The inevitable.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
A FICTION story about what i fear might happen to one of my friends.

FACTS: Justin is a real friend of mine. He does drugs and parties. He goes to my youth group. he has invited me to parties. he has that tattoo on his back and its amazing. we goof around at church all the time, and sometimes get into MINOR fist fights in which no one ever gets hurt. and he has a really good smile.

FICTION: I have never actually been a party with justin. The only time he has ever called me an angel is when he's making fun of me for being so innocent (compared to him)
I have never kissed him, nor do i ever want to. he has never hit me hard enough for it to hurt (like i said, we play fight.) justin is not dead. :D

...not sure if this is something i should have posted. it really made me cry.

Submitted: May 12, 2009

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 12, 2009



“Justin is in the ER,” the young nurse who regularly ore a fake cherry smile is frowning now. “To be honest Rose, this is the worst OD I’ve seen in five years.”
  I nod in acknowledgment, but I can’t move any more than that.
I suppose this was inevitable, but I never thought I’d be the one. Never imagined that I’d be the one to find you passed out on your kitchen floor, with the needle still in your arm.
Just like the rest of the world, your veins gave up on you. They collapsed under the stress of the chemicals you all to frequently medicated yourself with to numb your pain.
So now I’m waiting for you to walk out of the emergency room, smiling the way you did back before your dependency took hold. But I know better than to hope for that. That breathtaking smile died long before now.
The real you died long before I found you on the kitchen floor. Before I followed the medics into an empty parking lot where I was told to go home, for there was nothing I could do.
But I’m still here, in this empty waiting room. It’s four in the morning and the only ones here are me and the Coke machine.
I hear the chorus of live support, the rattle of medicine carts, and pagers screeching in a climatic fashion.
Interns rush by like their in a makeshift track race. So what else can I do? I follow like a ghost to the finish line.
I feel the blood drain from my face.

It looks like every staff on the clocks is in or around your room. Their shouting out orders for milligrams of pointless medicines. I catch a glimpse of you between the rushing nurses. Your filled with hundreds of tubes, and dozens of wires. I wince as they hook you to an IV, as  they stick syringes in your arms.
“No more needles,” I catch myself murmuring as I take a step closer to the window, my fingertips lightly brushing the glass, “More needles won’t do him any good.”
The head doctor nods towards me, and mouths something to a wide eyed intern. He walks nervously through the door, closing it behind him so the frantic song of the life support is muffled.
“Come with me to get some coffee,” his voice quavers as he rest his hand on my shoulder, “there’s nothing either of us can…”
"I’m not leaving.” I cut in, shrugging his hand off my shoulder.
My hole body is shaking as memories of the days we sued to spend together flash through my mind.
How we used to pace the church halls before youth group, joking and teasing each other as the organ wailed in the background.
When you started bringing me to weekend parties. Where I would watch soberly as you injected toxins into your body.
And how furious you always got hen I told you that you were changing. That the drugs were draining every good thing about you.
We would fight. We would scream and hit. You would rage for me to leave, then bag for me to say. So I did what any good friend would do. I stuck by your side, and tried to remind you of the boy you used to be.
“You really love him,” the intern’s statement pulls me out of the past and back to the empty hallway.
My hand presses against the cool, smooth glass. I hadn’t realized I was crying, but sure enough, the tears are streaking my face.
“He used to be the best friend anyone could ever wish for,” I choke with my eyes still glued to your gurney, “ but people change.”
The intern opens his mouth, maybe to reassure or comfort me. But he’s cut off by the sound of disaster, a long steady beep.
“CLEAR!” the doctor slams the paddles to your bare chest. Your body jerks, but the line on the monitor is flat.
My head is pounding and the panic rises in my throat, “No God…” I speak as if I can change his mind, “Please…”
I close my eyes for a moment and the memories are flooding into my mind.
 We’re running threw the empty chapel, I chase after you as you hold my jacket above your head.
“Stop!” you shout, I freeze in the dead center of the choir risers. The light from the stain-glass windows reflecting into my auburn red hair, and painting my paper white skin rainbow.
“What is it?” I listen intently for some sign of a scolding preacher or youth director, but there is none.
You chuckle and shrug, “ I thought I saw an angel,” You throw my jacket to me, and turn away, “ But it was only you.”

