He doesn't think he's ever been so tired. The room is spinning in front of him, and he gets the light uneasy feeling in his stomach that he always gets when there's something wrong.
"Veronica?" There's only silence in the dark apartment, and he feels his eyelids closing as he nears the bed. Soft. Warm. Sleep. He needs sleep after the day he's had, but... "Veronica?" He calls out again, loosening his tie and unpinning the cufflinks at his wrists. There's still no response, and as he straightens to unbutton his shirt, he notices her purse; it's contents are half strewn as usual on the floor, her shoes kicked next to them, laces untied and tongues out, like floppy bunny ears. A freezing cold vice grip clutches at his heart, and he feels panic coursing through him.
She never leaves without her purse, not even in the quickest of emergencies. It's got my entire life in it, stupid. I couldn't go anywhere even if I tried. It would be like leaving you behind in a fire. Could I do that? No. She'd laughed and tweaked his nose as she'd said the words and he remembers because she'd looked happy. He hasn't made her happy like that in what seems like forever.
"Veronica?" Standing, he flicks on the hall lamp, cursing their ingenious idea not to get central lighting. It'll make the place more romantic. You'll be in the mood all the time. He feels bile rising in his throat as he checks in each room, because he hadn't been in the mood. Not all the time, and barely ever. His job as an ADA took his moods and did with them what it pleased. His eyes flick over every surface, looking for some sort of clue as to where she could be. "Veronica, this isn't funny." The words trip from his lips, light and airy, but in reality, they're anything but. He sounds as though he's expecting her to pop from some corner wearing nothing but a smile. She'd tried to surprise him that way once, her face falling almost instantly when all he'd done was kiss her cheek and go on to bed without her. When we get to be that couple? Y'know, the one they're always making fun of on TV? Do you know how many hours I spent at the gym so I could give you that welcome? She hadn't let it go until he'd pushed her up against the glass paneling of the kitchen door and took her without a word. He'd expected her to scream and yell, to be angry, and when he saw her tears, he felt like the worst kind of jackass. God, you're dumb. That's the best fuck we've had in months. Do it again. She'd laughed, then. Laughed at him, laughed at them, laughed so hard that the one brittle piece of his soul that hadn't already been broken, laughed with her. That was almost a year ago, and he can't quite remember the last time they'd laughed. To be honest, he can't remember the last time he'd made her smile, let alone smiled himself.
The bathroom door is slightly ajar, and that's where he sees her. She's slumped on the floor, her skin almost as white as the tiling he'd chosen. Logan, we're young! What are we going to do with white tile? It reminds me of those kitchens…you know the ones; in those old horror movies…the ones where the wife goes insane and flambé's her family in the kitchen? Now, this isn't exactly a kitchen, but I kind of don't feel like flambé for the rest of my life.
"Veronica, oh god. Veronica wake up." He almost doesn't see the tiny bottle lying next to her, white and non-descript, blending in with the starkness of the room. Almost. "Oh god, Veronica, what did you do?" She barely has a pulse, but as he stares intently at her face, her sees her eyelashes flutter. "That's it, V. You're Okay. Just open your eyes and you'll be Okay." He's actually fairly certain that she won't be Okay, he doesn't know how many pills she's taken, or why, but as he says the words, he feels something ease in his chest. Maybe it's true. Maybe they have nothing to worry about. Maybe it was just an accident. An accident. Right.
"Logan?" She whispers, coughing as her eyes widen and she looks up at him. His tears scald her skin as he pulls her close, his face resting at her neck. He wants to yell. He wants to scream: WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING, SCARING ME LIKE THAT? But he doesn't. He doesn't say anything but whisper nothings into her ear as he carries her to bed, discreetly calling 911 as he passes the cordless. "Can I have some water?" She asks, her eyes lifeless in their own right, her lips broken and cut. His stomach is sick, but he nods as he closes the screen to their room, trying to remember if she'd ever kept any pills in there.
"911, what's your emergency?" He gulps, the rooming beginning to spin again, and he wonders briefly what they'll do if he passes out right here. "Hello?"
"Uh, hi." He says in his normal voice, cursing himself as he hears her stir from within their bedroom. He steps a few feet away, still in hearing distance of the door, but far enough away so that if he speaks in a whisper, she won't be able to hear him.
"What's your emergency, sir?"
"My uh…" He pauses as a wave of nausea as well as his exhaustion from earlier settle around him. He can barely see straight, but he isn't sure if it's from the shock of finding her, or just the day he's had. He's betting on both. "My girlfriend…I…" His voice trails off again, and it kills him that he's still crying, the tears streaming down his cheeks, unstoppable. "I think she tried to kill herself."