Broken (27 page)

“Oh no you don’t, buddy,” Tom says, placing the heel of his hand on James’ chest before locking his other hand on top of that.

Oh my God. No. Please.

On raised knees, Tom pushes down repeatedly, appearing to throw his whole body weight into each one. It’s nothing like you see on TV. He seems to be jabbing into James’ chest with so much force it looks almost brutal.
Painful
.

The whole thing terrifies me.

“James,” I whisper, throwing my palm over my mouth.

After what feels like an eternity, Tom stops compressing and tilts James’ head back a little before blowing into his mouth.

“Is he…is…”
Oh my God.

He works his chest again. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know what to do. I’ve never felt so useless, so fucking
scared
in my entire life.

Seconds later, two paramedics bustle into the room and I stumble back a few steps, idly wondering how they got in before deciding I don’t care.

“I need paddles,” Tom barks, the male paramedic already removing some kind of machine from a long, dark-green bag.

Tom starts rubbing down James’ chest with a towel while the female paramedic pulls two rubbery, orange sheets from her rucksack, placing them on James’ chest. Tom picks up the paddles while the other man fiddles with the machine, while I do
nothing
. I can’t help him. I’m paralysed.

“Charge to two hundred,” Tom calls. The machine buzzes, shortly followed by Tom yelling, “Clear!”

James’ body jolts, making my throat tighten. My gaze flips repeatedly between Tom and James and it almost feels like I’m an extra in a petrifying movie, like I’m not really here, this isn’t happening.

“Charge to three-hundred.”

Spinning around, I face the wall, my eyes burning, my heart sinking. I hear the moment James is shocked again but I can’t watch any longer. I’m losing him, and the pain is unbearable.

What have you done?

“We’ve got sinus rhythm,” Tom announces, but I don’t know what it means so I stay facing the wall, squeezing my eyes closed to trap the tears inside. I hear them shuffling, spouting numbers, making things rattle, but I can’t look. I won’t. I refuse to watch him slipping away from me.

“Theo.” A nudge on my shoulder accompanies Tom’s voice. “They’re taking him now. Do you want to ride with him or follow in the car?”

Turning around, I see James strapped into a stretcher, his listless body cocooned in a thick, green blanket. “He’s going to die, isn’t he?” I ask, my stare fixed on the stretcher as it’s pulled through the apartment.

“I don’t know,” Tom says, sighing. “They’ll take him straight to surgery, get him started on intravenous meds to counteract the pills he’s taken, but…you should prepare yourself.”

His words hit me like a kick to the stomach, winding me, and I double over, supporting myself with my hands on my knees.

Prepare yourself.
How? How do I prepare to receive the worst news of my life? Is there something I need to do? Words I need to tell myself? Do I imagine it happening over and over again until I get used to the idea?

“If you want to go with him, you need to go
now
.”

“Right. Yes. Um…what, um…”

“Just breathe, T. Come on.”

Patting my back, Tom walks with me out of the apartment and into the lift. The paramedics are already out of the building and when we reach the lobby, I start to jog, hoping to catch up.

“Wait!” I call out when I hit the street and notice the female paramedic closing the ambulance doors. “Can I go with him?”

“Of course. Quickly.”

She ushers me inside and points to a foldout chair opposite James. This isn’t a new scenario. I’ve sat here once before, watching a paramedic fuss over him. Last time, however, I wasn’t in love with him, or if I was I didn’t know it yet. Last time, he wasn’t dying. Last time, I wasn’t about to lose my whole world.

We’re moving, sirens wailing, within seconds of me fastening my seatbelt. The paramedic hovers over James throughout the whole journey, jotting things down on a clipboard. By the time we arrive at the hospital, James has tubes sticking out of his arm and some kind of mask attached to a bag, which the paramedic is squeezing, over his mouth and nose.

