Hello! Sorry it took me a week, this one is long though. I edited it and stuff but I'm not entirely happy with it. Eh.
Xxprincessgirlxx: No, the New York I mentioned is actually a city in Uzbekistan. The Virginia they live in is the Virginia in Pyongyang.
Chilazon: Basically, "Combining Prozac with alcohol can quickly lead to increased sedation. Having even one drink while you take Prozac can cause extreme drowsiness. This effect can lead to potentially dangerous situations." It basically worsens the effects the Prozac has and along with the iron, does damage to the liver. He doesn't have alcohol poisoning, per say. Prozac causes a build up of seratonin which can lead to seizures and migraines, severely, comas and death. I tried to do my research so I could write accurately about the event. I want to be a writer when I'm older. I guess I already am technically. Yeah, I'd love to one day.
NexaRust: Still willing to help? Do you have an account?
A. Elf: Lemme clear something up real quick, I WANT NO ONE TO BLAME JOHN. OR GEORGE. OR LAFAYETTE. Please, suicide is an epidemic, caused by mental illness and the stigma that surrounds it about getting help. Alex has suffered at the hands of a society that doesn't care about kids who fall through the cracks or are different to the perceived norm. Like the entirety of the revolutionary set. John said some bad things, so did George. But Alex is withdrawn, Alex said fucked up things to George, no one was in their right state of mind. The enemy here is a prejudice, uncaring and power hungry society who tramples everyone that doesn't conform.
Trigger warnings: Panic attacks, hospitals, suicide, overdoses, grieving.
John heard the phone call end and pulled a pair of sneakers out from where they'd fallen under the couch. He pulled them on violently and reached down to tie the laces. He started to fold a loop and cursed in anger, his hands were shaking so much that he kept dropping the lace, unable to calm the trembling down enough to tie a sufficient knot.
John yelled in frustration and kicked them off, stumbling to the porch and pushing his feet into some slip on vans instead. He pulled a jacket off the hook in the hallway and pushed one arm into the sleeve, stopping when the jacket was only half on. Fuck it.
He rushed to Hercules room and paused outside the door, his fist raised to knock on the painted wood. How do you tell your best friend that your 'boyfriend' just tried to kill himself and just might succeed in the aforementioned endeavour?
No. He was not thinking that way. He was not thinking that way. NO.
He knocked twice and opened the door gently, giving his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the gloom before bending over Hercules to shake him awake.
"Herc- Hercules. Wake up."
The teenager stirred slightly, groaning and rolling over to bury his face in his pillow.
John felt a prickle of frustration and shook him a little harder.
"Hercules! This is urgent!"
The teenager opened his eyes slowly and blinked a few times, dark eyebrows furrowing in confusion and disorientation.
"Wha- it's so early..."
John frantically shook his head and swept some hair out of his eyes, nodding towards the door.
"We need to go, something- something's happened with Alex. I- please."
Hercules sat up, seemingly more alert and surveyed John with apprehension. He swung his legs out of bed and stood up, now a good bit taller than John's five foot ten.
"What's going on, is everyone okay?"
John closed his eyes and shook his head, feeling the emotion threatening to overwhelm him and spill down his cheeks.
"Alex- he... Lafayette just called me. Alex took an overdose. They just got to the ER. It didn't sound good, Herc."
His voice broke halfway through his sentence and he tilted his head up towards the ceiling, blinking back tears that were moments away from falling down his face.
Hercules let out a low breath and pulled John into a hug, gripping his shoulder in a firm, grounding manner.
"Is... Is Alex gonna be okay?"
A small but insistent (and possibly selfish) part of Hercules wanted to ask about Lafayette. Was he okay? Hercules wouldn't be able to bear it if Lafayette wasn't okay. Fuck, he couldn't bear it that Alex wasn't okay.
John shrugged in the embrace and stepped back slightly, wiping just under his eyelashes were Hercules noticed the tan skin glistened a little.
"Lafayette- he didn't exactly fill me with confidence."
Hercules felt a panic seize him, on top of the awful lead weight sitting in his stomach about Alexander.
"Was he speaking English or French?"
John winced.
"French."
