26. Lauren
26
LAUREN
Jason sat next to me on the couch playfully tapping the eraser of his pencil on the sole of my shoe. I had one leg crossed over the other as I lounged and stared at the TV. I'd felt numb all night. After the way David treated me at work this week, I wondered if we even had a chance now. I shut my phone off and didn't even care if he called me or sent a message. I was hurt, and while I knew it was kind of immature for me to act this way when I had agreed to being professional at work, I still expected some sort of understanding at times. I was wrong.
"You're moody," Jason grumbled, tapping rhythmically with his pencil. "What's for dinner?"
I shrugged, but I knew I'd have to get up and cook. He'd never go out there and do it himself, and I cared too much to let him go hungry. I had no appetite, though, so it didn't matter to me what he wanted unless we didn’t have it. I didn’t want to make a grocery run on a Tuesday night.
"I didn't plan anything special." My lackadaisical response didn't thrill him. He grew silent as the commercial break ended and the murder-mystery we were watching came back on.
The show was a distraction from my racing thoughts, but not a great one. I was still plagued with worry over how David would react to my pregnancy. My former concerns about his job and my future at Our Lady became overshadowed by the fear of the unknown. Now it wasn't just a matter of how we would explain a baby, but more so how I would raise a baby alone. David wasn't acting like he even wanted me right now. Why would he want a baby?
His mind had been elsewhere, on whatever it was he was going through. I heard from one of the nurses that people were saying it was something to do with a patient and police might be involved. We were close enough that he should have felt comfortable telling me anything, but he was keeping a secret, and that secret made me wonder what other secrets he was keeping, whether he was even trustworthy at all.
My mind went all sorts of ridiculous places, which left me anxious and undone. I hated that I was insecure, but a woman in my financial situation with a sibling to care for and only enough to scrape by would have a hard time raising a baby alone. It was scary.
The volume on the TV got louder, and it startled me. I watched as part of the climax scene played out, a bad guy making his move to hide evidence. It made me wonder if there had been evidence of whatever it was David was going through that I had just missed. It was obvious to me it had something to do with his performance at work, but he'd been on top of things ever since we agreed to try a relationship but only outside of work. Like the steam valve was opened and he could think straight.
Now, however, I wondered if I'd missed things, obvious mistakes or misdiagnoses. The thought occurred to me that maybe I wasn't the only woman he was seeing. If he was so good at hiding our relationship, was he hiding others too? Was that why the board got involved? All of it made me feel sick to my stomach and desperate to know what was really going on. That nurse in the elevator told Ginny that the board would talk to all of us, so maybe I'd get my chance to find out eventually.
"God, I'm starving," Jason whined. "Can you make something?" He shifted on the couch, tossing the pencil onto the worn wooden coffee table.
I was tired but I forced myself up to my feet. "Let me look at what we have…" I said, wobbling on shaky legs to the kitchen. Even if the food tasted gross and I threw it up later, I knew I should eat. The reason I felt so weak and nauseous was because I hadn't eaten and the baby was zapping all my energy, burning through calories faster than I could consume them. It was my first adjustment to motherhood, forcing myself to do what was best for my child when it was the last thing on my mind.
Two of the cupboard doors stood open. It was one of Jason's bad habits. I'd complained to him multiple times, and only because I'd banged my head on the open doors more than once. Lately, I'd just taken to closing them, pretending I was that blonde lady on the puzzle show who turned lit blocks around to reveal letters that formed words. The small things I'd been doing to cope were adding up, though, and I needed Jason to grow up and be responsible now. I was going to crack.
I rummaged through the cupboards, finding nothing to eat, really. We had a few canned goods, but I knew better than to suggest canned soup. Those were purchased with my work lunches in mind and were never used because David bought us both lunch at the cafeteria every day. We had a few slices of leftover pizza in the fridge, but they were dried up. And there was a loaf of bread and some cold meat, but no cheese. I could make him a sandwich if he'd eat it without cheese.
