Chapter Thirty Five
Maggie
I get a feeling. Don’t ask me to explain it, I couldn’t if I wanted to. It’s just…a feeling.
Maryia and I are currently wrapped around each other, watching a movie in my bed, when I sit up. She frowns, looking at me.
“What’s wrong, babe?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I just…give me a second,” I say as I slide out of bed. I walk over to my desk, grabbing my phone before pulling up Bridgette’s number. I contemplated deleting it a million times, but for some reason, I didn’t.
When I hit call, it rings and rings and rings before going to voicemail. I’m ready to set the phone down when I try again. The line rings and rings and rings before voicemail once again. That feeling blooms into one I can actually name: dread.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m rifling through my desk, grabbing the master key card I copied from Ronan’s when I swiped in a few weeks ago.
Sorry, Coach. You never know when you need an all access pass to any room in the school.
“I’ll be right back,” I say as I jog out of the room.
I hear Maryia attempt to follow me, but I get in the elevator too quickly, jamming my finger on the up button. My leg bounces as it takes an ungodly amount of time to go up one fucking floor before I’m running. Sprinting.
I don’t know why I feel like something is wrong. I don’t know why I feel like it has something to do with Bridgette. Maybe because she’s all I’ve been able to think about for the last three days. She looked so hollow at Liam’s induction celebration, like a shell of who she used to be. The way she watched me, stared at me. It broke something deep inside me.
Maryia and I didn’t speak for a whole day before she showed up at my door ten hours ago, sobbing and apologizing for losing her shit on me. She told me she only did it because she’s jealous. She doesn’t like thinking that anyone else has had me. I wanted to tell her that it was an unrealistic expectation, but honestly, I wasn’t in the mood to fight. I just wanted to have a chill day with my girlfriend.
Now…I don’t know.
Stopping outside Bridgette’s door, I wave the key card over it. It’s very possible she isn’t even here. She could be with Thomas; she seems to be spending all her time with him lately.
When the door opens, my heart is pounding. Worst case scenarios flashing in my head. Please don’t be in here, please don’t be in here, please don’t….
I can feel the strength leaving my body as my knees give out. Oh my god. No. Fuck. NO.
Scrambling over to her, I see her laying on her bed. At first glance, she looks asleep, peaceful. Or at least she would if it wasn’t for her limp hand barely gripping that silver flask, while her other clutches an empty orange pill bottle. Grabbing the bottle from her hands, I read the label.
Oxycodone.
For her hand? Bridgette, what the fuck?
My hand moves to her neck to search for a pulse, my stomach bottoming out to the floor when I feel nothing. For a moment, I completely freeze as I look down at my beautiful girl. Her sleek black hair is parted perfectly, the strands fanned neatly around her head like she’s ready for a photoshoot. Her skin is flawless as always and those bright red lips…
No. This is not how this will happen. This is not how she goes, this is not how we…
Lacing my fingers together, I place them over her chest as I begin doing compressions.
“Oh my god!” Maryia shouts as she runs into the room the next minute.
“Call 911,” I say as I keep up the compressions.
“C’mon, baby B. C’mon,” I say as I push harder and harder.
“Hello? Yes, there is a girl here. Unconscious. I-I don’t know what happened,” Maryia says.
“Overdose,” I grit out as I continue working on her.
“Uhm, I guess an overdose? I don’t know. One second,” Maryia says as she puts the phone on speaker.
“What did they take?” the operator asks.
“Oxycodone,” I say. “I found an empty bottle in her hand. I don’t know how much she took.”
I look at Maryia, gesturing to the flask in Bridgette’s hand. “Smell that.”
She frowns before stepping forward and grabbing it. I watch as Bridgette’s hand limply rolls onto the bed as Maryia smells the spout. Her face scrunches as she shakes her head.
“Vodka.”
“And I think she chased it with vodka,” I say.
“Are they breathing?” the operator asks.
“No! I’m doing CPR, but I don’t know how long she’s been down. Get an ambulance here now!”
“Ma’am, please take a breath. You need to stay calm.”
I can’t help but laugh bitterly. “Stay calm? Stay fucking calm! Someone is dying and you want me to stay fucking calm? Shove your calm right up your cunty ass and get me a goddamn ambulance!” I scream.
The operator is silent for a moment before she speaks.
“First responders are en route. Roughly ninety seconds out.”
I curse under my breath, shaking my head. For one hundred and three seconds, I sit there, pushing on Bridgette’s chest to the point where I’m worried I’ll break a rib. It doesn’t stop me, though. She doesn’t get to do this, she doesn’t get to pull this. I at the very least have to bring her back and tell her what a selfish bitch she is for trying to leave me all alone in this hellhole. Then I’ll let her go. Then I’ll let her make her choices.
Not likely.
Fucking finally, three EMTs rush into the room, setting out equipment as they assess the situation.
“How long has she been like this?” one asks me.
“I don’t know. I found her about two minutes ago. I think she OD’d on Oxy,” I say as I gesture my head to the pill bottle.
