I stumble forward, and it’s like I am retracing my steps, only instead of stepping on carpet over needles, I’m stepping over empty pill bottles and broken glass crunching underneath my feet.
One, two, thr...thr...thr...
The world rolls. No! Don’t pass out!
O...one, t...two, three, f...f...f...four...
“Ian!” I scream, the sound wounded just like I screamed William’s name once before. I grab Ian underneath his shoulders and hoist him into my lap like I did with William. I grunt with the effort, my shoes slipping and squeaking against the floor.
“Wake up!” I yell, my voice breaking as I shake him. “Please wake up!”
I try to check his pulse, but my fingers are shaking so hard, I can’t steady them long enough.
His body tugs to the side, wanting to fold over. It takes everything I have to not let him fall.
“Ian!” I shake him, begging him to reply. “What did you take? What did you take, Ian?!”
Blackness spreads inside my brain until it coats everything with its ruin. Something cinches inside my chest, and it’s like my heart forgets to beat and my lungs forget to breathe all at once. My fingers itch to claw at my throat, so they can rip it open and find more air.
I don’t let go. I tremble and shake and hyperventilate, but I won’t let go.
“Help!” I scream as loud as I can, the word echoing along the subway tiles. I force the word out of me again and again and again, each time louder than before.
All the while, I am slapping him, kissing him, rocking him, begging him to please wake up.
Ian’s mother is first into the bathroom, her ivory silk robe fluttering behind her as her big blue eyes widen and take in the situation. Ian’s father isn’t far behind in his pinstriped pajamas and when his gaze lands on Ian, he scrambles to the medicine cabinet, muttering, “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.”
He yanks something out of the medicine cabinet and rips it out of the box packaging. In an instant, he’s stooped on his knees beside me as Ian’s mother yells at a housekeeper to call for an ambulance. Ian’s father shoves whatever’s he got up Ian’s nose and decompresses the spray nozzle.
I remember the hiss of the spray as the EMTs worked to revive William. I remember the look of it, a small and unassuming white bottle.
Narcan.
“Ian.” I stroke his hair. The brine of my tears sits thick on my tongue. My eyes itch from crying.
Mr. Beckett jerks Ian away from me and onto the floor. He kneels, his hands pressed together to start chest compressions. His shoulders bunch together, about to begin, when Ian draws in a deep, sucking breath that sounds like a strangled huuuuhhhh.
“Iiiiaaaannnn!” Mrs. Beckett wails.
Ian draws in another strangled breath and mumbles something that sounds like my name. I shake uncontrollably, so very cold in his bathroom, the expensive marble floor sucking the warmth from my skin.
I’m going to be sick. I’m going to pass out. The world rolls like I am bingo ball spinning in the announcer’s cage. I squeeze my eyes shut and hope this is all a dream, a horrible nightmare.
Images detonate like bombs going off inside my broken head. With every hit, another piece of me is lost forever, and no amount of therapy or pills will ever make this better.
Everly’s wail when she realized his lips were already blue.
My head dips between my knees.
A girl yelling the moment before the music was cut off.
I rock back and forth, my breath coming in quick bursts.
Blaze busting into the room, drunk confusion on his perfect, quarterback face.
I wrap my arms around myself and squeeze tight.
The high-pitched wee-ooo of the paramedics as they arrived.
Ian coughs and mumbles something unintelligible.
A woman ripping me away from my brother, my best friend, my twin, and the crunch of his ribs breaking as they began chest compressions.
My breath bursts from behind my teeth, my lungs wringing out all the oxygen like a soaked sponge.
William’s body laying prone on the floor as the golden haired paramedic looked at his colleague and shook his head, sweat pouring down his face.
Minutes later, one stretcher arrives, though two exist inside my damaged brain.
One for William and one for my love.
36
Ian
I am cold.
Something beeps incessantly to my right, and I turn my head away from it, wanting the noise to go away.
God, my bed has never been so uncomfortable. How much did I drink last night? My pounding head wants to find a guillotine and end the suffering for me. I try to roll away from the noise and wince. My shoulder and side hurt like I got hit by a tractor trailer.
What the fuck.
My eyes blink open, greeted by dim light and white ceiling tiles.
Oh, no.
Oh, shit.
I feel the cold, lifeless thing snaking along my arm, but a quick look confirms it. I’ve got an IV dropping saline into the crook of my elbow. Fuck. The beeping is not helping my rager of a headache.
“Ian!” my mother cries, sending her chair screeching across the floor as she stands. I’ve never seen my mother look anything but absolutely pristine, not her face anyway, and that’s counting the time I walked in on my father choke-holding her against the fridge. She’s always so composed around me, like her composure will somehow magically make her long sleeves in the dead of summer not-at-all suspicious and weird.
The sight of her steals a little gasp from my lips, and she frowns. Her face is puffy like she’s eaten shellfish and just found out she’s allergic. She’s red and splotchy and makeup-less, a rare occurrence.
Why is she looking at me like I am some weak, helpless thing?
“How are you feeling, baby?” she says.
Baby? She never calls me that. I fight a frown. This must be even worse than I thought.
I try to sit up and groan with the effort.
“What happened?” I grunt. It’s a struggle just
