The Sun is Gone

Catastrophe

March, 1994

Liz's POV

"Is this Elizabeth?" The voice on the line sounded familiar enough to me that I was certain who it was and I shrank back inside, filled with worry.
"Yes," I answered timidly.
"Look, this is Courtney. I know it's weird calling you and all, but it's Kurt."
"What about him?" I asked, feeling my heart skip a beat.
"He overdosed last night," Courtney answered, her voice cracking. "I think he was trying to kill himself." I could hear her pain.
"Oh my God," I answered, my heart pounding in my chest. "Is he okay?"
"He's fine. He's at the hospital now. He's finally conscious. But I'm so scared. I don't know how to help him." My heart ached for Courtney's vulnerability and desperation in that moment, even if she wasn't my favorite person. "I—uh—I thought you should know. And maybe you can help or something..." she added awkwardly. They were away in Europe, supposed to be touring, although Kurt had been having a rough time.
"I think Kurt needs to get professional help," I answered, as much as I hated it. As much as I knew he would hate it.
"I think you're right too," Courtney agreed. "Maybe you could talk to him?"
"I don't know," I answered. "This is honestly weird."
"Listen, Elizabeth. I just want Kurt to be okay. I know he loves you more than he'll ever love me. I just want him to be alive and happy. Whatever that means for him. If you're what makes him happy then that's what I want him to have." I could hear the tears in her voice and I felt like a horrible person.
"I'm sorry, Courtney," I said, guilt welling up in me.
"I want my baby to have her father," Courtney continued. "I need him to be here for her. Will you please help me? Help him?"
"I'll try," I answered, realizing the gravity of the situation.
"Okay, thank you. I'll call you later when he's up for talking, okay?"
"Sure," I answered vaguely, hanging up the phone.
I sat staring at the wall for a long time. Tears wouldn't come. How could this be? How could yet another person that I loved dearly want to take their life? Hadn't I been punished enough? First Danny and now Kurt. I couldn't lose Kurt. But I didn't know how to reach him anymore.
We still got together and had sex, but it was like we weren't even connecting anymore. It felt like Kurt was already gone. I didn't know how I'd get through to him. He was so far gone on drugs I had no idea how I'd ever convince him to get the help he desperately needed. The only thing he seemed to care about a little was Frances. Maybe I could try to convince him using her.

My conversation with Kurt did not go well. He sounded so frail and weak that I was terrified for him. Yet he still found the strength to yell at me when I suggested he get help. He had never yelled at me like that before. He was bound and determined not to get help. He didn't need it, he claimed. He wanted to be the way he was until he died. When I told him he was killing me too, I was met with silence on the other end of the line. I hung up. What else could I do?
They were coming home as soon as Kurt was well enough to leave the hospital. I needed to see him in person. Even if he'd mostly become a shell of his former self, I knew there had to be some of the Kurt I knew left in there somewhere. I needed to get him back.
I called to check on him a few times a day. He answered my questions and said little else. He claimed he was "fine" in a cold and distant manner. He wouldn't say "I love you" to me, even though I reassured him that I loved him every single time. "You shouldn't," he'd answer, and I knew that guilt and shame were eating him alive.
After one particularly painful phone call, I collapsed to my knees on the floor, finally letting the tears fall. I sobbed and sobbed uncontrollably, giving in to all the pain I had been holding inside.
He was dying and I didn't know how to save him. He was breaking right in front of my very eyes and I felt like it all was happening in slow motion. I couldn't get enough oxygen as I gasped and choked on my sobs, burying my face in my hands. I was angry. I was so angry with him. How could he have gone and done this to himself? Why would he ruin his life this way? And me. I was scum. How could I have let this happen to him and stayed idly by doing nothing? I knew how bad his heroin use had been and yet I had done nothing to help it. That made me no better than him. It made me worse.
How could this be Kurt, the man who once saved me? The beautiful, sweet, caring guy who used to write me letters and hand-make me presents, who would sing just for me and always know how to make me laugh, couldn't be gone forever. I had to hold onto hope that I could get him back. I had to. I wouldn't fail him. I refused to let him go. I hadn't had the chance to save Danny, but I would have given my whole life to save Kurt.
After I was too exhausted to cry anymore, I stretched out onto the floor by my sofa. I couldn't be bothered to get up. I noticed something on the ground, back under the sofa, barely within my reach. It looked like a piece of paper. I pulled it out and discovered it was a photograph.
It was a Polaroid of me and Kurt back in our first apartment in Aberdeen. I remembered the night perfectly. Krist and Shelli had come over and we all got high. We laughed so much that night. The picture, taken by Krist, was of me and Kurt sitting on our couch trying to smile for the camera but laughing too hard. Tears pricked my eyes again. I missed those days. I missed the simplicity and the pure love we'd had for one another—love that was now contaminated by so many things. But it was love, nonetheless. The picture gave me hope, and as I stared at it, I felt a small hint of a smile on my lips. Maybe finding this picture was a sign—a reason to believe things could get better.