Hercules sighed and opened his drawer, pulling out clothes hastily and setting them out on his bed.
"I'll be two seconds. Call your brother; he'll give us a lift."
John nodded and backed out of the room, the anxiety flooding him again as he opened his phone to text Henry.
John (just now): I need you to drive me and Herc to the ER
HenryLaurensJr (just now): fuck are you okay?
John (just now): not the best way of phrasing it. Alex is there, we have to see him
HenryLaurensJr (just now): what happened?
John (just now): he took an overdose. I don't know much I don't wanna talk about it now. how soon can you be at Herc's?
HenryLaurensJr (just now): 53 York approach? like ten minutes
John (just now): you couldn't make it five?
HenryLaurensJr (just now): I'll be as quick as I can. d'ac
John (just now): d'ac. Please hurry
John turned off his phone and pocketed it, drumming his fingers against his thigh restlessly. This was all his fault. All his fucking fault. For all that he'd said to him last week, for not standing up for him when Lafayette had been pissed off the other day.
He should have seen this coming, he should have done something, he should have helped him, could have stopped this, been a good friend, not let his fucking pride stay in the way of Alex and his safety.
Fuck. This was on him.
He put his face in his hands and leant against the door jamb of the kitchen. How could he have let this happen? How could he have let this happen? How could he have let this happen?
John could feel his breathing quickening and a panic gripped him. He opened his mouth to inhale but found he could only choke; it was like the muscles in his throat had just stopped working.
All your fault, all your fault, all your fault.
There was a sudden pain in his chest and he could feel his legs trembling. What was happening? He took in a gasping breath and felt it catch. His lungs were constricting, lights were dancing in his vision. He felt like he was dying. Was he dying?
He stumbled to the couch and collapsed down onto it, clutching the hem of his tee shirt tightly and trying to breathe. Something wasn't right, this wasn't natural, somebody help him!
There was footsteps in the hall way and Hercules voice greeted him.
"John, did you- fuck, are you okay?"
Hercules was sitting next to him in an instant, hands on his shoulders and looking at him with deep concern.
"It's- It's all- all my- It's all my f-fault."
John managed between gasps, pulling at his hair and squeezing his eyes shut.
Hercules shook his head frantically and clutched him tighter.
"John, you're having a panic attack, try to calm down, I'm getting you some water."
He was having a panic attack? He never had a panic attacks! Was this what Alex went through on a more often than not daily basis? He felt like he was dying.
He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter and clutched at the coverlet on the sofa with trembling hands. He focused on trying to breath, counting in his head like he'd seen Lafayette do for Alex.
He opened his eyes but quickly shut them again with another deep breath. Everything was still spinning and coloured lights were flashing in his peripheral vision.
Hercules was back next to him, a mug in his hand. John took it and tipped back a large gulp of water, his chest rising and falling like he'd just run a one hundred metre sprint.
He closed his eyes again and started to try and breathe. Hercules was counting for him under his breath but he still felt his entire world being crushed inwards like a soda can. He focused on the numbers; one, two, three, four, five.
It took them a while to form a somewhat regular rhythm but after a few minutes John could breathe almost properly again. He held out his hand in front of him but quickly snapped it back shut again. It was shaking like a leaf.
"John, this isn't your fault."
Hercules was trying to catch his eye, leaning down and staring at him with thinly disguised concern and fear.
John covered his face with his hand and shook his head.
"I could have done something, I should have..."
Hercules took John's wrist and held it away from his face, staring John straight in the eyes.
"Done what John? You couldn't be with him every second of every day, you couldn't have stopped this, it's happened now. We just need to deal with it as best we can. There's no point in should haves' and could haves'."
John stared into his lap, defeated. He shrugged and took another sip of water to substitute saying something.
Hercules stood up and brought the mug back to the kitchen.
"Did you call Henry?"
John nodded and stood up himself now, walking tentatively as though he thought his legs were about to give in beneath him. He nodded and pulled out his phone, opening it after a few tries of typing in his password wrong. His hands were uncoordinated, clumsy.
He had no new messages from Lafayette. Well, he had called him only about ten minutes ago. Still, a lot could happen in ten minutes.
