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"If you wanna kill yourself and make everyone else feel like pieces of shit," Mikey gestured with his hands as he spoke like he was on a TED talk. "You gotta take Tylenol."
"What do you mean, Tylenol? What the fuck's Tylenol gonna do?" Richie asked. He was swirling a half-empty can of Coke over the arm of the couch.
Mikey always got this look in his eye when he was about to tell you something you didn't know. He'd squint a little and get this grin like he was going to blow your head off with knowledge. "It kills your liver, man. Tylenol is 500mg-ish per capsule, right?" Richie gave him a shrug and nodded halfheartedly. "You take, like, eight or nine and it fucks up your liver bad."
Carmy didn't want to kill himself, he thought. He had his moments, of course, but he wouldn't ever seriously want to kill himself. He listened close, though. For no particular reason. No reason in particular.
"You'll be in the hospital for a week. The doctors can't do shit to fix your liver so they keep you alive as long as they can, but you die no matter what. You have all the time in the world to tell your friends and family how bad they fucked you up and then you die. You really lay it on thick in the hospital bed, make them feel like real assholes, and then you die without facing any of the consequences."
"Man, that's fucking morbid, cousin."
Carmy thought if his mom were to kill herself, she'd want something just like that. He could see her in the hospital bed pointing accusingly with her wrinkly finger with that grimace on her face. She would lay it on thick, absolutely. 'You never' this and 'I was the only one who' that. He felt exhausted just thinking about it.
He didn't even know if he believed it, really. Taking too much Tylenol would probably make you sick, but irreversible liver damage? It sounded a little exaggerated. But what did he know?
Carmy didn't know anything.
He didn't know why his was pacing his bathroom, holding a bottle of Tylenol with a shaking hand. He didn't know what was wrong with his fucking head. He needed to get a fucking grip. He didn't know anything.
Eight or nine, he'd said? Eight or nine Tylenols and he'd be dead? It sounded like a big lie, but he couldn't make himself put the damn bottle down.
It was stupid, anyway. He wouldn't want to be dying for a week. His mom would bask in everyone's pity and regret, but it would make Carmy absolutely miserable. No, he'd want to go like Mikey, probably. Quick, simple, no time to regret it.
God, he was out of his mind. He didn't want to kill himself. He was out of his goddamn mind. The Tylenol rattled in his hand.
He wouldn't. Of course he wouldn't. He'd put the Tylenol down and he'd show up to work tomorrow morning because that's what he always does.
Like Mikey. Painless. No week-long pity party.
God, he was going insane, probably.
Put the fucking Tylenol down. Put it down. You fucking attention whore, put the fucking Tylenol down or I'll kill you.
Carmy's hand shook and he couldn't put it down.
Put it down. What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you slow? I'll strangle you, you little shit. Motherfucker, I'll kill you. I swear to god, I'll shoot you in the head you fucking idiot. You think you're tough? Put the fucking Tylenol down, tough guy.
24 caplets, 500mg each. Eight or nine would do it, according to Mikey.
Put it down, put it down, put it down, you fucking animal.
Instead of putting it down, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Sugar.
"Hello? Carm? Is everything okay?" He opened his mouth to reply, but ended up just taking a shallow breath and biting his cheek. "Is there more mold? Don't tell me the roof collapsed or something."
"No, no. The roof is fine, I think. Uh, I'm home right now."
"Do you need something?"
Carmy looked at the bottle of pills in his hands. "Nah, no, I'm fine. Just, uh, just calling to say hi."
"At..." She paused for a moment. "2:21 in the morning?"
He gnawed at his lip. "Uh... uh, yeah."
"What's wrong?" He could hear her tilt her head and squint her eyes and purse her lips through the fucking phone and he hated it.
"Nothing is fucking wrong, Sug!"
"Why do you have to fucking lie to me, Carm? You wake me up in the middle of the night and you refuse to tell me what's wrong?"
"God, it's not— I'm not—" He rubbed at his eyes with his knuckle. The Tylenol rattled and he felt like he was going fucking insane. Put it down, you fucking crazy bitch. "I'm not like him. I'm n-not."
The room spun but it was still. So still. It was silent but his head was pounding in his ears. He should take a Tylenol for his fucking headache. Or two. Or eight. God, what the fuck was wrong with him?
"You're not like who?"