I don’t know how I’m managing to walk, I don’t know anything anymore, yet my legs carry me forward as I follow James into A&E. Again, numbers are exchanged, stats, medications, and words I’ve only heard before on the TV.

“I’m sorry, you can’t go any further,” a woman in pale-blue scrubs says, raising her hand in front of me.

I look over her shoulder, watching James as he’s wheeled further and further away from me until he disappears completely through a set of double doors.

“I need you to go to reception and give them your friend’s details.”

“He’s not my friend.”
He’s my everything
. The nurse puts her hand on my quivering forearm and, for a moment, I stare at it. “Someone will come and find you when we have some news.”

Nodding, I make my way over to the large, oval reception desk in a daze. A woman in a navy chequered blouse asks me for the patient’s name and I answer while staring at the blood dried into my shirt.

At least, I
thought
I answered.

“Sir? Patient’s name please?”

“Oh. Sorry, um, James Holden. James David Holden.” I go on to give her his date of birth, address, and GP practice, and then I feel a hand on my shoulder.

“Hey,” Tom says. “I’m gonna see what I can find out. When you’re done here, there’s a family room you can wait in.” He points to it across the waiting room. “I’ll come and find you in there.”

“Okay.”

“Next of kin?” the woman behind the desk asks.

“Um…”
Shit. Max.
“M-max. Max Holden. His brother. I’ll call him. I need to call him. I’ll call him.”

“We can do that if you prefer.”

“N-no,” I stutter, shaking my head. “No, I’ll do it.”

Questions over, she points me in the same direction Tom did. I amble over to it, scrolling through my contacts while trying to find the courage to call Max. My hands shake as I hit dial. What if he holds me responsible? Shit, what if I
am
responsible?

“Theo?” Max answers, speaking my name with urgency. We’re hardly buddies, so the fact I’m ringing at all is enough to spark panic.

“It’s James. He- I- He tried…we’re at the hospital.”

“Which one?”

“Saint Andrews. He’s…I don’t know if…They said something about surgery. I think he’s in surgery.”

“I’ll be right there.”

I sit down on one of the dusky pink chairs with rubber-covered cushions while I wait for news, or for Max to arrive, whichever comes first. My restless feet won’t quit tapping against the shiny floor, so I stand up and pace the small room instead. When I check my watch for what must be the fourteenth time, I huff in frustration, noticing hardly any time has passed yet it feels like I’ve been here for hours.

Stupid thing must be broken.

I stare at the ceiling, then I look at the floor, and I keep doing it until I become lightheaded. The blood is all I can think about. The metallic taste still coats my tongue from when I clamped my hand over my mouth. I can still smell it,
feel
it, and when I look down it’s all I see, dried onto my clothes, my skin.

I’ve just sat down again when the door opens and I jump straight back up. It’s Max, dressed in his office suit, his tie half-undone, and he looks as terrified as I feel.

“I’m so sorry, Max. This is all my fault.”

“What’s happened? The woman out there wouldn’t tell me shit.”

“I knew. I
knew
he wasn’t right and I didn’t do anything. I didn’t tell anyone. This is my fault.”

“Dammit, Theo, tell me what the hell’s happened!”

“The bath. I found him in the bath. He…blood. There was blood. He…”

“Oh God,” Max barely whispers, tipping his head back.

“He cut his wrists, took pills. If we’d arrived just minutes later, he’d…” I can’t bring myself to say the words aloud.

“
We
?”

“My brother was with me. He knew what to do. Christ, Max, if Tom hadn’t been there…I couldn’t have saved him. I froze. I…I…this is my fault.”

“No. No, it isn’t.”

“But I
knew
, Max. He’s been quiet. Distant. I just thought it was work. Then yesterday he had a meltdown and trashed the kitchen, but I didn’t want to interfere or go behind his back and talk to
you
. If I had…”

“This isn’t your fault, Theo. He’s not well. Nobody’s to blame here.”

