Rush Into You (5 page)

“In the bathroom!” I yelled.

Two paramedics came rushing in to the bathroom. One asked a shitload of questions while the other checked Gabby’s vitals.

What did she take?

How much did she take?

Why did she do this?

Was she trying to kill herself?

Was she trying to kill herself? Fuck, I sure as hell hoped not!

“I don’t know how much she took. I found the needle still in her arm and saw the spoon and shit. I’m assuming it’s heroin, but I don’t know for sure. I found her like this.”

The female paramedic grabbed the needle, spoon, and small baggie, then put them all together in a larger plastic bag. The guy pulled out a syringe from his medical bag and made quick work of injecting something into Gabby’s upper arm.

“What was that?”

“It’s Naloxone, but most people call it Narcan. It’s an opiate antagonist and counters the effects of a heroin overdose. Narcan blocks opioids from attaching to the opioid receptors in the brain. When she wakes up, she’ll feel sick. She’s most likely going to want to use again, but she can’t. It’s too high of a risk to have another overdose.”

“So she’ll be okay? She’s going to wake up?” I asked hopefully.

“Narcan works on overdoses, especially when the person is still breathing. You found her at a good time.”

“We still need to get her to the hospital,” the female paramedic explained.

“I’m coming with her,” I demanded. I was prepared to put up a fight, but they both turned to each other and exchanged a look before finally nodding.

We all rushed out of the apartment, Gabby on the gurney. When we got in the back of the ambulance, my hand never left hers—I couldn’t let her go. The sirens were blaring as we sped off to the hospital, my heart still in my throat.

Her head started rolling side to side, and she mumbled something when we were moments from the hospital. It sounded like my name. “Babe, I’m here.”

Her beautiful hazel eyes struggled to open, and she looked at me. “I’m here,” I repeated.

“Ryker,” her voice rasped. Her eyes closed again.

WHEN WE PULLED up to the hospital, I had to stay in the waiting room. After a few hours, a middle-aged doctor with a thick accent came out; he looked surprised that I was still there.

“Can I see her?” I asked him.

He shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry. She’s awake, but she’s in withdrawal, and it’s not pretty. She’s agreed to get treatment, so she’ll leave to a facility soon, and it’s best that she doesn’t see anyone before she goes. Anything can be a trigger at this moment, and she can’t afford to change her mind about getting help. A few more minutes and she would’ve died or had brain damage. It’s all about timing and oxygen with an overdose. She’s lucky.”

The seriousness of what had happened tonight started to sink in. Gabby could have died.

It was strange for me to get attached to someone so quickly, but I felt something for Gabby. I didn’t know what it was, but I wanted more of her.

I wanted to spend nights just listening to her share her stories.

I wanted to be someone she could trust in the shitty world she lived in.

I wanted to get to know her.

I wanted her to know me.

Now I might never see her again.

I knew it was better that she went and got help. I’d never cared enough about someone to want to be included in their happiness, and after only one night I couldn’t be sure things would work out…but I had wanted the chance to try.

“RYKER...” I BREATHED, my dream of his gold and blue eyes fading.

My body hurt.

Every bone and muscle ached, even my skin and hair. My stomach gurgled, and bile pooled at the base of my throat. Goosebumps covered my flesh while bursts of heat waved through me. My eyes could barely open as if they were taped down to the tops of my cheeks. It was excruciating.

I tried to raise my arm, but I only managed to lift it an inch. A steady hum and beeping sound…the faint noise too much for my pounding head. An overwhelming odor of antiseptic flooded my senses, making me dizzy.

Awareness trickled in.

I was in a hospital.

“Miss Carter? Can you hear me?” a deep voice with a heavy accent asked.

I didn’t want to open my eyes and face this man. I knew he was my doctor and as soon as I was awake the questions would start.

I racked my brain, searching for my last memory. I swore I saw Ryker’s face, looming over mine and telling me that everything would be okay. But,
what would be okay? What had happened?
I continued searching the catalog of my memories until I knew. I remembered the bright light and the darkness. I remembered the freedom and escaping the pain.

I must have overdosed.

The heroin was too strong.

I finally braved the inevitable questions and opened my eyes. I stared at the IV attached to my left hand, before looking up. The doctor stood before me holding my chart, a practiced look of compassion on his face.

“Do you know why you’re here?” he asked, his accent thick.

We both knew why I was here—I was a damn junkie who had overdosed. I looked away from him before answering.

“Yep,” I said shortly, completely emotionless.

“Are you aware that there was a combination of heroin, fentanyl, and cocaine in your system?”

“Nope.” But that would explain the crazy rush I’d had and why I’d overdosed.

“Was your overdose accidental?” he questioned.

