I lay here, alone on the cold tiled floor. Medication containers litter the floor, all in different shapes, sizes, colours and dosages.
His face floats hazily into my mind and I begin to think about him, the one who so violently pushed me over this final edge.
I think of his warm caring brown eyes, his rich Texan accent, his gentle voice. I remember back to things that no one else really knew about him - like how his rough chapped lips felt on the hollow of my throat, the way his rough fingers would gently trace patterns on my bare skin, his gentle reassuring words as he stroked my hair while I would lie gasping for breath beside him.
And then, suddenly things changed. He stopped coming round to my place, stopped inviting me to his. His responses to me at work became distant, vague, almost as if he couldn't bear to talk to, or be seen talking, to me unless it was absolutely necessary.
Warrick was the first to notice. "Dude, what happened between you and Nick?" he questioned me one day in the locker room.
I shrugged, putting on my best innocent face, hoping I wouldn't blurt everything I thought to him, or worse - burst into tears in front of him at the thought of it all. "I don't know. You'd better ask him yourself..."
That's what I started to do when my colleagues and friends started to ask - just shrug my shoulders and tell them to go find Nick and ask him to explain himself.
Either he never told them the reason, or they forgot about asking him by the time they found him, for I never did find out the answer to that question myself.
I guess the final straw was when I saw that brunette of his, flaunting her long tanned legs in a white denim mini-skirt, clinging onto his arm like he was her only lifeline left in the world, silently advertising the fact that he was hers. Or maybe it was the other way around - she was his. In any case, she was apparently everything that Nick had wanted, but I could never in my lifetime be...
Through my haziness, sounding like it was coming from somewhere in the distance, I can hear someone pounding on a door. It takes me a second to come to the decision that the door is probably mine. I can hear someone call out something that vaguely sounds vaguely like my name. I don't respond. My eyes close as I am pitched into a world of darkness, my last thought being 'Goodbye cruel world'.
As I enter his apartment, I take in the all too familiar interior. My eyes sweep past the couch on which we had lain together so many times, just holding one another, whispering sweet nothings into each others ears, past his stack of cds which are spilling out from the shelf as usual, past the somewhat crumpled rock t-shirt lying crumpled on the floor. I haven't been here in over six months, but the familiarity of the place envelopes me, comforting me as if I'd just arrived home.
I not for one minute doubt that he's not here. After all, his car's here, and his apartment's unlocked. It suddenly occurs to me that he might be in bed with some girl at the moment. Or guy.
"Greg?" I call out tentatively. No one answers. Listening closely, I hear no noises coming from his bedroom. Well, there goes that theory.
His apartment seems eerily quiet, and suddenly the atmosphere is no longer calm and familiar, but hostile, sinister even, unnerving me and I cannot help but give a slight shiver.
"Greg?" I call out again as I enter his room, searching for him or for any clue to where he might be. His bed's unmade, and t-shirts and work shirts litter the room. I'm getting more and more nervous with every step that I take, getting more worried with every passing moment.
Something suddenly pulls me to the bathroom. "Greggo?" I utter, pushing the door open, not quite knowing what to expect to find.
I definitely wasn't expecting what I see. The sight before me makes my blood still as this wretched moment seems to stretch out forever while I just stand there, incapable of doing anything.
Suddenly I snap out of my trance and rush to him, my face devoid of colour as I scoop him up, cradling him, his body limp in my arms. "Greg! Stay with me Greggo!" I yelp as I frantically call for help, trying to feel for a pulse as I do so. "Greggo, stay with me please!" I plead, several tears running down my cheeks as I desperately cling to him like a child clings to its teddy-bear. "Greggo! Please!"
I awaken to find myself on some unfamiliar bed. I'm hurting all over, as if someone had beaten me with a truncheon. Trying to find the cause of the pain, I find tubes sticking out of me and it takes me several minutes to realise that I'm in hospital.
I wrinkle my nose in disgust; I couldn't even manage to die properly. I had been so close to finally making peace with everything, so close to finally easing my pain forever, but I couldn't even achieve that...
I give a groan of disgust mixed with pain. The source of the pain, I finally realize, is my stomach, feeling as if it had been ripped apart, and it takes me a very long moment to realize that I'd probably had my stomach pumped.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone stir at the sound of my groan in the chair beside my bed, and looking over, I see Nick. His brown eyes are completely filled with worry and he looks as if he'd been crying for several hours.
I turn my face away as I feel tears of my own threatening to spill. There was no way I'd cry in front of Nick. Not again. I was done with him seeing me cry.
