One time, I showed up and she was merely drunk, never having swallowed a damn pill. I yelled and cursed at her, told her to get her shit together. I started to walk out on her, when she ran in front of me with a bottle of pills in her hand. Before I could even register what she was doing, she popped the cap and titled her head back, swallowing several as I watched a few dribble out of her mouth and hit the carpeted floor.
I grabbed Maeve and pried her mouth open, even as she fought me. When I realized her mouth was empty, I didn't even hesitate before I dialed 999 for our emergency services and told them what happened. One ambulance ride to the hospital, and a good stomach pumping, had Maeve safe and secure again. She was thoroughly apologetic about it, and had promised never to do it again.
And while she has not swallowed any more pills while drinking, at least to my knowledge, she has threatened it a few times since then. Each time, I seek her out and talk her off the ledge, and part of me starts to wonder if she really wants to kill herself or she just wants my attention.
My gut told me she was lying to me this time, but I couldn't take the risk that she's wasn't. Fury rises up in me that she can't get her shit together. I care about her. I really do. But my main interest is in making sure she's competent so that our band doesn't fall apart. She's my friend, sure, but she's my business partner first and our future success hinges greatly on the solidarity of our group.
When I got to her apartment, that is when the nightmare really got good. Maeve was sprawled out face first on the bed. I shook her gently but she didn't move, and that's when I noticed the empty pill bottle. I shook her harder, slapping at her face.
I got nothing.
Panicking, I put my fingers to her throat and felt the barest stirring of a pulse.
Luckily, an ambulance arrived within minutes and here I sit, waiting to hear if she's okay. My stomach churns at the thought of Maeve dying. I've had enough death in my life to hold me over. I feel beyond helpless that my friend and band mate can't find peace in her life. If she pulls through this, something has to change.
***
I'm sitting by Maeve's bed, holding her hand. She's sleeping, which the doctor said was normal. They were able to pump her stomach, again, and said she should be physically fine—although they recommended she stay for another day to make sure. The doctor also had a frank discussion with me about her suicide attempt. He strongly recommended that she enter into an in-patient rehab facility and it's something that I couldn't agree with more. It's time for Maeve to get her head on straight.
Now the hard part will be talking Maeve into it. There's no one else in the world that will have this conversation with her, as Maeve doesn't have any family that I know of. She's always just said she was estranged from her parents and she never wanted to talk about it.
I briefly think about calling Sean. He's my best friend in the world and there isn't anything I can't share with him. And he's well aware of Maeve's drinking problem. But I dismiss the thought because there's nothing he can do and I know he'll agree with me that Maeve needs to get some serious help.
Maeve starts to stir in her bed and I feel her hand tighten its grip on mine. Her eyes flutter open and she looks at me through a haze of fog. After blinking several times, she glances around, taking in the hospital room. Her eyes return to me and she says, "You came."
I curse inwardly, because Maeve is seeing me as her hero. As the man who saved her from death's door. I don't want to be that man to her. It's not fair for her to put me in that situation. But I also know that I need to handle her with care right now, because no matter how mad I am at her for doing this, I am all too aware that some of this may be beyond her control.
"Hey darlin'. How're you feeling?"
She swallows hard and her eyes fill up with tears. "I'm sorry, Cillian. I didn't mean to do it."
I reach over and take her in my arms. She seems so frail and I let her cry into my chest. I whisper words of comfort and tell her it's going to be okay, and I hope to God it really will.
Maeve eventually pulls back and I let her lie back down. Still holding her hand, I speak firmly to her. "Maeve... you can't keep doing this. You need help."
She starts shaking her head. "No. I'm fine. It was a stupid mistake. I won't make it again."
"Maybe, maybe not. But we can't take the chance. Next time, I might not get to you in time."
"Please, Cillian. Don't make me enter into rehab or some mental hospital. I'm begging you, don't make me."
I knew she would do this. I knew she would buck against this, but I already knew what I was going to do when it happened. I don't know if I'm serious or if I'm bluffing, because this is all happening so fast, but I pour concrete into my voice when I say, "Maeve... honey... if you don't check in somewhere to get help, you can't be a part of OTE anymore."
Her eyes go wide with horror and a stab of guilt lances through me. "You wouldn't."
"I would. And you know I do what I promise. I need you healthy, babe. I need you healthy so we can make great music together."
She sniffles and turns her head away from me. Staring blankly at the wall, she says, "I wouldn't be this way... if you just gave us another chance. I know we could be happy."
"No, Maeve," I softly chide her. "This isn't about us. This is only about you."
Silence lays heavy in the air and I wait to see what she'll say. Finally, she takes a stuttering breath and says, "Okay. I'll do it. But promise me you'll visit me, and call me all the time. That you won't leave me in there to rot."