Free The End of All Things Beautiful by Nikki Young Page A

your name in his
sleep, write you a letter and insist I deliver it?” Her tone is filled with
hatred and hurt. I want to be able to explain it all to her, but it’s not my
story to tell alone.
    “Then
please believe him, because it’s all I can give you too. I can only tell you he
wasn’t in love with me. There’s so much more to it than that, but it’s
complicated.”
    “I’m
not going to do this with you anymore. You’re vague and you’re upsetting me. My
son is inside and the last thing I need is him seeing his father’s mistress or
girlfriend or whatever the fuck you are arguing with his mother.”
    “I’m
none of those things!” I shout and I instantly cover my mouth with my hand. I
didn’t intend for it to come out that loudly. My voice drops to a near whisper,
“I’m a childhood friend. We grew up together.”
    She
shakes her head; her tears now dry, but her pain still visible on her face. “Please
go,” she begs. “And don’t come back.”
    “Wait,”
I call out, my hand on the door once again. “Can you tell me one thing?”
    She
rolls her eyes, a hand on her hip now, the door propped open with her foot. “What?”
she utters clearly annoyed.
    “How
did he die?”
    “He
killed himself,” she states very simply, and it confirms what I always
suspected. “At first I thought it was a drug overdose,” she pauses as if she’s
thinking about what happened. “He hadn’t used in years. Five years to be exact.
He stopped when he found out I was pregnant. And I really thought things were
changing, that the baby would be what he needed to get well.” She stops again
and shoots me a filthy look. “Why the fuck am I telling you this? I don’t owe
you anything.”
    “You’re
right, you don’t,” I say attempting to appease her, but desperately needing her
to keep talking. “Why did you think it was a drug overdose?” I ask even though
I know it might be the question that causes her to slam the door in my face
this time.
    “Tommy
was a heroin addict, but like I said he’d been sober for five years,” she says
as she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “I found him with a needle in
his arm on our bathroom floor. He was already dead.” She covers her face with
her hands and I see the tears spill out from underneath. “But then I found the
note he left. It wasn’t about the drugs, it was about ending his life.” She
again wipes her hands under her eyes, the tears streaking through her makeup.
    My
heart breaks for her and their son. A tragedy that could have so easily been
avoided and right now I can’t do anything but blame myself. What if I had come
back into his life? Would he be dead right now? Would we have been able to
salvage what was lost, correct each other’s wrongs and be there for each other?
A secret so great, so debilitating that it’s ruining lives.
    “You
need to go, Campbell,” she asserts, my name falling from her lips like a swear
word, cruel and unforgiving. Her arms are now crossed over her chest and she’s
ready to close the door.
    “I’m
sorry,” I admit, not entirely sure what I’m apologizing for; the amount of
things too large to even list, but they still run through my head.   “I hope one day I can find you the
closure you need.”
    She
just shakes her head and closes the door.
    I
never expected her to even speak to me, but to know how things ended for him
doesn’t make it any easier to cope with. But it makes his letter scream at me
loud and clear. What I didn’t think I could do, is exactly what I need to. This
cycle of death and avoidance can’t continue.
    I
need to find Benji.

Chapter Nine

 
 
    Despite
leaving the office several hours ago, I’m on my way back. This whole situation
has spiraled faster than I could have imagined and I’m now going to need more
than just today to sort it all out.
    I
know I have a million things on my calendar over the next week, so I’m returning
to take care of handing off clients and making