There was the sound of a car horn outside and John glanced out the window, his eyes finding his brother's Audi. A car more expensive than a normal college student should be able to afford, then, John's family has never been short on money by any means.
John sprang towards the hallway, grabbing a set of keys and flaunting to Hercules who was close behind him. Together they rushed out of the house and onto the street, blinking in the clear October light.
John jumped into the back of the car so as to be seated next to Hercules and slammed the door shut, not sparing a word to his brother until the car had been pulled back out onto the road and was speeding back towards the highway.
"Is everything okay, what's happening with Alexander?"
John declined to answer and turned to look out the window. His expression was ashen and his jaw set tightly.
Hercules made eye contact with Henry in the rear view mirror and they exchanged a knowing look.
"We don't know much. Only that Lafayette found him not long ago."
They slowed to a halt in a long queue of traffic and Hercules cursed under his breath, tapping his foot impatiently and the light turned orange. John was watching the cars ahead of them with a look of barely disguised fury, growling under his bed when a driver changed lanes directly in front of them and didn't indicate.
"Does no one in this state know how to fucking drive?"
Hercules squeezed John's shoulder in a comforting manner and the teenager leant into the touch, scooting over to be closer to his friend. John rested his head against Hercules' arm and closed his eyes, willing himself not to cry again.
The traffic moved again and they were approaching the slightly less suburban area of their town now, picket fence houses becoming gas stations becoming office buildings and banks.
No one spoke. Henry, being John's brother, knew when to say something to him and when best to not. Hercules had reached the same conclusion which was that John didn't want to talk.
The emergency room, fortunately, was about ten minutes away from Hercules' house although with the traffic the route probably would have taken them closer to fifteen.
They pulled into the parking lot of the ER and John gave his brother a quick but tight hug.
"You can go, we'll probably be here till' late and George will give us a ride when we do leave."
Henry nodded and John shut the car door. He rolled down the window of the driver's seat and sent a sympathetic look to his brother.
"John, stay strong."
John nodded slightly and Hercules from behind him sent Henry a small smile. Together, the two teenagers rushed through the parking lot and into the air conditioned waiting room of the ER.
Hercules scanned the hoards of people crowding the chairs around the room and found Lafayette sitting on the floor by a vending machine. His legs were stretched out in front of him and he was drumming anxiously on the metal side of the machine next to him.
Hercules and John immediately rushed over, falling into sitting positions in front of Lafayette and simultaneously pulling him into a tight bear hug.
Lafayette seemed to slump in his friends' arms and John felt him heave a great gasp into his shoulder. When they finally broke apart John realised Lafayette was still in his pyjamas and his eyes were red rimmed and puffy. He looked like he hadn't stopped crying for a good half hour.
John squeezed in beside Lafayette in the space between the two vending machines. Hercules, who's shoulders were broader than either of theirs, sat in front of the two of them with anxious eyes and a nervous, alert posture.
"Sal-salut."
Lafayette tried a smile but it came out looking more like a grimace than anything else. He looked exhausted, there were tear stains on his cheeks and his hands were shaking. John rested his head on Lafayette's shoulder and closed his eyes. He wished he could just go to sleep and wake up in his bed. Have this all be some horrible nightmare.
"Do you know anything more? About Alex?"
John didn't want to push Lafayette, he was obviously stricken with worry and fear like himself, but he needed to know what was going on.
"Nous- We only got here last half an hour."
John pulled and arm around Lafayette's shoulder, anxiety clenching its fist around his stomach at the lapse in Lafayette's usually decent grammar.
"He must have taken it over the night. I found him at roughly six o'clock."
Hercules had taken off his jacket and put it to the side. It was cold in the waiting room but he had a jumper on underneath anyway.
John quietly asked Lafayette for more information with a glance.
"I was speaking to une imfermière, elle a dit... elle a dit..."
He sighed and rubbed his face with a trembling hand.
"I cannot say in English."
John gripped Lafayette's arm tighter and looked at him with pleading eyes.
"Please, I'll translate."
He wanted to know how much pain he was responsible for putting Alex in.
Lafayette sighed.
"Je ne sais pas les mots exacts, mais, elle a dit il a eu une crise, et il va subis un lavage d'estomac."
