Hotline Fling

44: Holes in My Heart

Juneau's POV

My life had gotten too good to be true.

I wasn't sure what horrific event happened to Damian, but he sounded nothing like himself. His angry, dark, and noticeably slurred voice and cruel words were so unfamiliar. I checked the number three times during our call. When he said he couldn't see me, I thought he'd injured his eyes.

The sentiments 'drunken words are sober thoughts' carried me out of his place that morning, equally confused as I was in pain, so much that I didn't realize I left my underwear in his fridge until I got home. His biting words stung and cut deep.

Absent the details to process why he said that, I accepted that whatever he dealt with, whatever called him in overnight on his off-day, was so horrible that he got himself drunk after as a coping mechanism. I didn't need a psychology degree to see that Damian suffered from displaced aggression. He lashed out so that I distanced myself from him.

Damian was hurting, but he needed help. If he contacted me further, that was my message to him. I was the biggest hypocrite in the world if I didn't acknowledge that I'd done regretful things when I was drunk. Fuck, most of my relationships were colossal failures. He deserved the benefit of the doubt to explain himself, but absolutely nothing was okay about verbally attacking me to push me away from...whatever he dealt with.

No matter what Damian encountered at work, I didn't deserve his words. Their cruelty raised hot tears in my eyes, which I fought my entire way home and every day since. Behind my slammed door, I wanted nothing more than to collapse on my apartment floor and sob into my hands.

Unfortunately, I couldn't do that. The horrible scene that greeted me demanded my immediate attention. Stretched out on his side, on the floor, Gus lay in a mess of his urine and feces. Ragged pitches of his ribs showed he was breathing and conscious. I cleaned him up and rushed him straight to the vet.

After a ketoacidosis diagnosis and new medication, Gus' food and water dishes sat full over the next two days. Despite his twice-daily insulin shots and me never leaving his side, his levels went haywire and bodily functions turned uncontrollable. After unsuccessful medication attempts, I faced his only hope with tears in my eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Juneau." Dr. Adelman's brown eyes pooled with sympathy. "I think it's time. There's nothing else we can do for him."

I clasped my elbows, squeezing them into my stomach and rocking in my seat. The exam room blurred around me under a fresh set of hot tears. A choking sensation seized my throat, turning my breath into stuttered gasps. As much as I wanted to say no, Gus barely held on with his ragged breaths. I stroked my finger over Gus' soft, velvety head. He rumbled out one of his pathetic purrs, but he wasn't happy or comfortable in his current state.

"Oh, Gus," I whispered and kissed his soft, furry head. "I'm so sorry. Thanks for giving me the last part of your life. Love you, grumpy old guy."

His broken rumbled purrs never stopped, but, in a gesture like he let himself go, his eye slid lazily closed. I nodded at Dr. Adelman, who administered his final shot. With soft strokes over his velvety soft head and a few involuntary convulsions, Gus took a piece of my heart with him when his eye stayed closed permanently. A hole erupted in its place, filling with pain.

Tears trailed over the edges of my eyes. I choked back the eruption of sadness that threatened to turn me into more of a mess than when I found him on the floor.

"I know this doesn't help." Dr. Adelman rubbed my back. "But he had a superb life with you, and he passed knowing love. You couldn't have done more for him."