ringing and the room was spinning. I hated this.

“He w-wasn’t my boyfriend,” I found myself saying. I felt like I was fully detached from my body, and maybe I was. “He sent me a text.” Feeling the tears stinging my eyes, I forced myself to choke out, “bye katie, i’ll miss you.”

“What time was this?”

I closed my eyes. Thankfully I had had enough foresight even in my fog before the emergency services arrived to check.

“9:37,” I said, opening them and focusing on the stern lines in the policewoman’s face. “PM,” I said, coughing.

“Would you like a cup of water?” the policewoman said, the heavyset lines easing softly.

“Sure,” I said, averting my eyes as if I suddenly gained interest in the dust bunny in the corner.

“Sure,” the woman echoed, smiling widely for an odd moment.

I couldn’t help but look.

Her hair color had changed.

Since I was in too much shock when the EMTs arrived and couldn’t drive my car to the station, two burly policemen drove me back after questioning.

“As officers, we’re just following protocol,” the driver, an overgrown Mario-looking guy, said. “You gotta understand, we need to keep our facts straight when reporting these kinds of things for the sake of everyone involved.”

The other man looked in the rearview mirror at me as I gave him a sullen, empty gaze back. Seeing my own reflection, I looked as small and far away as I felt.

The passenger cop was a clean-shaven man, maybe a bit older than me. He gave off a fatherly vibe and smelled faintly of bourbon. 

Looking out the window, I watched as the early morning flew by. We were on the freeway, and I found myself gazing at the concrete railing from the window. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to think about that violent drop. 

One of the policemen said something indistinct, but I didn’t hear him.

“What?” I said, looking back into the rearview at Drew’s eyes staring at me.

“AHH!” I shrieked, jumping up in my seat.

“What?!” the passenger said as the driver tensed, his eyes also meeting mine in the mirror. “What’s wrong?”

As I stared at the passenger cop, I wracked my limited working memory thinking of what the guy’s eyes looked like before. Because as of right now, Drew’s eyes on his face were staring through me in the mirror.

“Nothing,” I said, my eyes unable to pry themselves from Drew’s steely gaze.

“Ma’am? Can you take my order?”

To my amazement, I was at work. I somehow managed to sleep, maybe eat, maybe shower, but either way, I found myself at work. Alcohol may have helped or hindered, depending on how you look at it.

There was a woman in front of me with a spray tan and bleached hair. Her roots were showing.

I looked down at my apron, half-expecting to see red instead of the calming green. 

“Yes,” I said, looking up again.

I froze.

“Thanks,” the woman said, but she wasn’t a woman anymore. Or at least she wasn’t the same woman anymore. Her platinum blonde hair had downgraded several shades and it was the same chestnut brown as…

“Hello?” she said, her long acrylic nails tapping the counter, her large Drew eyes impatiently hassling me. “Can you help me or not?” Her voice dipped down several octaves until it was hardly a register above Drew’s.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my eyes widening to their fullest extent. My heart felt like it was going to burst. My arms were shaking, held tight at my sides. Sweat pooled on my forehead.

Before I knew what I was doing, and even though I was the only person manning the kiosk, I pulled my apron off and made my way to the door.

“Hey, where are you going?” the woman said, a few other Drews behind her making noises of discontent.

“I’m sorry I can’t,” I said, tears blurring my vision as I swung my purse over my shoulder. “I can’t, I can’t I can’t…”

When I got to the mall parking lot, I got into my car and started driving. I had no idea where I was going initially. I didn’t want to go home, because being in an empty apartment that we used to share together

Drew

seemed like the last place I wanted to be. Any of the places where he could reasonably haunt me, I didn’t want to be.

No, I told myself. You’re not going home because you don’t want to be alone. You shouldn’t be alone, not now.

Against my original feelings, I turned left at the intersection and made my way towards where Drew grew up.

Looking into Mrs. Moore’s eyes, I could see Drew alright, but at least it was more well-understood. She immediately brightened upon seeing my face, even though I could tell the edges of her eyes were rimmed red from crying.

“Kate, dear,” she said, her voice cracking a little from disuse. “It’s so wonderful to see you. I wasn’t expecting to see you after…”

“It’s okay,” I said quickly. My arms, which had been shaking since the incident at work, had eased some and I felt strangely calm and collected in her presence. “Is it alright if I hang out here for a bit? Maybe look at some of Drew’s stuff?”

Mrs. Moore opened her mouth in what seemed like mild surprise, then closed it. “Is this some kind of closure thing?”

“I think so,” I said, my voice trailing off. “I mean, yes. Yes, it is.”

Mrs. Moore nodded sagely. “I had to look through some of Drew’s father’s things when he passed. First it was just for practical reasons, like getting his phone shut off with the company. Then I realized that looking through what you didn’t notice in life gives you a new perspective on how that person really was. It makes them feel closer, like you’re having a conversation.”

