Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 104138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
“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.”