Hey everyone, thanks for all the reviews. I think we'll get straight into this, you guys obviously want to know what happens next...
Trigger warnings: Suicide
Lafayette breathed in the rich smell of coffee and baking that lingered in the air of the shop. He loved this place, it reminded him of le caféothèque de Paris his parents used to bring him to after they'd visit les parcs rives de Seine on his birthday. Smoky and full of the clinking of ceramic, it felt like he was stepping back into a life he thought he'd left behind five years ago.
He must have been standing still, his eyes closed for too long because Hercules was tapping his arm, a small smile on his face.
"Everything okay?"
His eyes shone brightly in the warm lighting of the coffee shop, only a small note of concern contained in the sepia irises.
"Yeah. I just really like this place."
John nudged them over to the queue by the counter and the three of them examined the menu board carefully, shrugging off their jackets in the pleasant warmth of the building. Outside the wind was harsh and it had dropped below 50 degrees, weather they had yet to get used to after the seemingly endless summer they'd just enjoyed.
They ordered quickly, two cappuccinos for John and Hercules and a latte (or a café au lait, as he called it in his mind) for Lafayette.
They settled into a booth upstairs and John took out his laptop, logging in and connecting to the coffee shop's WiFi
"Do you wanna do Monsieur Grants' homework while I finish up some art?" Hercules asked reaching into his bag for his sketchbook.
Lafayette was already nodding and pulling out a French textbook and his exercise book from his bag. He responded to Hercules absent-mindedly, not really paying attention to his words.
"Oui, je veux faire tous mes devoirs aujourd'hui, Il n'est pas beaucoup mais la dissertation prendra du temps."
Yeah, I wanna do all my homework today. It's not a lot, but the essay will take time.
Hercules looked at John and then back at Lafayette, who hasn't seemed to notice this sudden lapse into French.
Hercules chuckled to himself and cleared his throat.
"Laf, I don't speak French you know."
Lafayette's eyes widened slightly and he sighed, realising his mistake. He smiled somewhat sadly and shook his head in a self depreciative fashion.
"I used to go to a coffee shop in Paris with my parents. It was so much like this, I guess I fell back into French."
He shrugged and looked back down at his textbook slightly sheepishly, curly strands of hair framing his face.
John smiled and patted Lafayette's hand, his expression sympathetic.
"Sorry man, we can go somewhere else."
Lafayette laughed slightly and Hercules was relieved to hear the warmth and verisimilitude behind it.
"Non, we've got drinks already. Also, I like it here."
John nodded and picked up his mug, sipping at the drink while he scanned his eyes over some Wikipedia article he was reading.
They fell into a comfortable silence, the only noise between them was the clicking of John's keyboard, the occasional turning of a page and the smooth sound of pencil strokes against paper.
Lafayette pulled his phone from his pocket and opened it, tapping into the contact labelled Maman and typing out a quick message.
Lafrançaise (just now): Alex awake?
He waited for a minute or so, writing a few more sentences in his French essay and crossing all the t's in his previous paragraph.
His phone dinged and he looked back down at the screen.
Maman (just now): Just spoke to him. Doesn't want breakfast but says he'll have lunch
Lafayette frowned to himself and typed a response.
Lafrançaise (just now): Does he seem okay?
Maman (just now): He looks tired. I will make sure he eats later.
Lafrançaise (just now): Okay. I'll be home in two/three hours
Maman (just now): Okay, love you x
Lafrançaise (just now): love you too
Lafayette slid his phone back into his pocket and drained the last of his coffee, putting the glass back on the table and wiping off any milk foam that might have lingered on his upper lip.
He looked at his two friends, one next to him and one opposite both absorbed in their work. Hercules had that intelligent look of concentration on his face he always got when he sketched and John's eyes were narrowed and trained closely on his laptop screen.
Lafayette smiled slightly to himself and put his pen back to his work, he was warm, he was safe, he was with his friends. He was okay.
oo
Alexander paced his room, his hands drumming the sides of his thighs restlessly. He didn't want to wait any longer, he couldn't wait any longer. His eyes snapped back to the pills on his desk for what felt like the one hundredth time and he sank down on to his bed.