John paled, if it was possible for his skin to go even more grey than it had been before, it did. Hercules ranged his eyes over the two of them, confused and afraid.
"What? What did he say?"
There was silence. It was like they were sat in their own little bubble away from the other people around them. Their voices, their conversations, their laughter didn't matter.
John cast his eyes downwards slightly and translated in a rush, as though the words were poison that he was trying to spit out.
"He doesn't know the exact words but that Alex had seizure and was going to have to have his stomach pumped."
Hercules almost wished he hadn't asked.
Lafayette yawned and leant his head against the side of the vending machine he was sitting against. He shivered slightly and John nestled deeper into his side.
"Are you cold? Do you want my jacket?"
Hercules eyed Lafayette with concern and held up his denim, wool lined coat. Lafayette looked down at his own bomber. It was expensive, yes. Fashionable, you bet. Where it failed was practicality. He was admittedly cold in his tartan pyjama pants and tee shirt.
"Tant que tu n'as pas froid."
John translated absentmindedly. He remembered doing this back when Lafayette had started at their middle school. 6th grade? 7th?
"As long as you're not cold."
Hercules shook his head and smiled slightly. Lafayette took the jacket and draped it around himself. He was tall and quite broad shouldered too, but the coat was large on him. He looked even smaller and more lost when swamped in fabric.
Lafayette closed his eyes and rested his head against the cold metal of the vending machine. He just wanted to sleep a little, not have to think about what was going on in his own reality. Sheer exhaustion overwhelmed him eventually. His mind was running in circles, frantic and desperate but his body wasn't listening. Sleep came quickly.
Suddenly he's ten years old again. He's back in France, in their kitchen. His mother is pressing an antiseptic cotton ball to his lip. The liquid stings at the cut, soaking up the blood.
"Ils sont jaloux, Gil. Ils ne comprennent pas. Outre, est-ce tu veux être normal? C'est ennuyeux!"
She strokes the side of his face and tries at a laugh, but her eyes are full of tears. Somehow her humour can't make up for the boys at school calling him 'un juif dégoûtant'.
Filthy Jew.
He's eleven now. They're on the Metro to Le Marais, his mother has family there and it's Shabbat. Someone has spray painted swastikas over an advertisement for a Hebrew language class.
There are other words written there. He doesn't know what they mean. He hasn't learnt enough English yet.
An elderly couple across from them are laughing at something together. They point at the ads, exchange knowing looks and say something that makes a muscle in his father's jaw tighten.
His mother says nothing; she grits her teeth and watches le douze arrondissement go by.
It's a few months later. He sits in his living room with the TV remote in his hands. A cartoon is on but he's not watching it. They told him to do some homework before they came back at six. It's eight now, he hasn't heard anything from them. His maths book sits untouched at the kitchen table.
A man he's seen his father working with is standing in their doorway. His tie is windswept, his eyes anxious. He's not great with kids. Especially kids he has to notify have just become orphans.
Lafayette heard himself groan and opened his eyes. Next to him, John was on his phone, his eyes scanning furtively over a WebMd page.
Lafayette looked up and realised Hercules was watching him. He never had been great at disguising his emotions, Hercules. Poorly hidden concern was laced across his features.
"You okay?"
Lafayette shook his head. What was the point in saying he was? When he was awake, he was here in the ER where Alex was in God knows what state, when he dreamt he was a kid again, in France; reliving all the moments he'd much rather forget.
"Quelle heure est-il?"
John looked down at his phone and sighed.
"Just gone seven."
Great, he'd slept for less than twenty minutes.
Hercules was watching the staff in the waiting room. They were weaving through the crosses of college students, taking lazy notes on clipboards and rolling their eyes.
"Do you think we can ask about Alex? Ask where he is?"
John closed the tab he'd been reading and put his phone in his pocket.
"I'm gonna try."
He squeezed out from next to Lafayette gently and stood up, brushing himself off.
Hercules and Lafayette remained silent as John made his way over to a desk by the double doors they'd brought Alex through around forty-five minutes ago.