"Jace, we're out of American… Do you want a ham sandwich with ketchup or something instead?" I raised my voice so he could hear over the din of the show, but there was no response. My irritability coupled with the emotionally charged hormones coursing through my body put me on edge.
I leaned through the doorway of the kitchen into the living room and said, "Hey, did you hear me?" I didn't see him sitting there, so I assumed he was lying down. "Jason… Can you eat a sandwich without cheese?" I asked again, at the same volume despite being in the same room with him. There was still no answer.
Moving closer to the couch, I started to feel really frustrated with him. I didn't feel well to begin with, and he was old enough to get himself food. I wanted to lie down and get lost in my thoughts or just fall asleep so the nausea wasn't bothering me anymore, and I wanted him to grow up and be more responsible. Anger tightened my chest and my hands into fists until I peeked over the back of the couch to see him not there.
"Jason?" I called out, glancing at his bedroom door. It was ajar. The light was off. But light streamed under the closed door of the bathroom. "God," I grumbled to myself quietly and rolled my eyes.
Exhaustion pulled at every fiber of my being. Physically, this pregnancy was already hitting me like a hurricane. Mentally, I was so taxed with work stress and thoughts of David and the baby that I couldn’t focus on anything. And emotionally, I was ready to snap, to shout or cry—something to blow off steam and let my heart calm down.
"Jason," I called as I tapped on the door. "I can make you a sandwich but I don't have cheese. Is that okay?"
There was still no answer, but I could hear him breathing. It sounded heavy, like he was sleeping or even snoring. I didn't even hear movement at all, and I started to feel concerned. His headphones were on the couch where he left them, so he didn't have them on, blocking the sound. Why wasn't he responding to me?
Now starting to panic, I banged on the door with my fist hard, shaking it against the latch. "Jason, come on. This isn’t funny. Come out here." I waited a second and banged again, then again. "Jason, answer me. Open this door."
I felt like I couldn't breathe, like someone had turned on the vacuum and sucked the air right out of my lungs and this entire apartment. I wanted to shout again, but the words caught in my chest, right behind my breastbone where they hid in complete fear, even as I reached for the doorknob. I didn't care if I walked in on him using the toilet. I needed to make sure he was okay.
Surprisingly, the door wasn't even locked. It swung open freely, and I screamed at the sight before dropping to my knees next to him. Jason was lying face down on the bathroom floor with a rubber tourniquet wrapped around his left arm. The needle was still protruding from his flesh, dangling there.
"Oh, my God! Jason!" I tried turning him over, but he was too big for me to handle alone, and at a hundred and fifty pounds, that dead weight of someone passed out felt more like five hundred. "Oh, God… oh, God," I gasped over and over again. My fingers felt for a pulse on his wrist as I reached with my other hand for the needle. "Oh, my God."
Tears came hot and fast as I felt the thready heart rate in his vein. He was alive but he was overdosing, and I had minutes to save his life. I rushed for my phone and dialed 9-1-1. I didn't even know if the dispatcher would understand me, I was so hysterical.
"Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?"
"Uh… This is Dr. Lauren Newhouse. My brother is overdosing." I answered a dozen questions including his age, weight, what I feared he was on, and our address, and when the woman asked if I wanted her to stay on the call, I said yes. I couldn’t be alone, watching my brother slowly die, feeling my entire world crumble around me.
Time ticked by so slowly as I did everything the dispatcher told me to do—try to roll him to his side, put something soft under his head, keep him in a safe place. I listened to the whine of the sirens approach and sobbed so hard as I pleaded with God to save my brother’s life. It was my fault. He should have been in rehab. I should have paid more attention to him. I should have gotten that money from David, and now it was all too late.
They banged on the door but didn't wait for me to answer. The EMTs rushed in and took over, pushing me to the side as they worked to deliver the life-saving injections before strapping him to a gurney and hauling him out. Before it was said and done, Amber was there too, holding me while I fell apart.
"I'll drive you…" she told me, but I was lost, at sea adrift during a horrible storm. I had no anchor, no way to navigate. All I could do was let her guide me to her car and pray to God I hadn't already missed my chance to save my little brother.