It was late afternoon now, Lafayette would probably be coming home soon and George had returned from his meeting just ten minutes ago. He stood up again and reached towards the curtains, pulling them closed and flopping back onto his bed with his eyes firmly shut.
He wanted to do it when it was late, or very early. He still wasn't clear on all the details, his mind was foggy and thoughts seemed to move in and out of focus before he could grasp them.
He'd written a letter to his brother in the back of one of his notebooks as there was nothing in any of his journal entries about him. James was nineteen now, he occasionally got e-mails or postcards from him, the most recent one that he had been accepted into University College London starting this September. He hadn't heard the sound of his brother's voice however for about three years. Maybe this was a good thing; maybe James would get over it faster this way.
He heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway and Lafayette's voice regretting the house cheerfully. He thought he might as well go out onto the landing and say hello to his foster brother there. Lafayette would want to chat to him anyway, it was better he didn't see the state of Alexander's room.
His foster brother grinned as he jogged up the stairs, quickening his pace and pulling Alex into a tight hug when he reached the landing.
Alex reciprocated, breathing in the smell of his foster brother's sweater. Coffee, laundry detergent and that same, unidentifiable 'Washington' scent.
"How was- how was coffee?"
Alexander winced somewhat, his awkward wording and slightly hoarse voice grated against his ears.
So articulate, nice one. Socrates would be proud.
Lafayette laughed and shrugged, releasing Alex.
"It was fine. French essays and difficult math questions."
Alexander laughed weakly and fixed his eye contact on the small Tommy Hilfiger logo on his foster brother's chest.
He felt the gaze on him soften and Lafayette's hand was now placed on his shoulder.
"Are you okay, you haven't been out with us in ages."
Alexander nodded and shrugged, a smile he felt was probably very insincere looking appearing on his face.
His foster brother smiled and squeezed his shoulder slightly before breaking the grip on Alexander's shoulder and turning towards the door of his bedroom.
His door closed with a slight thud and the hallway was now left in a sort of blue-grey twilight darkness. The orange light that had been emanating from Lafayette's room was now a thin band of incandescent light, the glow of which only lit the bare tips of Alexander's toes.
He turned back into his room and turned on his desk lamp. It was nearing night outside now, the sun was setting later and later every night, and now that autumn was well and truly here, it was normally dark by six o'clock.
He had asked Martha if he could skip dinner and go straight to bed tonight, not wanting to make an appearance in front of the family he was so selfishly going to leave behind in the next few hours.
The guilt was eating him up inside.
It was a wake of vultures descending on his corpse, thousands of maggots squirming and working their way into his organs and devouring him.
He couldn't take it anymore.
Alexander decided to get ready. He sorted carefully through the piles of his clothes and set aside his best button down top, the nicest pair of pants he owned and even those unnecessarily expensive loafers Lafayette had insisted he buy, because why not?
He changed carefully, buttoning the shirt to the very top and pressing down the collar carefully. He pulled on the trousers, which were a charcoal grey and buckled the belt with unsteady fingers. Next he brushed out his hair and tied it into a low ponytail, being careful to smooth out any bumps or tangles as he did so. Finally, he slid his feet into the shoes and examined his reflection in the mirror.
He looked good. Well, he looked good if you ignored the purple-grey circles under his eyes and his sallow complexion. If you didn't look to closely at the bumps of his ribs underneath the button down or the thinness of his wrists poking out from the dark blue sleeves.
He sighed and pulled a strand of hair loose from the top of his head so that it fell across his face and fluttered when he breathed. Now he looked slightly more human, just a little touch of 'Alex' so he felt more like himself, less like a statute of himself he wouldn't even recognise.
He looked at the clock and watched as the minute hand jerked to 5:45. It was too early. He couldn't guarantee Martha or George wouldn't come upstairs to check on him before bed. He would have to wait just a little longer.
As he sat on his bed, he thought through his exact plan.
Would he lock his bedroom door?
If he did, it meant that nobody could get into his room and stop him, try to get him to a hospital before it worked.
If he didn't lock it, it meant that anybody could walk in, even Lafayette, when he was d-
That word.
