He left the boy's room, went back to the nurses' station, and handed Chris's file back over—he didn't need it anymore. The state would take Chris away and nothing Erik could do would stop that. He asked the petite nurse for the phone so he could call back to West, and as he stood there with the receiver pressed to his cheek, all hell broke loose.
Paramedics rushed by with a guy on a gurney. Erik clenched the receiver as he pulled it away from his ear, watching the mad rush of bodies. The kid on the gurney looked like he'd been on a week-long binge—body pale, eyes dark, bones pressing out against his thin skin. He had a line of track marks running the length of his arm. Nurses and doctors ran into a room with the kid and Erik couldn't help but watch.
The thick wooden door slammed hard enough to give Erik a start. He turned back to face the nurses' station, and thankfully, one of his favorites walked behind the desk just as he sat the phone back down.
"Hey, Pam," he said. "That guy they just brought in, he overdosed, right?" She nodded. "Is he headed to West from here?"
"I don't know, honey. He's an adult, so I guess he makes his own decision."
"Okay, thanks, Pam."
"No problem, Dr Daniels."
Erik headed out to the waiting room. He had his cell phone in his hand, waiting to clear the ER floor before he dared to turn it back on. There was no way he would have time to make his lunch date with Marshall now. Maybe he could try again tomorrow. Maybe he could catch him for dinner tonight. He didn't care as long as he didn't miss his chance to meet up with his ex.
With the phone pressed to his ear, he waited and waited to hear Marshall's voice.
"Hello?" Marshall said.
"Hey, it's Erik."
"Oh, hey." There was a long pause. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, I just…" Erik pressed through the double doors and spotted the blond kid sitting on the floor, hugging himself as he rocked back and forth. Erik frowned. "I'm, um… at the hospital—"
"What happened?" Marshall interrupted.
"What?" Erik watched the blue-eyed boy on the floor. "Oh, nothing. I'm fine. Well, as fine as I can be. I had a thirteen-year-old patient try to commit suicide today."
"Oh, no."
"Yeah."
"Are you okay?"
Erik leaned against the wall. Taking a deep breath, he said, "I'm fine, just worried about the kid. Look, I called because I can't make it for lunch. I don't want to leave until I know where they plan to send him. He'll go to another facility, but I would like to know which one."
"Completely understandable," Marshall said. "We can always reschedule."
"Thanks for understanding."
"Of course I do."
"Well, I'll call you when I know something, okay?"
"Sure. Go take care of your patient. I'll look forward to hearing from you."
Ending the call, Erik slipped the phone back into the pocket of his khakis and he couldn't help staring at the guy on the floor. It wasn't unlike Erik to approach a complete stranger and ask if they were okay, even if they clearly weren't. He knelt down beside the kid and held out a hand.
"Hi, I'm Dr Daniels," he said. The boy stared up at him like he'd lost his mind. "You want to talk?"
"Not really," the kid said as he wiped the tears from his eyes.
"I understand." Erik tilted his head. He looked over his shoulder to the double doors then back down at the guy sitting on the floor. "Someone you care about in there?"
"Yes," the kid said with an utterly devastated tone in his voice.
"They wouldn't let you in?"
He shook his head.
"Want to know what's going on?"
The boy nodded.
Erik offered his hand again, and this time he took it. "I'm Erik… Dr Daniels," he said again.
"Jon. I'm Jon."
"Is your friend the one they just brought in?"
"Yeah, he, um…" Jon's head lowered. He hugged his body tighter. "He OD-ed."
"Heroin?"
"Yeah." Jon's eyes widened. "How did you know?"
"I saw the track marks on his arms. Look, I am a rehabilitation therapist at West Clinic." Erik reached in his pocket and pulled out a card. He put it in Jon's hand and said, "Your friend is an adult, so no one can make him go to rehab, but if he keeps going like this, it will kill him."
"I know," Jon said. "I want him to get help. I… I can't lose him. I'm, um… the one who found him. He passed out in the shower and I couldn't wake him up. I tried. I couldn't. I…" Jon's tears started falling again. Erik hesitated a moment, then wrapped an arm around Jon's shoulder.