That caught my attention. I cut my eyes back to him and shot him a nasty glare. I didn’t answer, hoping he’d take a hint and shut up. As many times as I had contemplated suicide, I’d never once acted on it. I got high, and used to cut myself to release the pain building inside me, but never with the intention of killing myself.

“You’re safe here, Miss. Carter. You can talk to me,” he pressed.

When I didn’t answer him, he continued, “It’s obvious by the scarring on your veins that tonight wasn’t your first time injecting drugs. Also, the scars from where you cut yourself lead us to believe you are suicidal.” Sympathy leaked into his words. “My staff and I have deemed you a danger to yourself, and we believe that if you walk out of here, you’ll do it again. It’s my medical opinion that you should seek help. I can get you settled in a reputable rehab program if you agree to go. Or, we can issue a Section 35 or Section 12 which will force you into a program with or without your consent.”

“What’s a Section 35 or 12?”

“A Section 35 would send you to rehab for thirty days. A Section 12 would send you to a psyche ward for a select amount of days.”

My jaw dropped. I couldn’t believe this guy. I was an adult. Could he even do that? Who knew...but I wasn't sure what would happen if I called his bluff. I stared at him for a while, thinking of my options. My eyes darted to the door. I wanted to jump out of this bed and sprint past him to the nearest drug dealer. I felt like shit.

“I’d go with option one and do this the easy way, Gabby,” he said, seeming to read my mind.

“Can I have a moment to myself?” I snapped. “I need to think.”

“Of course. I’ll be right in the hallway, press the call button when you’re ready.”

I knew that I needed to get help, but I’d tried to get clean in the past and failed. Heroin was my crutch, my only friend. Even though I didn’t get addicted by choice, this drug had turned into my escape, and the idea of leaving it behind scared the hell out of me. If I couldn’t numb myself, I knew my memories and nightmares would be even worse. They were already so vivid and controlling, and the only reprieve I got was after injecting that poison into my veins.

I hated being dope sick. All I wanted to do right now was get high. If I went to detox, I’d be in serious physical withdrawal for days, but it would take my mind a lot longer than that in rehab to rid myself of the mental cravings. I didn’t want to try and get clean, just to fail again.

If I didn’t try, I couldn’t fail.

As many times as I’d wished I died with my friends that night…I didn’t really want to now. If an ambulance didn’t come last night, I’d have been dead for sure.

Maybe what I really needed was a fresh start. Get the hell out of this forsaken city and start over. I could get a new job, maybe go back to school and get my own little apartment somewhere. Make new friends and a new life where people didn’t know me—a place where people wouldn’t know what I had done and what I’d been through. It might be my only chance at a real life. At happiness.

Maybe I could call my family again after I was settled. I’d let them know that I was alive and that I loved them. I wouldn’t bother them until I was sure I could stay clean and sober, though. They had tried to be there for me, tried to help me, but I wouldn’t let them. I didn’t deserve them.

The idea of a new life sounded better by the second. Rehab would attempt to teach me new ways to cope. They’d give me medicine while I was detoxing so I wouldn’t be too sick. They’d help me get started with my new life.

Plus, if I refused treatment, this doctor threatened to Section me. I’d rather go to a nice program on my own, than be forced into some shitty place. If I were going to do this, I’d rather do it the right way.

I knew it was going to suck, but at this point I only hoped that it would eventually get better. I needed to look at the bigger picture. I wanted a new life away from Breckston, and this doctor was offering that to me.

With a deep breath, I hit the red call button attached to my bed. The doctor immediately returned.

“Whats your name?” I asked curiously.

“Dr. Trafalgar,” he answered patiently.

“Dr. T, I’d like some information on this great place you’re talking about. I want to get help.”

Oh God, I couldn’t believe I was doing this.
My anxiety was insane right now. I was so sick from the heroin withdrawing from my body.
What if I couldn’t do it? What if I couldn’t find a new way to keep all my demons at bay?
Can I get high one more time before I leave?
I haven’t been trying to escape reality over some petty shit. No, my issues were real and intense—nightmares. The kind of thing you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy.

Beyond all my fears, there was a hint of excitement at the thought of starting over and being able to live the rest of my life in some sense of happiness. It would be worth the risk of failure.

It was what I wanted.

It was what I needed.

A genuine smile spread across the doctor’s face. He sat down in the seat next to my bed and handed me a pamphlet and a stapled packet of printouts. He had been prepared, hoping I would choose wisely.

“It’s okay to be afraid, but you just completed one of the hardest steps of all. You just accepted that you need help.”

I listened attentively while he explained where I’d be going and when I’d be leaving. I didn’t miss a word as he continued to tell me the expectations of the program, and their success rate.

I looked right in Dr. T's eyes when he finished explaining the program to me. I wanted him to see that I was serious. That I was for real.

“Let’s do this.” My words were full of conviction and truth.

I wanted to do this.

I was terrified.

I was hopeful.