But my happiness was not worth her life.

I would keep her alive even if it killed me in every way possible.

My mood, my situation, did not improve. My heart beat a furious pace at almost all times, my anxiety at epic levels.

“Do you want to do anything special for your birthday?” Lila asked one afternoon.

My birthday?

The shock alone sent a spear of pain through me. How did she know?

It was an innocent question, but to me, it was a dagger shoved into my chest. “Please don’t say that again, and don’t tell anyone. I don’t celebrate my birthday…not anymore.”

Lila didn’t say anything or ask any questions.

When the actual date rolled around, I retreated into myself, something Lila took notice of. I was hard with her, the devastating energy driving me. I needed the mind-wiping come, needed it to drag me under and make me forget. Shine light on me, guide me in the emptiness.

What was worse was two days later. Halfway through the day, I left without a word. Jack would understand, and there’d be no trouble, but I couldn’t even tell Lila. I had to get out of there, had to drown myself just to get past the day, past the hour. The countdown to 9:16 pm.

I shouldn’t have even stepped inside the office. There was no way I’d be able to handle it.

The moment I was home, I pulled the vodka from the fridge and took a long, hard pull straight from the bottle. It was only a third full and wouldn’t last long.

Deep inside I shook, from my core expanding outward. I wasn’t good to be around, nothing but a destructive force.

The draw to see her moved me to the closet and the box that lay hidden. I hadn’t even acknowledged its existence since that day months before when it tried to pull me under. But I needed it, more than anything. I needed to see her, to see them, to completely submerge myself in the pain.

I threw the blankets and sheets off, uncovering the box and pulling it into the middle of the closet. My hands shook as I flipped the lid, the beast howling inside my mind, but I was driven by the need to see, to rip open the scars of my heart.

A vice wrapped around my chest as I lifted the lid, getting a glimpse of my wife for the first time in over a year. Tears filled my eyes as I looked over the top photo, the one I used to have sitting on my desk. Jack stood between us beaming with pride, my wife’s eyes sparkling.

Life was so easy, simple then. At least that was how it seemed looking back. Photos of us in college, my Harvard graduation were in there. Then came our wedding photos. We were so young and naïve, ready to tackle the world.

I took another large gulp of vodka as the tears slowly trailed down my cheeks.

I pulled a small jewelry box out and opened it up. Inside sat the only remnant of that wedding—my wedding ring. The small ring of gold was the only thing to survive the crash intact, not even a small divot in the smooth surface. They managed to get it off before it had to be cut off due to the swelling from my broken arm.

I finished off the bottle, my mind a complete wasteland. I needed more, so I picked myself up from the disaster zone I’d created, slipped the ring into my pocket, and headed to the kitchen.

Once there, I stared into the fridge and the six pack of beer that sat on the shelf, one of the bottles missing. I’d been drinking the same brand for over a decade. My wife had brought it home one day in a mixed package of different beers.

My chest expanded, and I let out a howl, all of my energy concentrated as I tried to force my pain out. Loud and wounded, but it wasn’t enough to expel the churning despair inside me.

Nothing in me was salvageable. I shouldn’t have taken the job, but it was just another piece in a long line of my failures.

I grab hold of anything in the kitchen not tied down and threw it, dinging walls and sending shards of debris everywhere, screaming as I let it all wash over me and take over.

My breath was hard, the kitchen a mess of broken glass and ceramic. I opened the fridge again and pulled out the package of beer. In less than a minute I had the top popped and the first bottle drained.

Two more in hand, I grabbed my cigarettes and headed out to the porch. It was warm, the day too nice outside for the destruction inside me. I was a bomb, explosive and destructive.

Numbness moved through me as I finished one beer and opened another.

I lost my entire life—my home, my job, my family, my health. Everything that I was, gone in an instant.

The ring in my hand was a reminder of how fucked up I’d become. I stared at it, remembering the moment she slipped it on my finger.

It was a symbol of love, and now it was a symbol of loss.

“Nathan?”

Lila’s voice penetrated through the emptiness, and a searing pain cut through me as I continued to twirl the ring in my fingers. I wasn’t going to let her end up like my wife. Loving me was a death sentence.

I had to let her go.

“You shouldn’t have come today, Lila,” I said, my voice hollow even to my own ears. I reached down and picked the bottle up and took a swig. “I can’t control what I may do. I’ll hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Run. Run while you can. Don’t let me destroy you.

“I’m not going anywhere. Tell me what’s wrong.” Determination laced her voice.

There was no holding it back from her. She’d seen the ring. “Four years ago today, everything fell to ruin. Leave, Lila.”

The pain whirled inside me, growing and heaving.

“I’m not leaving, not when you’re finally talking.” She stepped closer.

I needed her to understand, to get away from me, to save herself before it was too late. “I don’t just mean today. Leave me. What we have is fucked up.”

Save yourself.

“It may be fucked up, but it’s helping us both. We need each other.”

“I’m not good to be around.”

“You are. You are good to be around,” she said, her voice breaking.

No!

The violent energy surged, and I stood and flung the bottle against the wall. Liquid and shards of glass sprayed everywhere. In my periphery, she jumped, perhaps frightened of me for the first time.

I wanted to break something, mangle, hurt myself on the outside until the pain went away on the inside.

“You don’t fucking get it! I lost everything that mattered most. My family. The family they stole from me, and the one I pushed away for their own safety.”