He didn't know why it hit him so hard, like a lead weight slamming into his stomach. He knew what it meant, he knew he'd be it soon.
Dead. Dead. Dead.
He repeated the word a few times in his mind and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to imagine it. He opened his mouth and spoke the word softly. He could taste it on his tongue. Ashy, but sweet. The kind of sweet ethylene glycol tastes before it poisons you.
Well. It tasted sweet to him now. It hadn't when it had been his mother who was dead. His cousin, his aunt, his grandparents.
It tasted like turpentine then, like stifling city smog and gasoline.
Now though, it felt like relief and a last resort.
He gathered all the pills off his desk and put them on top of a notebook, which he then rested on the floor next to him. He hunted through the very bottom of his wardrobe and finally brought out the bag he'd packed all those months ago at Pace's house. He looked through the contents with a somewhat grim smile on his face.
There was a knife, of course, it was an unwritten rule in the world of foster kids that you need a last resort weapon of self defence. He'd never thought he would use it, but that was before he'd been made to live with Pace. Sometimes the man would beat him so badly if the knife had been in his hands he wasn't totally sure that he wouldn't have used it.
There was a pack of granola bars he'd smuggled into the bag from Pace's kitchen in case the Washingtons had been the type starve him and finally, right at the bottom of his bag, a photo of his mother.
He wasn't in it, nor his brother. It was just her. She was sat on a beach in Saint Kitts in a sun dress with her hair being pulled all one way by a strong breeze. She was young in this photo. If she was twenty eight when she'd had him, here she must have been twenty two or twenty three. She looked so inexplicably happy, so carefree. He remembered how that had changed when his father had deserted them. How she had withdrawn into herself, her job, her religion.
They had been raised religious, Catholic specifically.
Alexander vividly remembered his mother knelt in their local church. She was rocking back and forth before a statue of the Virgin Mary, her eyes squeezed tightly shut and her cheeks wet with tears. Her hair was loose and fell around her face as she breathed fervent words into the crucifix clutched in her hands.
"Dios te salve, Maria!"
"Llena eres de gracia: El Seńor es contigo, Bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres! Y bendito es el fruto de tu vientre: Jesús! Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros pecadores, ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte."
She had prayed for a saviour, a way out. It hadn't come.
Alexander didn't believe in God, he hadn't since the day his mother had died.
He placed the photo next to the pills and put the bag back into the cupboard. Then he picked up all the notebooks he wanted to be read and placed them on the floor too.
He spent the next few hours reading everything he'd written over and over and over until he could near recite it all from memory. He stayed in his room as he heard the Washingtons eat dinner downstairs.
Their voices were faint hums he couldn't translate into clear words and the sound of metal clinking against china often drowned out anything he might have been able to hear. Occasionally a laugh or an exclamation of something would ring out, only serving to remind Alex of his how little he mattered within the family.
It was around nine thirty when George's footsteps climbed the stairs and walked along the landing towards he and Martha's bedroom. There was the sound of a door shutting, the hum of a light in the bathroom and the rush of the tap. Then a light switch was turned off and Alex heard the creak of a bed. Martha joined George not long after that. Her footsteps were lighter, much more careful. She obviously didn't want to wake her husband up.
Lafayette took longer than both his parents. The sound of the TV was muffled through the walls and floors of the house but occasional footsteps on the wooden floorboards downstairs told him his foster brother hadn't fallen asleep in front of the TV.
It was maybe just past ten when the TV was suddenly turned off and Lafayette's soft and tired footsteps thumped up the stairs.
He turned off his desk lamp so that no indication that he was still awake shone from under his door. He heard Lafayette enter his bedroom and his door was shut softly. There was the sound of him brushing his teeth and bed clothes whispering before a light was flicked off and the vague glow from under Alex's door turned to pitch.
He guessed now was a good a time as any.
Alexander filled up a mug with water from his bathroom tap and sat down on the floor below his window, where he'd placed all his notebooks and the photograph.
His hands were trembling as he picked up as many pills he thought he could swallow at once; a mix of the Prozac and Iron.