"Mikey." He didn't want to die but he wouldn't put the fucking bottle of Tylenol down. He was going insane. "I don't w-w-want to kill my-myself."
Sugar went quiet and Carmy wanted to hang up. He couldn't put the Tylenol down. He couldn't.
"Carmen, are you gonna kill yourself?"
"I just fucking said I didn't w-wa-want to. No, I'm not gonna kill m-myself." He felt hot. He should open a window. He should put the pills down.
"Oh my God." Sugar said over the phone. She was muttering something else but he couldn't make it out.
Carmy brushed a piece of hair out of his face. "Don't, uh, don't freak out."
"I'm coming over, Bear. I'm putting my shoes on right now."
"No, it's n-not like that."
"Then what the fuck is it like?"
"I don't w-w-wa-w-wa—" Damn his fucking stutter to hell goddamn it all to hell. "I don't w-w-want to kill m-my-my-myself, but—"
"But what? But fucking what?"
"I've got a bottle-b-bottle of Tylenol and I can't uh, I can't, I can't put it down."
Carmy could hear her think over the phone. He couldn't stand it. "Tylenol?"
"Yeah." He sounded stupid. God, he was so stupid. "M-Mikey said that if you took-took too m-m-much, it w-wou-would fuck up, uh, fuck up your liver and kill you."
"I'm on my way, Carmy. Do I need to call the police?"
"N-No, God, no. I'm n-not gonna take any, Sugar."
"Do you promise? Fucking promise me you won't. I'm on my way."
"I prom-m-promise. I don't know why I'm like this." His heart was still pounding against his rib cage and his head felt hot and sweaty. "I shouldn't, uh, I shouldn't have called you. Don't drive all the w-w-way here. I'm fine."
"I'm not turning around, Carm. You're not that far. Make sure your door is unlocked so I can get in." She sounded way more put together than she probably was. He was scaring the shit out of her and that made him a shitty brother. He shouldn't have called.
"Yeah. Okay."
He waited for her at his counter. He placed the bottle of Tylenol down and stared at it. Just a couple and he would be dead forever. He didn't want to die, he thought. Not really. He was always kinda messed up and maybe Berzattos were just predisposed to being messed up.
Did Mikey think he wanted to die? Did he tell himself he didn't want to die but couldn't get it out of his head? How long did he know he was gonna commit suicide? Did he mean to, really? Did he regret it when he pulled the trigger? Did he think he didn't want to die but killed himself anyway? Was it—
The front door opened and Sugar poured into his apartment.
"Carmy, oh, Bear, did you take anything?" She was pale and her hair was kind of a mess.
Carmy looked at the bottle of Tylenol in his hand and wondered when he had picked it back up. Didn't he put it down? "Uh, n-no. I, uh, I didn't take anything."
She reached over him and took the bottle out of his hands. A hot wave of relief and shame washed over him and he wished that Sugar hadn't shown up and he wished she'd never leave.
She grabbed him and held him tight. He lost his breath for a moment and coughed. "You scared me. You fucking asshole, you scared the shit out of me."
"I'm sorry, N-Nat. I shouldn't have called you."
"Always call me. Please, Carm, let me help you. Thank you so much for calling me." Her fingers dig into his arms and it kind of hurt. He didn't want her to let go. "I couldn't bear it, if you had— if you—"
"I know." He held her and her hair tickled his face. "I know. I won't."
"But you might. He did."
"I know." His brain was fried and he didn't know what to say to make her stop worrying. "I won't."
"You scare me."
"I know." His eyes stung but he wouldn't cry. He bit his cheek. "I'm okay. I'll be okay."
"Will you call me?" She was crying now. He didn't know how long she'd been crying. "Will you call me if you feel like this again? If you're thinking about it again, will you call me?"
"I don't know, I m-m-mean—"
"You will." she said and Carmy couldn't argue. It was final and absolute and unflappable. "You will call me."
"...Yeah." He finally choked out. "Yeah. Yeah, I will." He didn't know where she put the bottle of Tylenol and he didn't want to know.
"Carmy. I—" She sobbed and Carmy held her harder. " I don't want you to die."
"Me n-n-nei-neither." He was crying too, maybe. I was hard to tell. His face was still hot and his head was still kind of pounding but it felt like things might turn out okay. "I love you, Sug. So much."
"I love you too, Bear. So much."