TOO LATE FOR MAYBES

It was two in the morning. An empty bottle of Jack had been flung across the room, where it collided with the wall, fracturing into pieces. Cigarette smoke clouded the dingy motel room and empty packs littered the floor.

It's fine, she thought; I won't be staying here much longer anyway.

Another puff of smoke curled from her lips as she threw the used cigarette from her mouth and onto the floor to join a dozen more. Pictures were scattered across the bed, memories that hurt enough to keep her from undoing her decision.

Her trembling fingers picked up a polaroid picture. In it, two smiling people gazed at each other. Not pictured was the third who had snuck into the picture a year after he had asked her to marry him.

She snorted before crumpling the picture and tossing it back on the bed. The alcohol surged through her veins, igniting her reason for her long-thought-out decision. It was easy to make knowing she wouldn’t have to endure the pain any longer.

Thoughts of how easily Kylie wrapped her little manicured claws around her fiancé flushed her face as she felt another surge of anger rise up. It was almost enough to doubt her decision and kill her instead. But then Ryan would despise her and she would still have to live with the betrayal. It was easier this way. Yes. Once it was all over she could finally rest.

The bathtub was beginning to overflow; she could hear little pats of water starting to drip on the sticky linoleum floor. She got up off the bed and stumbled into the bathroom. She had everything she needed on the counter, including a notepad with a pen. She figured she should write a letter. To her family and a few friends she had left. Everyone kind of abandoned her after she became fixated on how the little tramp, Kylie, had ruined her relationship and life. They were tired of hearing about it.

Well, she thought, they won't have to hear about it anymore.

Her fingers drew lazy circles in the water in the tub. It felt warm and inviting. First things first. She grabbed the notepad and pen then sat on the floor.

Dear mom—

She scratched it out. Too formal.

I’m sorry to do this—

But she wasn’t sorry. They weren’t sorry either. Maybe if they had given her the support she needed, she wouldn’t be here right now. But it was too late for maybes.

Ryan—

She tapped the pen on her chin.

Ryan, Ryan, Ryan. If only you had kept your dick in your pants, we would still be happy and in love. But no, you had to bury it in that pathetic excuse for a human. Why? And why her? What was she giving you that I couldn’t?

The pen dug through the paper as she crossed that out too. She threw the pen and paper to the other side of the bathroom where it hit the wall and landed on the floor with a dull thump.

Fuck it. No one deserves a letter anyway.

She stood, barely, gripping the sink for stability as she slammed her hand onto a small orange bottle with a white cap. She struggled for a minute to open it before dumping a handful of small white pills into her palm.

She looked at the tired eyes looking back at her in the grimy mirror and almost felt remorseful. Like she wasn't doing this to herself; she was doing this to her…the girl in the mirror. Tears rolled down her cheeks for the girl in the mirror, then the palmful of little white pills went up to her mouth.

She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry, and there were too many of them. So she ran back into the bedroom to grab the other bottle of Jack hiding in her duffle bag. She hastily unscrewed the top and guzzled the burning liquid until she couldn't feel the pills in her mouth anymore.

She took a deep breath, knowing it might be her last, then staggered back into the bathroom.

She felt the warmth of the bathwater. Little goosebumps erupted on her arms, and her hairs stood straight. It felt…good. She stripped her dirty, sweaty clothes off and lifted her foot to get into the tub. As her toes touched the water, she was reminded of bathtime when she was little and how her mom would always make the tub super bubbly, and how much fun it was to throw her Barbies through the mountains of bubbles.

Sadness struck her as she settled into the bath. There were no bubbles this time, and there wasn’t going to be a next time. The thought panicked her as she realized there wasn’t going to be a next time for anything.

Suddenly, she got up out of the tub and crossed the room to retrieve the pen and paper.

Mom, I’m sorry. I messed up. I love you and wish you were here with me right now. I am so scared…

She set the paper down and slunk down the wall. She began crying as her vision began to blur. She needed to get help.

She crawled into the bedroom and looked for her cellphone.

Where did I leave it?!

Waves of panic hit as time kept moving forward. She finally found her phone but it was so hard for her to dial 911 her fingers were wet and she kept hitting the wrong numbers because everything was starting to blur.

She finally dialed 911 and got to the operator.

“I need help,” she could barely talk, her slurred words unintelligible. “Took pills.” Her eyes closed as she collapsed on her phone. Her breathing slowed considerably, and it was getting hard to breathe.

“Mom,” she cried out.

The operator was still on the phone, but she couldn’t hear or comprehend what she was saying because suddenly she was five years old again.

“Momma, look!” Another Barbie splashed into the water, causing bubbles to fly into the sky.

“Very good, honey!” Mom said while taking her time to rinse the suds out of her hair.

She turned around to look at her mom and noticed her big smile with her soft brown eyes. She turned back around and splashed some more.

Knock, knock, knock!

“Fire department, open up!”

The sound brought her back to reality. She was too tired to lift her head and too much drool was coming out of her mouth to try to speak.

Bang!

The door flew open, and several first responders came bustling through the front door. Hands were suddenly everywhere—lifting her, calling to her, trying to keep her awake.

She faded in and out of consciousness as voices blurred around her. Somewhere between one breath and the next, there was only one thought left.

Please let there be a next time.