They felt heavy on his tongue and his mouth was dry. He tipped the handful past his lips and swallowed them with a large gulp of water. His hands were shaking so violently now that water was spilling over the sides of his mug and staining his trousers.
He took some more pills in his hand and swallowed them too, wincing and feeling his eyes sting at the sharp sensation at the back of his throat.
He continued that way until the pills were gone, taking handfuls with gulps of water at a time. Often he would spill the pills down his front or miss his mouth, his hands were shaking so much. His mind was blank as he picked them up off his lap and lifted them back to his mouth. He shut his eyes tight as he swallowed each one.
They were all gone now. Alexander's hands fumbled around his lap desperately for more but only swept across carpet and trouser, he had taken everything.
He leant his head against the wall and closed his eyes, waiting for something to happen. He wasn't sure how long this would take. It seemed hours ticked by as he sat there. As time passed and little happened, panic started to grip him.
Was it enough? What if it didn't work? Fuck, it had to work...
He scrambled to his feet with the photo of his mother clutched tightly in his hand and stumbled towards the door. The pills hadn't had any effect yet, he would feel it when they did. It was still difficult to move though, his arms felt heavy and his legs were numb.
He was as quiet as he could be on the landing, taking small and tentative footsteps down the stairs and into the hallway below. He didn't turn on any lights, instead creeping through the dark of the house like he was already a ghost. He might has well have been. He felt as felt as pale and preternatural as one anyway.
The dining room was still and silent, dinner having been cleared from it hours ago. Lafayette's jumper was flung across the back of one of the chairs and there was a newspaper on the table that he thought George or Martha must have been reading.
He fumbled at the handles of the cabinet in the far corner and pulled it open with a small click. He blinked a few times through the darkness and examined the bottles there, the labels blurry from a deficiency in light but also from the drug induced haze that was just starting to cloud his vision.
He grabbed at the nearest bottle to him and screwed off the cap clumsily, taking a gulp of whatever the contents was. He almost spat it out as soon is it met his tongue, it was so disgusting. He thought it was probably a spirit because it tasted more like gasoline or nail polish remover than anything he'd ever had.
He swallowed a few mouthfuls of the drink and put the bottle on the nearest surface, it might have been the table, it might have been the top of the cabinet. He wasn't sure.
The drink had left a horrible burning sensation in his throat and his stomach felt like it was on fire. Lights had begun to dance in his vision and it was all he could do to stumble towards the stairs again and begin the ascent back to his room.
He took each step at a time, one hand clutching his stomach in agony and the other firmly holding on to the picture of his mother. He made it to the upstairs landing with shaking legs and a throbbing pain unfurling in his temples, spreading around his skull.
He leant against the door jamb and closed his eyes tight, the pain pulsing in his head was overwhelming. He'd had no idea the effects of what he'd taken would be so rapid. Maybe it was the alcohol?
He slid down slowly against the wall and held his head in his hands, his legs stretched out in front of him in the door way. He took deep breaths and closed his eyes, willing the pain away and unconsciousness to overcome him.
He could feel the edges of his vision blurring but the sharp needles of white hot pain in his head and stomach only seemed to intensify. He felt a strangled yell pull from his lips and clamped a hand over his mouth, pressing down desperately. Slowly, he rolled onto his stomach and half crawled, half dragged himself further into his room. He fell face first onto the carpet and groaned again in pain.
His eyelids felt so heavy, like they were weighed down. He closed them and let the waves of pain and building nausea break over him. He could feel his consciousness slipping and felt his fingers clutching weakly at the carpet like he was trying to ground himself to the earth.
Even when life seems to be escaping you and you're lying on the floor with poison seeping through your veins, the human body has a habit of trying to hold on as long as it can.
oo
Lafayette rolled onto his back and clutched the blankets tighter around him as his eyes stuttered open. Dawn was struggling through the gap in his curtains and had pooled in grey light at the foot of his bed. Why had he woken up? A quick glance at the clock told him it wasn't even six o'clock and his room wasn't yet light enough that it would wake him on a normal day.