With a quiver in his voice, Jon continued and Erik listened patiently. "I woke up and the bed was empty. We'd fallen asleep together the night before, but when I woke up, he was gone. I banged and banged on the bathroom door. I knew he hadn't left because he never left without his backpack." Erik watched the muscles in the kid's throat wave as he swallowed. "I called his name. He never answered. Finally, I threw my body into the door and that's when I found him."
Jon lowered his head. Erik rubbed the rounded edge of his shoulder, encouraging him to let it all out. "Half his body hung over the edge of the tub," Jon cried. "When I saw his face, his eyes were closed and his lips were blue. I thought he was dead. I thought he'd killed himself." To Erik's surprise, Jon buried his face against his chest. Erik hugged him tighter. "I've never been so scared in my life."
"Finding someone you… love, in that situation, can be incredibly scary. You did good. Because of you, he'll probably survive."
Jon gave him a weak smile, eyes glistening with a mix of tears and newfound hope. Another thing Erik knew when he saw it was the face of someone so completely lovesick their life hinged on the person they'd fallen for. He imagined having the same exact look in his own eyes every time he thought about Marshall.
"How long have you two been together?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood a little.
"Oh, we're not together."
"But you want to be?"
Jon looked up at him and frowned. "Is it that obvious?"
"Not really. I just know what to look for."
He placed his hand on Jon's back and guided him through the double doors, led him straight over to the nurses' station were Pam still worked on her charts and notes. As soon as he approached the desk, Pam's head raised again.
"The boy in that room," he pointed to the door they'd wheeled Jon's friend through, "this is his significant other. He needs to be allowed in there as soon as the doctors are done, okay?" She smiled and gave a subtle nod. Erik looked back at Jon and said, "If you want to wait with me, you can. I'm not leaving any time soon."
"I would like that," Jon said.
Chapter Seven
The heart monitors wailed. Doctors and nurses ran into the overdosed kid's room. Erik watched every frenzied step they took. Then he swung his stare back to the blond kid he'd found in the hallway. He saw the panic in Jon's eyes, caught a glimpse just before Jon lunged for the open door. Erik pulled him back, holding him in the hall while the hospital staff did their thing. "Calm down," Erik said. "They can't help him if we're in the way."
"Get off of me!" Jon demanded, arms and legs kicking and swinging.
Erik held him a little tighter, pulling him away from the door. "If you don't calm down, they won't let you back in the room."
Jon instantly stilled in Erik's arms. He hung his head and said, "I just wanted to be there when he woke up."
"You will be, but you have to stay calm."
Erik let him go. He kept his eyes on Jon as the kid leaned against the wall. They both watched the room, waiting for something, anything. The door had been closed so they couldn't see what was happening inside and that only made matters worse. Erik reached out and gripped Jon's shoulder. That simple touch helped. It calmed him. Jon took a deep breath.
In a soft voice he said, "Why would someone put himself through that kind of hell?"
Pulling his hand back from Jon's shoulder, Erik hugged his own body as he leaned against the wall beside him. His own addiction hadn't been anything like that, but it had done irreparable damage. The sad thing about Erik's case was that he didn't know why he drowned his life in booze—he just did. It wasn't a matter of erasing some buried pain. He just enjoyed the feeling.
"How much do you know about his past?" Erik finally asked.
Jon shrugged. "I know he's from, like… Maine or something. He hates his dad. Says he's a real class-A bastard. I don't know."
"Maybe he gets high to escape his past?"
"Maybe."
About that time, the door opened and the nurses all piled out. A surly old doctor with a wrinkled brow dressed in green scrubs headed straight for Erik. "He one of your patients?"
"Not yet," Erik looked over at Jon, "but we're hoping that changes."
"That kid is going to have a hard time coming down from that mess. I'm willing to bet he's been doing it a long time. We're going to run an EKG on him, but I'm pretty sure he has some severe heart damage. We've had a hard time keeping his heart rate up." The doctor's eyes shifted back and forth between them. He added, "You can go in, but no excitement, okay?"
Erik shook the doctor's hand. Then they both went into the room and that's the first time Erik had a chance to get a good look at the patient, at the smooth surface of his skin and his almost heart-shaped face. Matted black hair clung to his head, and his eyes looked sunken and empty. His cracked lips peeled back into a sickly smile as his eyes met Jon's.