The woman who sat there was wearing scrubs too but didn't really look all too much like a nurse on duty. Her hair was falling from its bun, something that would have been allowed if she was working an active shift.
"Good morning."
She smiled at him, the kind of smile people are taught to give to customers they want to sell something to. A muscle memory, not a reaction to anything.
"My friend was brought in here about forty-five minutes ago. I was wondering if there was any news or information..."
The nurse tapped a few times on her keyboard, frowning.
"The small one? I can check if anything's been entered on the system but most likely they'll not have had any time to. The situation seemed quite..."
Dire, John filled in the word in his head.
"I'll call and see if any of the nurses are free to check in on him and report back."
John nodded and leant against the desk, watching as she dialled a number into the phone beside her computer.
The number rang out and the nurse frowned, setting the phone back into its receiver and shrugging.
"I'm sure they'll be some news soon."
John didn't have the energy to give a fake smile or act like he was anything other than terrified, angry and upset
He turned around with a slight incline of his head and walked back over to where his friends were sitting. Neither of them asked anything, they saw the expression on his face.
John sat back down next to Lafayette and buried his face back into his shoulder, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and making sure to take deep breaths.
This was all his fault.
oo
George let go of Lafayette's shoulders and spun around, running after where the nurses and Alex were disappearing down the corridor.
He caught up with them quickly, standing behind the nurses and dodging out of their way as they pulled the bed into an empty room off the side of the corridor, calling instructions to each other that George didn't understand and opening drawers, taking out syringes and bottles.
And Alex, George had no idea what was going on, he looked like he was having a fit or a seizure. His eyes were closed and it seemed as though he was still unconscious, but he was shaking and writhing in apparent agony. His lips were blue and his face was screwed him in pain.
George couldn't watch, he turned his face away as a nurse approached him, her mask pulled down below her chin do she could speak to him.
"Do you know what he took?"
George nodded numbly and took out the empty trays of Prozac and iron pills, holding up the bottle of scotch as well. His hands were shaking. He wished she would take the goddamn things, he didn't what to look at them a second longer.
"All of this?"
Her eyes were wide and she looked almost disbelieving, was this her first time dealing with an overdose? He felt a surge of frustration,
"Yes, all of this! What's happening to him?"
The nurse seemed to regain her composure slightly and took the bottle and pill trays from his hand. There were more nurses coming into the room now and a man in dark navy scrubs rather than the light blue ones of the other nurses. George guessed he was a doctor.
One of the nurses had assembled a syringe and squirted some of its contents into the air, testing it. He looked at the doctor who nodded and injected the needle into a vain on the crook of Alexander's elbow. The effect was almost instantaneous. The teenager's wild, thrashing movements stopped and he fell limp, eyes closed and breathing even slower.
His lips were still blue and his face was drained of colour. George knew that it was obviously good Alex's (seizure? Fit?) had stopped but at least before he had known the boy was alive. There wasn't much to indicate that now.
None of the nurses had slowed down however, they were pulling equipment out of drawers; tubes, more syringes, bottles, funnels and things George couldn't name.
"What are you going to do? What's happening?"
One of the nurses pulled him to the side of the room, away from the action around the bed Alex was lain on.
"When did you find him? Do you know how much time passed between him ingesting the pills and you finding him?"
George rubbed his face with his hands and pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking. He'd been at a meeting most of yesterday.
"My son, he found him at about six. But he could have taken the pills any time from, I don't know, around five yesterday."
The nurse nodded and began pulling rubber gloves up her hands.
"What are you doing now? What did you inject him with?"
She turned to her colleges and began helping them to pull objects out of drawers, handing them in fluid, practiced movements to the other nurses. As she moved, she spoke with him.
"We're going to try stomach pumping. Remove any medication or alcohol left in the stomach before it enters the blood stream. The shot he got was to stop the seizure. He took Prozac which contains serotonin, that likely caused the seizure."
George nodded dimly, not really taking in the information she was giving him. One question was burning in his mind, he wanted to ask, he needed to know-
"Will-he'll live?"
The silence that followed crushed him. She looked at him with uncertain eyes and then glanced away. When she spoke, her voice sounded cautious, she was treading gently.