He sat up in bed and became aware of a noise on the landing, it was faint at first. So small and quiet he wasn't sure he'd even really heard it. Then it came again, a small groan of pain like that of a wounded animal.
Lafayette swung his legs out of bed and shivered as his feet touched the cold floorboards. He slid his feet into some slippers at the foot of his bed and opened his bedroom door, stepping out onto the dimly lit landing and rubbing his eyes.
Alex's bedroom door was open, he sighed and walked over the door way. Alex must have been sleep talking or snoring and had woken him up.
A pale hand stuck out over the threshold of Alexander's bedroom and when he moved closer the rest of his brother's limp figure fell into his vision, sprawled and crumpled across the carpet.
He stood at the door way for a few long moments, his eyes almost unseeing and an icy cold feeling flooding his entire being. He felt as though this was a dream.
Was it a dream? Could his imagination be capable of thinking up a situation such as this?
Then, he stumbled slightly and fell against the cold wall of the hallway, his hand clutching the door frame and his eyes fixed on the awkward curl of his brother's fingers.
"Papa..."
His voice came out a hoarse croak and he squeezed his eyes shut, feeling nausea bubbling in the bit of his stomach.
This was no dream.
"PAPA!"
This time the cry came out shrill and piercing. It ripped from his throat and stumbled past his lips, frantic and unsteady.
He pushed off the wall and found his balance, crashing into his parent's room with the word on his lips again.
"Papa! Maman!"
The two sleeping figures stirred and George had sat up, blearily rubbing his eyes. He looked up at his son from the bed and pulled himself to his feet immediately.
"Gilbert..." He sounded still half asleep but his eyes were alert and his posture stiff.
Martha had sat up too now, a look of confusion and concern bright on her face.
"What's going on?"
Lafayette braced his hands on the side of the cupboard and felt the words tumble from his lips, breathy and punctuated by harsh gasps.
"Je ne sais pas, Je ne sais pas ce qui s'est passé! Aide! C'est Alex! Je ne sais pas ce qui s'est passé. Je me suis réveillé et il était allonger sur le sol, venez, vite! Vite!"
I don't know, I don't know what happened! Help! it's Alex, I don't know what happened, I woke up and he was lying on the floor, come, quick! Quick!
Neither George or Martha could understand a word of what he had said, aside from the name Alex. This coupled with Lafayette's frantic tone and lapse into his mother tongue however was enough.
George was moving in an instant, he rushed out onto the landing and froze momentarily at the sight of his foster son's unconscious form in the doorway of his bedroom.
It was dark in the corridor, the sun having not yet risen fully and the sky still glowing a deep blue shade. George flicked on the light and knelt down next to Alex, dread flooding him when he felt how cold the boy was. He lifted Alexander's arm and felt his pulse.
There was a slow, irregular pumping there but his finger tips were already blue and only the very centre of his palm was warm. He leaned closer to the teenager's mouth and checked for breathing. There was a slight flutter of breath coming from his nose and when he exhaled ever so slightly from his mouth a strong smell of alcohol made George recoil.
"Is-he's breathing?"
Martha's voice was barely a whisper and her tone held so much fear he wanted to whip round and embrace her. Instead he nodded ever so slightly, not sparing a moment to look behind him. He used a gentle fingertip to lift the lid of Alexander's eye.
The dark iris stared blankly up at George but a second later twitched slightly. A small groan of pain fell past the teenagers lips and he rolled onto his side, a hacking cough forcing out his mouth and making his entire body shake violently.
Lafayette clapped a hand over his mouth and darted into the bathroom. He bent over the sink, dry heaving and coughing violently. He didn't get sick, he didn't have enough in his stomach to do anything but choke.
He braced his hands on the sides of the sink and shivered slightly, his arms erupting into goose bumps and a horrible feeling of dread falling over him.
Martha was at his side in a second, her warm hand rubbing between his shoulder blades gently. He turned on the tap and splashed water onto his face, turning away from the sink and striding back into the hallway hurriedly.
Martha stepped over where George was still checking Alexander's vital signs and into his bedroom. Her eyes immediately fell on the empty trays of pills on the desk and the objects stacked in piles around the room.