Of all the people who could've been here, why did it have to be the one person who I didn't want to see right now, the one person over who I had tried to die? Doesn't he realize how much his being here hurts me even more? Why can't he just disappear from my life?!
"Greg? Greggo?" he whispers, placing a hand on my shoulder.
I try to shrug his hand off, but am too drained of energy to have any sort of effect, so it just lays there. "Why can't you go away?" I whisper bitterly at him. "Why can't you just alone?!" I hiss at him, surprising myself at how hostile it sounds aloud.
He looks taken aback, hurt even, at my tone and words. And yet his hand still remains on my shoulder. "What...?"
"You heard me. I said 'go away'. Just leave me alone to suffer in peace..." I tell him.
"Greggo I'm just trying to help..." he starts.
"Don't call me Greggo!" I burst out at him, as I feel a twinge of pain at the sound of my old nickname. "Don't you dare use my old nickname!" I spit at him, suddenly angry. "Don't try and make it sound like you still love me, as if you still care for me! Because I know you don't! You couldn't care less about me! I bet the only reason you're here is cos you want to get out of work! And I certainly don't need your help, nor do I want it! You've done more than enough!" I'm almost yelling at him, angry tears streaming down my face. "So just leave me the hell alone!"
Mid rampage I stop as it suddenly hits me that he was the one who had found me. "Why couldn't you have just let me die?!"
"Because killing yourself is not the answer, Greggo. I'd have thought that in a job like ours, you would have learned that..." he whispers.
"I told you - don't call me 'Greggo'! It was a damn good answer to this whole problem. Maybe it didn't quite hit you that if you hadn't stopped me, I would've been the happiest I could be ever since six months ago! What even gave you the right to stop me?! This is my life to stop, not yours!"
"What gave me the right? Because I do still love you Greggo, with all my heart..." he whispers, quiet at my outburst, looking like a pup who'd just been slapped.
"How many times do I have to tell you - DON'T CALL ME THAT!" I yelp, my voice shrill as my pleas fall on deaf ears yet again. "How dare you say you love me?! How can you be so unashamed to lie to my face like that? You don't love me at all, not one bit! Not when you so happily dumped me for that...that...that slut!"
"I didn't know what I wanted... I was confused..." he lamely protests, obviously trying to save her from my onslaught.
"Oh spare me the whole 'confused-little-straight-boy' act, Nick! We were together for almost a year! Didn't that mean anything to you?! Or was it just a confused experiment to see how straight you are?!" I wanted to lash out at him, to hurt him just as much as he'd hurt me, but I had no strength left. Instead I let out a bitter laugh, "Poor straight confused Nick, who old Greggo tried to corrupt. You know, you could have at least had the decency to tell me straight away. Would have been nice for you to have told me yourself, instead of me figuring things out months later, after having been interrogated by the whole lab as to what's going on between you and me..."
"Believe me or not, but I do still love you Greg. More than I've ever loved anyone, and certainly more than I could ever love Katie. I came to realize that no one can ever take your place in my heart, no one can ever replace you. I truly do love you..." he tells me, his voice soft, cracking as if he's about to cry, his brown eyes sincere.
I look away, not wanting to look at the Texan before me anymore. "You don't mean that..."
"No, you don't!"
"Yes, I do!"
"Fine!" I snap. "Prove it then." I'd pulled out the only card I knew I had left. I didn't know what he was going to do, and frankly I didn't care. I knew that everything that he'd just said to me was just that - talk. He didn't mean a single word of it.
A disgusted smirk threatens to break out on my face as my mouth forms the words 'I told you so' when I wince, almost crying out in pain as I feel him suddenly ontop of me. His rough hands cup my face so I can't twist away as he kisses me, his hunger for my lips about to be satisfied.
Eventually he gets off me, and looks at me, silently urging me to say something, his brown eyes pleading.
When I don't say anything, my silence being a mixture of stubbornness and just not knowing what to say to him, he turns towards the door, his shoulders slumped dejectedly, his head hanging in defeat.
His fingers linger on the handle and he turns to look at me. "You know, I broke up with Katie. I had wanted you to be the first to know. I told her I wanted to be with you, cos I still loved you. I wanted you back. I still do..."
I once again remain silent. He looks at me for a moment longer, then defeatedly walks out, the hospital door slamming softly behind him.
And I am left here on this hospital bed, alone, sore, upset and confused, not exactly dead, but definitely not alive either.