Erik kept his mouth shut, sat back and watched the two of them, their body language. He listened to their conversation. Jon went on about how he'd been scared, how he thought he'd lost his friend. He begged the guy to get help, but the patient seemed a little resistant to the idea. Jon begged and begged until he obviously became frustrated, then Jon turned his head and waved Erik over.
Erik held out his hand. "Hi, I'm Dr Daniels."
"This is Angel," Jon offered, sniffling back his tears.
Angel groaned.
"Just listen to him, please," Jon said as he wiped his moist cheeks.
Angel rolled his eyes.
"We can help you," Erik said. "I can get you all the care you need to get off the smack."
"I gots no insurance, Doc," Angel said with a sarcastic laugh.
"West Clinic is a state-run institution. If you want help, we'll give it to you, but Angel, you have to want it for yourself. We can't make you go there."
"I don't want it," Angel said.
"What do you mean 'you don't want it'?" Jon asked as his arms crossed over his chest. "You have to get off that shit. I'm not going to sit back and watch you fucking kill yourself. I'm not going to pull you out of another fucking bathtub!"
Erik touched Jon's back, shook his head, and said, "Calm down, Jon. You can't threaten a junky into getting help. If they don't want it, they'll fail. The system will fail them. If he wants to go to an early grave, that's his choice."
"Don't try to psycho-bullshit me, Doc," Angel said as he struggled to sit up in the bed.
"No one is trying to 'psycho-bullshit' you, Angel," Erik insisted. "The fact is the doctor said you've damaged your heart. They don't have a clue what else you've done to yourself. Do you hate your life so much that you want it to end?"
Erik peeked over his shoulder to find Jon facing the wall. He could see him wiping tears from his eyes and hear him sniffling.
"Are you willing to hurt the only person you have left?" Erik said as he stepped closer to Angel's bed. "Are you willing to break his heart? Because let me tell you something, kid: I let my addiction cost me everything I loved. I lost the only person who meant anything to me, and I swear to you, I would do anything to have him back, to have my old life back. So you think about that. While you're watching Jon walk away for good, you think about what you're losing. And the next time you shove that needle in your arm, you think about what you could've had."
Chapter Eight
"I said don't fucking… don't… talk to me. Don't touch me! Get away from me!" Angel yelled and cursed as he rolled his body away from Jon and the good doc. He flopped over the edge of the bed, stumbled forward and caught himself with his palms, slamming against the wall. It hurt, but not as bad as his pride hurt. He hated being fucking lectured and that seemed to be all those two wanted to do to him.
He panted, leaned against the wall, and started ripping tubes from his arms. "Leave me the fuck alone!"
The room started to spin. Angel's knees buckled. Fire burned in his chest and his heart felt like it would pound right through his skin. He felt Jon's arms wrap around his waist, but Angel kept sinking down to the floor. "Please, let Dr Daniels help you," Jon begged as they both hit the linoleum.
"Get the fuck off of me!"
"Please, stop pushing me away!" Jon cried out.
"Let me go!" Angel growled again. He shot an angry glare back at the doctor leaning against the door jamb. Every ounce of rage he felt spilled into his dark eyes. The desire to blow up in a full-fledged violent meltdown burned in the center of his chest. Angel hated him for whatever bullshit he'd been filling Jon's head with. He hated the doctor for looking so cocky with arms crossed over his chest. Standing there, watching the two of them like this mess was any of his damn business. As if that asshole was any better. Angel would bet everything he owned the doc had some pretty righteous skeletons in his closet—more than just the shit he'd already confessed.
"I said I don't want no fucking help!" Angel yelled again. His hands trembled as they fisted in Jon's shirt. He took slow, shallow breaths, tried to push away from his best friend, but Angel didn't have the strength. As it was, he couldn't even stand up without Jon's help. "Get off of me!" he screamed. "Get the fuck off of me!"
"Stop acting this way!" Jon yelled back.
"I don't need you! I don't need anyone!"
As soon as Angel started ripping the heart monitor's wires from his chest, the alarms screamed and feet pounded toward the door. Nurses spilled inside. A doctor followed. Then a big black guy in pink scrubs slammed through the door. He started to wrench Angel up from the floor when Dr Daniels grabbed the big guy's wrist.