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You Can't Change the Way You Feel--Alternate Ending

The plane landed and we exited. Not a single word was spoken between us. My regret and my guilt were eating away at me. He grabbed his luggage and headed off to the hotel with the rest of the band, abandoning me by the carousel. I watched my bookbag and suitcase go around about ten times before I finally grabbed them. I could safely assume I wouldn't be sharing a room with him tonight. I walked out the door and climbed into the awaiting cab. The band wouldn't leave their trusty guitar tech behind. I felt as if I were in some horrible nightmare that I couldn't wake from. Is that what it felt like to die? To be completely numb? I hate everything-myself, for admitting all of this to him; him, for reacting like he did; the entire fucked-up situation.
When I arrive at the hotel, I take my things up to my room and throw them in a closet. I fall onto the bed and stare at the ceiling for a while. It has a tiny crack, only about two inches long, that they've tried to cover with paint but that just isn't working. My heart must have a crack in it like that. Only much bigger and much more jagged. I'm in so much pain I can't even cry. And I want to cry, I want to cry so badly. There is a knock on my door. I don't move to answer it. The knocking comes again. "It's unlocked," I announce, rolling over on my side so that my back is to the door. It's him. I know it's him.
"Brenna?" he asks softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. I make no move to show that I acknowledge him. "I called Tricia. She…she wants to break up with me." Now how the hell am I supposed to reply to that? Wonderful…he broke up with his girlfriend because of me. All I want is for him to wrap his arms around me, to comfort me, but that is not going to happen. "Um…I don't think this will work out between us."
I sit up and stare at him. How can he say that? "You have no idea how much you mean to me. I can't take much more of this, Paul." He doesn't move. Before all this, if he had seen me so upset he would've hugged me without a second thought. Now he just sat on the corner of the bed, detached and alone. I close my eyes slowly. "Get out, Paul." He doesn't say anything and he doesn't move. "Get out, Paul," I say a bit louder. He sighs, stands, and leave only after a moment's hesitation. I hear the door click shut. I can't breathe, I can't see straight. But I know what I have to do.
After a while, I somehow find the strength to stand up and walk to the closet. I rummage through my bookbag and find the bottle of sleeping pills my doctor prescribed for me. I pop one into my mouth and swallow it dry. I sit back down on the bed and stare at the bottle in my hands for a few minutes. I pop in another pill. I'm thirsty. I walk into the bathroom and grab a glass of water. Two more pills. I'm starting to get drowsy. Two more pills. I just want to go to sleep and never wake up. I want to escape to my dream world, where he is mine and only mine, and he loves me. Two more pills. I've never taken this many before. These pills work quickly. My vision is starting to fade and the numbness I was feeling wasn't quite so uncomfortable anymore. I managed to swallow one more pill before I passed out.
He must've come into my room only a few minutes afterward. He must've discovered me slumped over on the bed, barely breathing. He must've panicked and dialed the emergency number on the phone while checking my pulse. He must've been by my side when they took me to the hospital in the ambulance. I know for a fact he was by my side in my room in the hospital because he was the first thing I saw when I woke up. Or was I still dreaming? I couldn't tell…
As soon as he saw my eyes were open, he leaned over and kissed me twice, once on the lips, once on the forehead. "I was so afraid I was going to lose you," he whispered. "But I think it's time for you to go home." My eyes locked onto his. He was banishing me. He didn't really love me, not like he said he did. Hypocritical bastard. It didn't matter what he did, though, I'd still love him.
I let him pack up my things and bring me back to the airport. "Max can take over your guitar tech duties," he was babbling. "We'll manage to make it while you're home healing." I'd never be healed, couldn't he see that? I noticed he was carefully skirting the issue of why I had overdosed. He walked me to my gate, his arms gently settled over my shoulders. Even that small gesture of friendship and compassion set me off. I started sobbing like a little child and dropped my luggage. Only then did he wrap his strong arms around me, and rest his chin on the top of my head as I breathed in his scent for the last time for a long time. "It'll be okay," he mumbled, rubbing his hand up and down my back. I stood up on tiptoe and starting kissing him. He didn't push me, at least, not immediately. Eventually he did push me away, softly. I licked my lips, and I could still taste him there. He looked me in the eyes once more before walking away without saying a word.

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