The three minutes or so it took a manager and maintenance man to arrive seemed like thirty. I was the first one in the room once they unlocked it. The bed was empty and still made. I rushed into the bathroom and collapsed.
Hannah was submerged in the bathtub and her wrists were slit. There was a straight razor lying beside the tub on the white marble tile. Blood was everywhere, from the water to the walls where it had splattered, and on the floor. I realized that I was sitting in her blood and screamed. They had to pull me out of there and out into the living room area, where the manager radioed for them to alert the authorities.
By that time, Daddy’s security detail was all over the place. They probably had assumed that I was still asleep until all the action started. I heard one of them, Thomas, on the phone with Daddy filling him in.
They had to sedate me to calm me down. I was moved to another suite while the Parisian forensics team and police took over the presidential suite. When I woke up hours later, one of the officers asked me a bunch of questions. Then she handed me Hannah’s suicide note, addressed to me. I’ll never forget what it said:
Baby Girl,
I’m so sorry about this. I know that we just talked about how much you need me and I do love you. I’m your best friend. Always remember that. But I’m tired. I’m tired of this life and being afraid of what people will think about me. I really believed that Paul was the one. That he could accept me for who I was and would fall in love with me. All my life I’ve searched for the real thing, and while we both know that I had some hit-or-miss relationships, I don’t want to grow old alone.
I hope that you will open yourself up to someone eventually and let go of the past. I realize how much your so-called friends hurt and betrayed you, but please don’t let them win. You have fame and fortune, but you deserve someone to share it with.
Please tell my mother that I died still loving her, even though she could never love me back after I decided to live as a woman. Please tell Richard thank you for taking me in along with you, and being tolerant of my lifestyle. He is an amazing man and he loves you dearly. Please remember that I love you.
Don’t blame yourself for this. It was a long time coming. I used to lie in bed at night and think about all the things I fucked up in my life. You are the only good thing that I have ever nurtured, and I am so proud of you. I just feel like I would make a better ghost than a human being. So remember that I will always be there for you in spirit. I’m not sure if my soul will still be around. People tell all kinds of stories but who the fuck knows? I just know that I have had enough.
As my last act, I plan to leave the world the way that I wanted to live in it. I want to die happy, as the woman that I was. I am sure some will say that I was crazy, but it was not about that. Once I cut it off, there will be no turning back. My wrists will be the easy part.
Good-bye, Ladonna. May you continue to thrive and walk in your gift. Mourn me for a few days and then let me go. I know that you’ll miss me, and I’ll miss you, too. Please don’t get too emotional over my death. I’m happy now. Do me one last favor. I cut off my dick for a reason. Don’t bury me with it.
Love,
Hannah
Chapter Eleven
I was sitting on Marcella’s sofa with tears streaming down my face as I finished relating the events of that day.
“Maybe we should end this session for the day. I don’t want to emotionally drain you. We should take baby steps,” Marcella suggested.
I jumped up. “Can I use your bathroom?”
“Sure, it’s the second door on the left.” She pointed down the hallway.
“Thank you.”
I walked to the bathroom on wobbly knees and closed the door behind me. I closed the toilet seat and sat down and really let the pain release. I stifled my cries with a guest towel and then turned the faucet on to cover it up even more. The pain of discussing Hannah was almost unbearable.
After a few moments, I heard Marcella on the other side of the door. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’ll be right out,” I whispered.
It dawned on me that she may have been worried about me doing something crazy in her bathroom. After all, she was a psychiatrist and I had just finished recounting my best friend’s suicide.
I ran some water over my face, demolishing what was left of my makeup, took a few deep breaths, and then opened the door. She was standing there waiting for me, concern written all over her face.
“Are you okay, Wicket?”
“I’m fine.” I walked past her and went to sit back on the sofa. “This is the first time that I’ve discussed this with anyone since that day, except for my father.”