The paramedic looks at it before nodding and turning to one of the guys.
“Get me Narcan.”
The guy hands him the bottle before he steps up to me.
“Step aside, miss. We will take it from here.”
I shake my head as I continue.
“No fucking way. If I stop, her heart stops. Her heart can’t stop,” I say.
“We can handle it. Trust me, you’re tired. You need to stop. You need t?—”
“I need you to shove that shit up her nose and get her back. I’ll stop when she’s awake and breathing,” I snarl.
He seems surprised by the venom in my tone before he scoots beside me, thankfully choosing to work with me, not against me.
Lining up the nozzle to her right nostril, he pushes it in and sprays. We both sit there, waiting for something to happen. Anything. We get her loaded up onto the gurney before I jump on top of her, straddling her so I can keep giving her CPR when he shares an uneasy look with one of the guys.
“Get me another.”
We’re moving down the hallway and into the elevator when I see Maryia staring at me with wide eyes.
“I’ll meet you at the hospital,” she says.
I nod as the elevator doors close. When they reopen, I see the ambulance parked just outside the dorm doors. Swarms of people are gathered around, curious as to what is going on. A collective gasp sounds when we push through the door, and everyone sees who is on the gurney. If she lives, she’s going to fucking hate that everyone saw her like this.
I have no choice but to get off her for a moment so they can load her into the rig. As soon as I’m able, though, I’m right back to it. My arms are weak, my breathing labored, and I’m already exhausted. I’ve only been doing CPR for six minutes, but it feels like six hours.
“One more Narcan,” the paramedic says as he lines it up into her other nostril.
“How far are we from the hospital?” I ask as the ambulance takes off.
“Two minutes,” he says. “Can I take over?” he asks as he gestures to her chest.
I shake my head, and surprisingly, he doesn’t argue. Instead, he begins taking down any data he can.
“How old is she?” he asks.
“Twenty-one. Her name is Bridgette Brenton.”
“Are you her friend…or…?” he trails off.
“Stepsister,” I say as I continue.
He nods. “We’re pulling up now. She’s gonna be okay, alright?”
I can’t help but snort out a bitter laugh. I don’t say anything and neither does he until the back doors are opened and he begins speaking to a doctor.
“Bridgette Brenton, twenty-one year old female. Found unresponsive at the scene, no pulse, believed to be opioid overdose. Two rounds of Narcan delivered, no response. Last round administered two minutes ago. GCS three.”
“Alright, bed three. You know the drill,” a woman orders as they unload Bridgette. “Why is a civilian doing CPR?”
“She won’t stop,” the paramedic says, like I’m not right here.
“Well, she needs to,” she says as we begin walking. “Sweetheart, you need to stop.”
“No,” I say as I continue pumping, sweat dripping down my face.
“Yes,” she argues. “We’ve got her, okay. We’ve got her.”
I feel hands grab me, pulling me away, and I scream. The paramedic hushes me and the doctor climbs onto the gurney, continuing compressions as they rush her through the doors of the ER. I feel exhaustion slam into me as I scream and sob, forcing myself to push through it.
“Hey, hey. Easy, easy. It’s okay. They’ve got her. Okay?”
“How many times have you gotten someone back after they have been down for an unknown amount of time and two rounds of Narcan that do nothing? I’m not a fucking doctor, but I live in a country that is facing an opioid epidemic. I’m not stupid,” I say as my lip wobbles and a sob rips through me.
He gives me a sympathetic look and gestures inside.
“C’mon, I’ll show you where the waiting room is.”
We step inside, so much commotion and chaos occurring in such a small area. The guy is practically holding me upright as he guides me to a waiting room to our left when I hear the doctor that took Bridgette raise her voice.
“Fuck! Get me the paddles. Clear.”
My head whips around, watching Bridgette’s body jolt before laying back still again. I take an automatic step, trying to move to her, but the paramedic is much stronger than me and I really don’t stand a chance.
“Nothing. Charge again. Clear!” she says.
“Please, please, please. I have to be with her. Someone has to be with her. She can’t be alone, not like this,” I cry.
The paramedic shakes his head. “You have to let them work. If your sister has a chance, even a slight one, you have to let them do what they do best, alright?”
I know he’s right. I know I’d only get in the way. I think there was a reason I got that feeling, though. A reason that I made that copy of Ronan’s key card. A reason that out of anyone that could have, I’m the one that found her. I’m not ready to just give up on her yet.
“As soon as they have an update, they will come get you. I promise,” he says.
“So, what am I supposed to do until then?” I snap.
He stares at me for a second before cupping my shoulder empathetically.
“Pray…hope. It’s all you can do.”
I feel like my heart is shattering into a million pieces as I numbly move to an empty chair. Slumping down into it, I rest my elbows on my knees before closing my eyes. I do exactly as he says, too. I hope. I pray. I promise God that I’ll be a better person from now on. I bargain that I’ll do whatever he wants me to do if she lives. I beg for her to live and for me to go in her place, because as I’ve so quickly realized, a world without Bridgette Brenton is not one I’m interested in living in.