“When he told me about the last time he tried to kill himself, I couldn’t believe
nobody
noticed.”

“Last time? What do you mean
last time?”

“I vowed not to let that happen again. I swore I’d notice and I failed. I let him down.”

“Theo, what do you mean
last
time?” Max repeats, anger coating his words.

“W-when he was a teenager. He tried to overdose.”

“That’s not possible,” Max says, stumbling back a step. “I would’ve known.”

“He said he only passed out, threw up a few hours later. But, still, he was alone. Just like today. He was fucking alone! How could I leave him by himself?”

“I…I had no idea.” Max walks backwards until the back of his legs hit a chair. He falls into the seat, letting his head drop into his hands.

We don’t talk any more. We don’t even move for what feels like hours. I’m not sure if he blames me, I sure as hell do, or if he blames himself. It doesn’t really matter. The only thing that matters is the man lying unconscious on a table somewhere in this ginormous building.

What have you done, James? What have you fucking done?

When the wooden door starts to open for the first time in God knows how long, Max and I leap to our feet simultaneously.

“Tom,” his name rushes from my mouth in a mixture of panic and anticipation.

He’s with another doctor, who turns straight to Max. “Mr Holden?”

“Yes.” The tiny word, filled with so much emotion, cracks on Max’s lips.

The doctor holds out his hand to shake but Max doesn’t seem to notice, keeping his fingers in his pockets. “I’m Doctor Garcia,” he says. “I just finished performing your brother’s surgery.”

“How is he?”

“Stable, for now. I’ve repaired the vessels in his wrists but I’m afraid it’s too early to tell if there’ll be any permanent nerve damage. Given that he ingested a fairly large quantity of lithium we’ve performed a gastric lavage to remove as much as we could. We’ve also given him some activated charcoal through a tube in his nose to absorb the citalopram.”

“Citalopram? Where’d he get his hands on citalopram?”

Doctor Garcia offers a small shrug, while I silently wonder what the hell citalopram is.

“He’s being taken to the ICU. You should be able to see him in an hour or so, though we’ve induced a coma so he won’t be able to talk to you.”

“Why? Why can’t you wake him up?”

“Right now, like I said, he’s stable, but his battle is far from over. Currently, he can’t breathe on his own. Until he can, without the support of a ventilator, we’ll keep him sedated. Give his body time to heal.”

“And it will, right? He’s going to be okay?”

“I’m sorry, Mr Holden, it’s too soon to make that call. The next twenty-four hours are crucial. Your brother has quite a fight on his hands. It’s down to him now.”

I feel sick. Stifled. I stare down at the floor but it looks like it’s moving so I look at the pale yellow walls instead. “Come on, T,” Tom says, squeezing my shoulder. “I’m taking you back to my place.”

Blinking my eyes back into the room, I notice the other doctor isn’t here anymore. Max is sitting, slumped forward with his head down.
How long was I staring at the fucking wall?

“I’m not leaving him,” I say, twisting out of Tom’s grip.

“Theo, look at me.”

Reluctantly, I do.

“You’re a mess. You stink, you’re covered in blood, and you’re exhausted. Come back with me, take a shower, eat a sandwich, and I’ll bring you right back.”

“He’s right,” Max interrupts, rubbing his palms down his cheeks before sagging back in his chair. “Go freshen up. We’ve got a tough few days coming up, maybe longer. Take a breather. Prepare yourself. I’ll call you if there’s any change.”

Weakly, I nod in hesitant agreement. “What about your mum? Is she on her way?”

“I haven’t told her yet,” Max says, sighing regretfully. “I rushed over here on autopilot. When I’ve seen James, know what we’re dealing with, I’ll call her.”

“Okay,” I mutter, though I don’t understand his thought process. If the situation were reversed and it was
my
brother fighting for his life in the ICU, my mum would be the first person I’d want by my side. But their family dynamic is very different and, even if I had the energy, it’s not my place to question it.