She picked up the boxes of pills and hurried back out of the bedroom, holding them out to George with unsteady hands.
"I found these. I don't know how many he took."
George looked up momentarily and Martha saw his eyes were full of fear, shining ever so slightly with tears. A second later his attention was back on Alex, feeling the pulse at his throat and holding a hand to his forehead to check his temperature.
"His breath smells like liquor."
Martha could have fallen to her knees then, just given up and wept. She certainly wanted to. Instead she stepped back over the boy's unconscious form and jogged downstairs to the dining room. She turned on the light and instantly noticed the bottle of scotch on the table and the open door of the liquor cabinet.
The bottle was nearly full, seemingly only about two shot glasses worth gone. This did nothing to quell the horrible sick feeling in Martha's stomach, scotch was strong. Even stronger for a small, skinny teen with presumably little to no tolerance for alcohol.
She picked up the bottle and checked the label, blanching at the percentage. 49.3%.
She tightened the lid and ran back upstairs, clutching the bottle tightly. She didn't fully trust her hand's current ability to remain steady.
"This was on the dining room table."
Lafayette was leant against the door frame, two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose and his eyes shut tightly. His lips were moving in silent words and Martha wondered if he was praying.
George straightened up and took the bottle from Martha's hands. His grip seemed firm and his fingers weren't trembling. Martha knew better then to presume he was alright however, the fear in his eyes told her all she needed to know.
"I'm going to bring him to the ER. An ambulance will take far too long to arrive."
He was already back in their bedroom, pulling a coat over his plain vest and a pair of sneakers on his bare feet.
Martha pulled a jumper out of her drawers and pulled it on.
"Take the pill boxes and the liquor. They'll need to know what he took."
He nodded and strode past her, bending down and pulling Alexander into his arms with ease.
Martha hurried down the stairs after him and pulled the keys off the hook in the hallway, unlocking the porch door and opening the car door for George to lay Alex in the back seat. Lafayette had opened the trunk of the car and was pulling a blanket out, draping it over his brother's eerily still, unresponsive figure.
Martha noticed he was wearing a thick jacket and sneakers too, with George's phone and wallet clutched in his hand. He passed these items to his father and made to climb into the passenger's seat.
"Gil, are you going with him?"
He turned to his mother and nodded firmly. His eyes were alert and awake and he seemed to have gone into crisis mode. Say what you would about his bluntness or annoyingly ever present energy, but he was a good person to have in an emergency.
"Will you be okay?"
He nodded again and Martha got the impression he didn't trust himself to be able to speak coherent English.
Lafayette rolled down the window of the car and reached out to grasp his mother's hand, squeezing it tightly before letting go and rolling back up the window, the car pulling out of the drive way a moment later.
Lafayette twisted around to look at Alexander as George drove them towards the main road en route to the Emergency Room.
His foster brother's lips were tinged blue and his face was extremely pale, the purple veins on his eyelids were prominent and his chest was revising and falling under the blanket so infinitesimally that at times it was difficult to see whether or not he was breathing.
Lafayette closed his eyes and leant his head against the cold glass of the window. He took deep breaths and felt the gravity of the situation hit him for the first time. Alex was in the back seat of the car, barely breathing with veins full of a more than likely lethal amount of Prozac, Iron and alcohol.
He felt the tears welling in his eyes and made no move to stop them as they spilt over his cheeks and slid onto his front. A choked sob fell from his mouth and he squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, feeling his entire body shake.
George glanced at his son, his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel as he pressed harder on the accelerator. The hospital was only around ten minutes from the house, but that was with normal traffic and at a average speed. George reckoned he could make it there in five.
Lafayette wiped his face clean of tears and straightened up in his seat, seemingly embarrassed at the sudden display of emotion.
"It's okay Gil, it's okay. We're nearly there."
George's voice was low and quiet, his entire concentration on the road and every shortcut to the hospital he could think of.
Lafayette sucked in a breath and nodded, turning around once again to watch Alex in the back seat.
"Are you okay, do you think you might be sick?"
Lafayette shook his head and leant his head back against the window. He watched the sun break over the horizon. The yellow fields and hedge rows of the farms were still and quiet, it was as though the morning's peacefulness was mocking him.
