Broken Dreams(78)
“Christ.” The tears stung his dry, whiskey-laden eyes. They began to roll down his cheeks. His hand slid over his eyes, and the sobs poured out of him.
His life, or so-called life, was a wreck. All he wanted was to leave his past in the past, and walk forward with Elaina. But, somehow, he had fucked that up, as he did everything else. He knew his past was going to catch up to him, but he didn’t know when.
Henry reached over to his nightstand and pulled one of his Sigs out from the drawer. His hands shook as the thought of pulling the trigger ran through his mind. It would be so easy to just end it and not worry about anything ever again.
All the horrible things that he had done -- all the plotting, all the deception, and all the hurt Elaina would experience, regardless of whether she decided to stay with him or not -- ran through his mind. If she only knew how fucked up he really was. He held the gun to his temple and took a couple of deep breaths, looking for the courage to end it. One quick squeeze was all it would take.
There was no courage. Not even a flicker of courage. Only a weak-minded so-called man, who lived with many dark secrets.
His eyes closed, and he pictured Roger screaming at him. The fists connecting with his face. The blood pouring out of his nose and mouth. The degradation and humiliation. The tasing. The beatings. The life-changing injection. The pain. The vomiting because of the pain. It was all right there in the forefront of his mind.
Henry shuddered. He put the gun back in his nightstand.
He fumbled with his phone and pulled up Sophie’s contact again. He hit the CALL button. He had no one else and needed to talk. She was the only one who could fully understand him. She answered as soon as the call connected.
“Henry?” No words left his mouth. “Henry? Is everything okay?”
“Sophie…” he whispered.
“Henry, what’s wrong?” He wiped his face and a few more uncontrollable sobs embarrassingly snuck out of his throat. “Henry, talk to me.”
“I can’t…do it.” He wiped his face with his shirtsleeve.
“Can’t do what?”
“End it.”
“End what, Henry? Talk to me.” Her concern was evident.
“This.”
“Henry, have you been drinking?”
“What the fuck does it matter?!” he yelled. If he had the capability, he would have thrown something.
“You’re scaring me.”
“Sorry. Yes, I have been…drinking.”
Sophie sighed. “I thought you put that behind you.”
“I tried, but…I’m weak.”
“You are not weak.”
“I am.”
“Henry…please, talk to me.”
“I tried to…pull the trigger…and I couldn’t.” He continued to cry.
“Christ, I am so bloody glad you didn’t.” There was a heavy silence. “Henry?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you send her flowers and a nice note?”
“Yeah.”
“I know that she will come running back to you. You’re a great guy, and she is lucky to have someone like you love her.”
“I’m not that great. Look at all the…horrible things I have done.”
“Henry, don’t do this to yourself. You know your past is not your fault.”
“I love her so fucking much, Sophie.” He wiped the tears that were still flowing from his eyes.
“I know you do.” She was a little hurt by Henry’s love for Elaina.
“What if she doesn’t take me back?”
“You’ll have to move on.”
“I can’t. I would wait…an eternity for her. I’d rather die…than not be with her.”
“Don’t say that. You are such a sweet man. Any woman would be lucky to have you in her life.”
“Thanks, Sophie.”
“She will come back.”
“I hope so. If she doesn’t…I’m not sure what I will do.”
“Stop talking like that. You need to sleep off some of that whiskey. Let me know what happens.”
“Okay.” There was another long, heavy silence.
“Henry?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.” Sophie’s love for him went far deeper than just a friend.
“I love you, too.” He hit the END CALL button, and laid the phone on his chest. The whiskey wrapped around his brain, and he passed out.
***
The alarm on his phone scared the shit out of him the next morning. The whiskey had a death grip on his brain, squeezing it so hard that he thought it was going to be crushed.
“Damn…” He rubbed his head. He was slow to sit up, working up the courage to open his eyes. Once he was able to do that, he took his time to stand up. “Fuuuuck.” He rubbed his sandpaper-lidded eyes, tripped over the ottoman again, and just about took out his closet door.