There was a simultaneous click of the front door closing and the thump of the ring box hitting the marble tile.
Alec stood motionless with a blank expression, staring at the front door. Compelled by curiosity or something deeper, he stepped forward and put his eye to the peephole so he could watch Cat leave.
She got smaller and smaller and eventually disappeared around a corner at the end of the hall.
The last thing Alec said to her had been the god's honest truth; he would love her for the rest of his life. Cat just didn't know the rest of his life would only last the next few hours.
Alec was surprisingly calm about the whole thing. If his mind had been the slightest bit present, he would have self-diagnosed his current state as one of shock. But the last thing Alec was thinking about was himself.
The only thing on Alec's mind was the child he'd never meet, and how that child's demise was ultimately Alec's fault. Surely, if he'd been at the lake, he could have prevented it. But he hadn't been at the lake that day, and it was all because long ago, without even realizing it, Alec had become his worst nightmare—his own selfish father.
He tried not to dwell on it too much. Just as he told Cat, he had very important things to do. They weren't, however, things he had to do for Cynthia.
Everything Alec needed to do for Cynthia, he'd done in about five minutes after they'd gotten off the phone. He'd contacted the funeral director and paid in full every expense necessary to give their son a handsome and proper Catholic burial. It was the most surreal and tragic phone call he'd ever made. One minute, he had no idea that he was a father, and the next, he was assisting with his own child's funeral arrangements. Needless to say, it was a large contributing factor to the borderline catatonic stupor in which he currently found himself.
After that, Alec called his bank and wired enough money to Cynthia that she'd either never have to work again, or at least be able to take off a significant amount of time. He knew from hearing her tone she had no business trying to handle something as comparatively trivial as going to a job. Whatever their history had been, regardless of how angry Alec was with Cynthia for robbing him of a life, albeit a short one, with his son, she was still a grieving mother. Not just any grieving mother. One who mourned the loss of their child, his child, and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to do whatever he could to help her.
He tried to do more, but she insisted he not. She didn't want him at the funeral. It would only cause a stir, she had said. Take the attention off of Ethan and his abbreviated life. Alec didn't know if he'd be able to handle being there anyway. It felt sick and twisted to him, the idea that the first time he'd see his son would be a vacated body that was ornately encased in a casket.
So Alec didn't protest, and he agreed to keep the distance he'd unintentionally maintained the boy's whole life.
But supposed random tasks for Cynthia made a good enough excuse to convince Cat to leave, and Alec had needed Cat to leave. He had to hurt her just enough to make her angry, possibly even enough to hate him, because that would ensure she'd go, and then she'd be spared the traumatic experience of finding his dead body.
Alec stood at the peephole for just long enough to feel confident Cat wasn't going to turn around and come back. Once he was sure, it was on to his very important tasks.
The first, naturally, was to continue getting drunk. Everything else hinged on him being totally wasted.
Alec had made a good amount of progress in this area before Cat had come back from wherever she'd gone while he was on the phone. He wasn't feeling quite ballsy enough yet, so he reached into the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of fine and expensive single malt scotch. He didn't even bother with a glass. Like everything else, it seemed pointless. So he simply tilted his head backward and poured a large gulp straight into his throat.
The second item on Alec's to-do list needed to be completed before he got too impaired, because, it being of a legal nature, his scrawling needed to be somewhat legible and coherent. He needed something to write on. He scoured his bookshelf in search of some kind of paper, but to no avail.
Alec stumbled back into the center of the living area, his eyes scanning the room for the tools he needed, until they came to a halt on a backpack slouched in the corner next to the kitchen table.
It was Cat's.
At first, he didn't want to touch it. Partially because his mother had always told him to never go through a lady's belongings, especially their purses or personal bags. But also, because he was afraid if he touched anything he knew she'd had her hands on, he'd give in to the subtle lingering desire to run down the hall after her.
After chugging more liquid courage, Alec swiftly reached into the bag, pulled out the first notebook he felt, and flipped quickly to a blank page, in an effort to avoid seeing any of Cat's handwriting.
He nestled himself down onto a sofa, with the scotch in one hand and a pen in the other and began divvying up his assets. It didn't take very long.
Last Will and Testament of Alec Edward Branneth:
Liquidate all belongings and property. Divide profits equally between my mother, Miriam Elizabeth Branneth, and my girlfriend, Catarina Francesca Bellafiore. The five carat Cartier ring belongs to Catarina and must be returned to her. I wish to have my remains cremated and placed on the grave of my son, Ethan Andrew Carmichael, which is located in Boston, MA.