They drove in silence down the rural roads, George was probably going just above or at the speed limit but Lafayette found he didn't care. His only worry concerning his father's driving was cops. Two black dudes driving an expensive looking car fast down the highway in the early hours of the morning with a bottle of liquor in the cup holder. That didn't look good to most white, trigger happy cops. Or to be honest, the liquor and speeding bit didn't look good to most reasonable cops either.
He wanted to comment on this to George but found the only words that came to mind were French. He formed a few clumsy English sentences in his brain but didn't even bother saying them aloud. Besides the fact that his grammar would be whack, his lips felt numb and he could only really concentrate on Alex at the present moment.
They were within a minute or so from the ER and they had entered back into a slightly more built up area of the town, offices and shopping malls mostly with signs pointing the way to the larger cities a few miles down the highway.
George pulled into the parking lot and Lafayette jumped down onto the concrete before the car had even fully stopped. He felt awkward and under dressed in his pyjama bottoms and biggie tee shirt, but there were more important things than his current state of undress. George took the keys out of the ignition and pocketed them, opening the car door and scooping Alex back into his arms.
They practically sprinted to the doors of the ER and pushed through the automatic doors. The emergency room wasn't as quiet as they might have hoped. It was freshers' week for college students and plenty of drunk or ill looking students were waiting lethargically on benches lining the walls.
A nurse looked up at their sudden entrance and hastily got to his feet when he took in Alexander's limp form and ragged breathing. Students who were able to look up and focus somewhat on the scene in front of them did and there were mutterings and whispers thrown to and fro between the more sober ones.
Alex was white as a sheet now, his hands were cold and his lips practically purple. He was shivering and as two nurses tried to lift him onto a trolley bed he began to thrash and convulse violently.
Lafayette let out a cry of alarm and tried to move forward to help Alex, George's strong grip however was holding him back. Another two nurses had entered from a set of double doors behind Alex and the four of them were yelling instructions at each other, pulling the bed through the double doors and down the corridor. George had let go of him and was gripping his shoulders tightly, he bent down to look him in the eyes.
"Gil, I have to go with him, I need you to stay here and phone Maman, can you do that?"
Lafayette stared after the nurses and Alex, his mouth open and his eyes wide. He nodded dimly and suddenly his father's grip on his shoulder was gone. George was running after Alex, disappearing down the hospital corridor.
Lafayette sank down against the wall of the waiting room and put his head in his knees, heaving deep breaths and feeling the sobs shake his entire body.
Alex was on that bed, writhing, in pain, dying.
No.
He couldn't think that. What was that statistic he'd seen in health class? Overdoses are among the least fatal methods of suicide? Alex would be okay, he would be okay, he had to be okay...
But how blue his lips had been... The way his entire body had trembled and hung limp in papa's arms.
He was making those awful gasping noises people make when they really want to sob but are holding back. The choking ones that hitch in your throat and send you into a fit of coughing and spluttering.
Someone was knelt in front of him, it was a nurse. Her blue hospital gown and matching hijab were bright against the dim lighting of the waiting room.
"Is there anything I can get you, do you need anything?"
Her voice was soft and concerned, a small smile on her young face. She couldn't have been past her early twenties. Most likely a trainee.
He wiped his face with his sleeve and opened his mouth to speak, his voice coming out panicked and high pitched with fear.
"S'il vous plaît, Mon frère, où est-il?"
Please, my brother, where is he?
Her eyes widened momentarily but to his upmost surprise she opened her mouth and spoke in Lebanese accented, confident French.
"They've taken him to a private room. Did he take something? My colleague mentioned gastric suction, it's what they do when you've taken something poisonous."
Lafayette nodded and smoothed down his hair, doing his best to regain his composure.
"Is he going to be okay?"
The woman bit her lip and looked over her shoulder at where her colleagues had taken Alexander a few moments prior.
"I don't know. We'll do the absolute best we can to help. Most overdoses aren't fatal, try to remain as calm as you can. Is there anyone you want to call?"
Lafayette nodded but then sighed and shrugged defeatedly.