At this Mrs. Moore’s eyes seemed to flutter around the house, sticking to the wainscoting. Heavy-lidded, I realized she must be on Xanax. 

I nodded. 

“His room’s down the hallway and to the right,” Mrs. Moore said, nodding off slightly even as she stood. “You can’t miss it. I never touched his things or the sign on his door.”

Walking down the hall, I quickly noticed the sign she was talking about, a red sign that looked like a stop sign but read in white lettering “DREW’S ROOM” in all caps.

I opened the door and walked in, almost expecting to find someone sitting at his desk. The room felt that lived-in. I wondered if Mrs. Moore ever slept on his bed. 

My eyes were drawn to the faded train pattern on the wall of his room, some areas attacked with paint thinner. I could only imagine a teenage moody Drew taking a can and sloshing it on the wall angrily in an attempt to erase away his childhood. His temper was always almost impossible to contain. 

I walked a short distance to his desk, which was against the adjacent wall next to a neat navy blue twin bed that seemed to have fresh indents. Fighting the urge to sit down on his bed, I sat at his desk instead.

I opened a red leather book on the shelf of his credenza-style desk, immediately noticing Drew’s neat yet strained handwriting inside. I never knew he kept a diary.

October 4, 2002

Freshman year is the worst year yet. Mom tells me it’ll get better when I graduate, but I don’t think they ever will. Everywhere I go, people will know I was born wrong.

Drew

“Oh, Drew,” I found myself saying out loud in the gloom despite myself. I never knew he was so damaged even so far back as 6 years ago. I skipped ahead, hopeful that sophomore year was better.

September 17, 2003

This time of year is always weird for me. On one hand, what happened two years ago still sticks in my mind. All those people falling to their death… at the same time I have to deal with wading through a pool of indifferent people in the hall every day. It’s a nightmare. If people don’t like me, I wish I could just be alone.

Summers are nice. I live for summers when I can be alone. But once this time of year comes around, everything changes.

There’s a new transfer named Tom that seems nice at least, to me. Maybe that’s just because he’s a transfer and doesn’t know I’m a loser yet. I guess we’ll wait and see.

Drew

Man, I thought. I wish we had met sooner, we could have been friends. I kept reading from there.

October 13, 2003

I like Tom. I like Tom a lot. I don’t know what to do with these feelings but all I know is I’m glad he likes me too. We’re going to meet at the quarry later tonight. He likes being alone, too.

Drew

October 15, 2003

I didn’t write yesterday because I had to think for a while. Tom kissed me and I liked it. It scared me that I liked it. I knew I was born wrong.

Drew

October 23, 2003

Mom says I’ve been moping too much and the calls from Tom that I keep avoiding are getting excessive. I told him we’d watch a movie tomorrow on Friday, as soon as we got off school. 

It’s not that I don’t like him. It’s that I’m afraid I like him too much.

Drew

The next few entries were clearly torn out–a good half inch of pages had been torn from the root of the journal. I kept going, holding my breath.

May 4, 2005

Tom and I broke up. I don’t want to write about it.

Drew

May 17, 2005

It’s finals week and I can barely concentrate. Tom and I shared a testing site and I wish I could’ve bolted, I really did. I got through it but I don’t think I did well on the test. 

Drew

June 6, 2005

I passed all my tests by the skin of my teeth. I don’t like being alone anymore after you know who. 

Drew

June 8, 2005

That’s it. I can’t stand being alone. If I’m still alone in three years or I get feelings for another man, I am going to kill myself. There is nothing for me if my family finds out I’m gay, and I’m just going to have to spend the rest of my life finding a woman who can deal with my secret.

Drew

“I… never knew,” I said, again out of nowhere and to no one. 

“Neither did I,” a voice said from behind me that made me jump.

“Mrs. Moore?”

Mrs. Moore smiled sadly and walked into the room, bringing a tray with lemonade on it that she set on his neatly made bed. 

“I think I always knew, some little part of me,” the grieving mother continued, her eyes tracing the outline of the sun through the blinds. “I certainly knew when he was with Tom, but it was Drew’s father you see, Mr. Moore, that wouldn’t have allowed it if he knew. So I played dumb and didn’t say a word to his father about Tom.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, barely able to look at her through the guilt. I felt dirty, but not because of something that was done to me but because I felt like I had done something to someone else. I felt like I had robbed Drew of joy that he could have felt with another man if he would only allow himself…

“I would have accepted him for who he is,” Mrs. Moore said, closing her eyes and nodding, before opening her eyes again to face me, regarding me as a ghost would regard the living. “I’m sure you would have, too. The tragedy is that he didn’t accept himself.” 

Looking again at the blinds, Mrs. Moore sniffed and got up, as if imperceptibly shaking something off. Walking over to the blinds, she opened them, letting the sun in to illuminate all of the shadows in the dark room, rays breaking through standing dust motes. Through the window, as the light settled, we both watched as a little boy with chestnut brown hair rode his tricycle down the street, joyfully shouting out.