Upon completion of his makeshift will, Alec tore the page out and placed it on the kitchen table, where he knew nobody would miss it. Just for good measure, he placed the Cartier box over one of the bottom corners.
Alec's next task was going to be significantly more emotionally taxing. At least, it would have been if he had not been reduced to a numb state of autopilot.
He had to write two letters. Only two. Nobody else deserved an explanation, and Alec was already long overdue to complete the major task of the afternoon, so he wasn't going to waste time or words on less than important people.
Dear Ma,
I know you're pissed at me, and you don't want to read the bullshit ramblings of me trying to explain away the grief I know you're feeling. By now, I know you've been made aware of Ethan, and I hope, since you're a parent yourself, you at least have some grasp of why I had to do this.
I've never been particularly strong in an emotional sense. You know that. And unfortunately, I'm just not equipped to deal with something like this. You always insisted that I be straightforward with you about everything, and that's why I'm not going to offer you meaningless, flowery platitudes that try to make my choice seem like a noble one. It's not noble. I'm not proud. I just know when it's time to tap out. I'm in over my head with this one, Ma. And I'm sorry for what I know it's going to do to you.
But you were always the one that stood by me and let me go ahead and make my stupid decisions, letting me make own my choices and the resulting consequences, so I'm asking you to see this as the latest and final one of those.
You've always been far more resilient than me, and I know you'll get through this too.
I love you, Ma. I tried. I really did. I hope you're able to see that. And I'm sorry for this.
Alec
PS-Please take care of Cat. If she'll let you. She's a spitfire, just like you. But she needs someone who can be there for her. I wish it could have been me.
Alec read over the page a few times, wiped his eyes, and then tossed back another gulp to numb the ache of his throat. Satisfied with the words he left for his mother, he flipped to the next page and started the second letter. It began, Dear Cat, and he wrote so long he lost track of time.
By the time he finished, the sleeves of his robe were soaked with salt water and snot, and he was absolutely, utterly, thoroughly done with the entire situation. With everything.
Alec tossed the notebook onto the coffee table and swallowed scotch until he gagged. He stood up from the couch a bit too confidently for his intoxicated state and immediately tumbled onto the rug.
The room spun uncontrollably, so he opted to simply crawl into his kitchen for his final act of the night.
Alec didn't know the first thing about how to successfully off onesself. He was also woefully ill equipped for such a task, so the plan all along had been to just reach for a knife and hope for the worst.
He lifted to his knees and pulled a decent-sized blade out of the knife block and slumped back down on the floor with his head resting against a cabinet door.
Only at this point did Alec feel the pace of his heart start to pick up. There was also a hum in his ears that started to lull him toward drowsiness.
He poked the blade at his thigh a couple of times, just to test out the level of numbness brought about by the copious amounts of alcohol he'd consumed. He wondered how much and for how long this was going to hurt. He figured it couldn't be any worse than the lingering shattered sensation of his obliterated heart. So he held the blade in his right hand and poised it over his left wrist.
Alec had a single moment of hesitation. He just had to check one last thing and make sure. He pulled his phone out of the pocket of his robe.
Nope, she hadn't called. He was sure he had been successful in making her hate him, which would probably work to her advantage when she found out. He shoved the phone back in his pocket and refocused.
Alec clenched his left fist a few times, the way he'd been instructed to do the few times he'd given blood. He wasn't sure if it would do anything helpful, but it seemed to make the network of veins more visible, so that was somewhat useful.
He held his left wrist out in front of him, placed the base of the blade on the largest cluster of faint blue lines, pressed down hard, gritted his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut, and dragged the knife as fast as he could across his skin.
It stung like a mother fucker. He didn't want to look at it quite yet, but the odd sensation of separated flesh let him know he'd probably got the job done nicely.
His forearm felt warm and wet, and curiosity got the best of him.
Alec finally opened his eyes to see massive amounts of blood running down his arm, and he almost vomited. But this was the goal, so he simply let his arm fall to his side and leaned his head backward against the cabinet and closed his eyes again.
His head started getting light, and the sleepy feeling increased tenfold. He took a deep breath and let his mind drift to the mental picture he'd created of his son.
Alec imagined him to have dark hair. Probably cut short. There was a sprinkling of freckles across his nose, dimples in his cheeks, and a sweet, yet mischievous half-grin. He had blue eyes.
Blue eyes.
Blue eyes.
Blue eyes.
Blue eyes.
Blue eyes.
Blue eyes like mine,
and a smile that can light up the darkest of nights.
The room continued to spin as it got darker and darker. The stinging ceased and Alec's heart started to calm down as he drifted into a dream, a better place than the one where he'd left his body.
At least when they found him, he'd have a smile on his face.