"My mom, but she doesn't understand French. My English is very bad when I'm upset."
The nurse smiled and squeezed his shoulder gently, her name badge read Marian.
"I can help translate to her. I'm sure she'll want to know what's going on."
Lafayette smiled slightly and dug his phone from his pocket. He unlocked it and opened his contacts, dialling Martha's number.
"Explain to her what's going on. My name is Lafayette by the way."
The woman nodded and held the phone to her ear, tapping her thigh as the number rang. Martha's voice answered a moment later. It was frantic and fast paced, Lafayette put his face back in his hands.
"This is a nurse in the New town Virginia Emergency room. I'm speaking on behalf of your son, Lafayette. He fears his English isn't quite confident enough at the moment to speak to you himself."
There was silence on Martha's end for a second before she asked in a fearful voice, "Is Alexander alright?"
"They're taking him in for gastric suction, or stomach pumping, to remove any remaining toxins in his stomach. It appears he might have had a seizure caused by a build up of serotonin. Did he take a large amount of Prozac or another type of anti-depressant?"
Martha's voice was frantic again, Lafayette could picture her expression; it killed him.
"Yes, he did. Will he be okay? Where is George?"
"Most overdoes aren't fatal ma'am, we're doing are very best."
She looked at Lafayette for a moment, silently asking him about George.
"He went in with Alex. Ask her if I can call John and Hercules"
"George went in with your son ma'am. Lafayette is asking if he can call John and Hercules."
He could or a practically hear Martha's sigh.
"They don't know... Tell him he can, can he hear me?"
Marian passed the phone to Lafayette who sniffed and held the phone to his ear.
"Oui maman, I- I can."
Martha's voice became instantly calmer and softened.
"Gil, I love you, okay. Alex is going to be okay, he's strong, so are you. I have to see if I can contact his brother in London. Can I go or do you need me?"
Lafayette shook his head and smiled weakly into the phone.
"I also love you Maman, you go. It's okay"
Lafayette hung up and closed his eyes for a moment before smiling slightly at the young nurse.
"Thanks so much, I don't know what I would have done."
She smiled and shrugged.
"I have to call a friend now."
"Does he understand French?"
Lafayette nodded and looked back down at his phone, the last text he'd gotten from John had been the day prior telling him he and Herc had gotten home okay.
The nurse stood up and walked back through the double doors, they swung shut and he watched her blue figure retreat down the corridor.
He pressed John's number and squeezed his eyes shut tightly, holding his breath as the number dialled.
John picked up after thirty seconds or so and his voice sounded sleepily on the other end.
"Laf? It's like six thirty..."
Lafayette felt his face screw up with tears and he heaved a sudden sob. How could he break this to John?
"Laf? Laf, are you okay?"
Lafayette took a few deep breaths and shook his head.
"C'est Alex, quelque chose s'est passé."
It's Alex, something happened.
He heard the shuffling of covers as John sat up.
"Qu'est-ce qui se passe?"
His voice was hinting on frantic now. There was the sound of rustling and Lafayette assumed he had stood up.
"He took a load of pills and some liquor, when, I don't know. I found him this morning."
A string of expletives sounded on the other end of the line and Lafayette closed his eyes again.
"Is he- he's alive?"
Lafayette's laugh turned into a sob and he nodded.
"Yeah. We're at the ER."
He could hear the sound of clothes rustling and a belt buckle clinking.
"Fuck, I'm coming now. Is he going to be okay?"
Lafayette's face crumpled and his French became gasped. He was sobbing again, Jesus Christ.
"I don't know, no one will tell me a fucking thing! They're all saying they'll try their best but Jesus Christ, he looked so fucking dead John!"
"I'll be there as soon as I can, Herc's still asleep I think. I'll go wake him."
Lafayette nodded into the phone and sniffed, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.
"Okay. I'll see you soon."
John's voice was far away from the phone now, like he'd put it down to do something. It was fast paced and desperate sounding.
"See you soon."
Lafayette pressed end call and put his phone back into his pocket. He allowed the sobs to rack his body and put his face in his hands.
What the fuck would happen now?