We’re in your living room. I stand with my fists clenched tight as I do my best to keep my voice level.
“It IS changing you Justin,” I pace the floor as you scramble to put away your syringe, “All you do is party, you don’t even come to church anymore!”
You stand and grip my arm, tugging me violently close to you. Your raise your fist, but I refuse to flinch. As if my cold stare sobered you, your eyes soften with sadness.
You let go of me and drop your fist, “ God gave up on me.” you turn your back to me in shame. I shake my head as I  pull you closer, my arms wrap around your waist. My face is resting against your bare back, where “the lord as my shepherd…” is tattooed above hands with a rosary entangled in them.
I tighten my arms around you, “ We both know that’s not true.”

It’s three in the morning. I’m lying in bed, dosing off with my guitar in my arms when my cell phone rings. I reach over and pull it off the charger next to my bed. The picture on the screen shows a boy with chestnut hair, and a breathtaking smile standing in front of our church.
“Justin, its three in the morning.” I stand and put my guitar in its case, just now realizing how late it really is.
“Yeah…I guess it is.” Your voice stagers, “I’m not doing so…” you stop and hear a small whimper, “ I need you.”
With out hesitatoin, I grab my keys off the nightstand and run out of the room. I’m not quite sure what‘s happening, but I know its bad.
“Stay with me Justing, tell me what your doing right now.”
I don’t bother trying to be quiet, I don’t have time. I storm out the front door and jump into my car.
Drousely, you chuckle, “ You know what I’m doing.”
“Well STOP.” I screatch out the drive way, trying to stay relatively close to the speed limit.
“I love you,” you slur in barlydistinguishable English. Your phone clatters, then is engulfed in static.
My breath catches in my throat, but I mouth the words back to the fading static.
It isn’t until I park in front of your appartment building that I call 911.
As I run up the stairs, the operator clucks and nags that I need to stay calm, but hat does she know?
I slam my phone shut as I reach appartment 620. My hands darts for the handle, which is hankfully unlocked.
And there you are, slumped against your kitchen cabinet. Your soft cheastnut hair is pasted to your forehead with sweat, your eyes are half open, and the needle is still in you arm.
“Justin!” I run for you, pulling the needle from your arm, “come on, wake up!” you fall into my arms, your shallow breathing slowing stredaly.
I can hear the ambulence pull in front of the appartment building. I pull you closer and burry my face in your drenched hair.
“I need you too,” I stutter as we rock back and forth, “ I need you to pull through this.”
The heavy footsteps of  the paramedics storm up the stairs. As they load you onto the stretcher, I grab your hand, following you don the stairs. The ambulence doors swing open like the jaws of a monster. Before they load you in, I press my lips to your hand, thinking maybe somewhere in your mind you might feel it. That somewhere in your mind you’ll realize that you have something to live for.
A hand touches the mall of my back, and a soft voice echo’s lightly “ Go home and get some rest, there’s nothing else you can do here.” a parametic with bloodshot eyes stands by me.
But I shake my head, and run for my car. Nothing else I can do? Bull. I’m going to be the first person you see when you wake up. I’m going to be the first person you tell your going that your going to turn your life around.

“Clear!” The intern grabs my hand thoughtfuly as the doctor sets down the paddles, and checks his watch.
I know the intern is talking, but all I hear is a muted humming. I watch as they remove the tubes and wires. For a moment, I catch a glimpse of an angel lying on the gurney. His skin is glowing under the florescent lights, head tilted back, with his lips slightly parted. I could swear I see an angel there, but I know its only you.
I move silently away from the window, and glide threw the doorway. Nurses pause and interns shuffle their feet nervously, nobody is quite sure what to say.
Once again, I take your hand, with the other I brush the soft chestnut curls from your eyes.
The doctor who had sent the intern to me steps forward, handing is medical chart to the cherry-lipped nurse.
“I’m sorry,” his voice drawls in an exhausted manor, “ We lost him.”
I hold your hand tighter, my eyes swelling with tears, “No you didn’t lose him.”
I remember you, the you I loved. I remember my best friend so vividly, but I haven’t seen that Justin in months.
Instead, I saw a stray sheep, one who refused to seek a shepherd. I bend down, lightly kissing your salty-sweet lips. Tears fall from my eyes like  waterfalls, my breath jerking so unsteadily my lungs feel like there about to collapse. My heart is tearing in half as I lift my lips from yours, because I know this is goodbye.
I let go of your hand and shake my head slowly, “ You didn’t loose him,” I repeat, as I step hesitantly away from the gurney, “He was already gone.”


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