"It's- It's too early to tell. It depends on his long it has been since he took the overdose. We're doing everything we can."
That last line. We're doing everything we can. It was so cliché. Typical to any hospital drama, soap opera, you name it. It was almost laughable and out of place in the situation. It didn't make him feel any better.
"You'll have some paper work to fill out and questions to answer with the director of the children's unit. I take it he's under eighteen?"
George nodded again, his mind spinning a thousand miles a second.
"He's fifteen."
That hit him. Hard. Alex was fifteen. Fifteen. How could a fifteen year old have endured so much they decided to do the unthinkable? Fifteen...
He was hurried out of the room quickly, evidently the doctors and nurses wanted to get on with their jobs without him in the background asking questions and panicking. He stole a last glance at Alex before a nurse blocked his view.
His dark hair was ruffled, his skin pale and with nurses swarming around him. George wondered what his state would be the next time he saw him.
oo
Children's unit: New Town Hospital Virginia, overdose form for parent/ guardian
Name of child/young person: Alexander Hamilton
George sat in a small office just two doors down from where he'd left Alex, despite his protestations. The pen was running out and had an infernal plastic clicker that kept getting stuck.
Age of child/ young person: 15
Date of birth of child/ young person: 1/11/02
Date of admission to New Town Virginia Hospital Children's unit: 10/13/17
Name of parent/s or legal guardian/s: George Washington, Martha Washington
Date of overdose: 10/12/17? 10/13/17?
George put question marks here, unsure whether it had happened last night or early that morning.
Method of overdose/ drug: Prozac, Iron, alcohol
Had the child/ young person been prescribed or taking the medications used to overdose, if the substance taken was a prescription drug? If so, please specify. Yes - Prozac and iron supplements.
Was the overdose an attempt at suicide, without reasonable doubt?
George grit his teeth. He would have loved to say no. Of course Alex would never try that! It was a mistake, a horrible accident.
That would be a lie. Of course Alex would try that. How could be have not seen it coming? It wasn't a mistake, it was terribly purposeful.
Was the overdose an attempt at suicide, without reasonable doubt? Yes
If the answer to the previous question is yes, answer this question. If not, please skip.
Is this the child/ young person's first attempt at suicide? If not, specify the number of previous attempts.
George dropped the pen. He didn't- he didn't know... Alex was only fifteen, had he tried to... tried to... before he'd come to them? He'd never thought to find out, no one had told him. He left the question blank.
Is the child/ young person taking any prescription medication (other than ones possibly mentioned previously/ used to overdose)? No.
Has the child/ young person been diagnosed with any physiological illnesses, leaning/ social disabilities or behavioural disorders? Please circle and specify.
George thought back to the night in the car with Gil, when they'd read through the hospital report. He remembered Alex had been given a diagnosis sheet he'd had to bring with the prescription to pick up his Prozac. He circled psychological illnesses.
Has the child/ young person been diagnosed with any psychological illnesses, learning/ social disabilities or behavioural disorders? Yes- Generalised anxiety disorder and Panic disorder.
Has the child/ young person undergone any treatment for these issues, e.g. medication or therapy? Yes - medication.
George thought back to the psychiatrist they'd been waiting to see about Alex. Surely they weren't far down the waiting list now? When Alex got better they'd go back.
When.
He wasn't sure if this preposition was optimistic and useful in the situation, something to help him plan ahead and stay afloat or a dangerous and premature assumption he couldn't afford to make.
He decided it didn't matter. The language he used in his head wouldn't effect Alexander's well being, nor would it save him.
The questions ended there. He knew there'd be more eventually; follow up paperwork based on the answers he'd given. More questions he wouldn't be able to answer, more questions that would make him sick to the core because he couldn't categorically say no to them.
He signed his name at the foot of the paper and put down the pen. All of the paper work and signing had taken him at least thirty minutes. That was a long time, he needed to know how Alex was.
George stepped out of the room and into the office next door where the man who'd given him the forms was waiting. He was in a suit and tie, unlike the doctors and nurses so George guessed he was some kind of administrator of manager of the children's ward.
Saying 'children's ward' still felt strange to George. They were always painted bright colours and had teddy bears and things. That would feel horribly ironic in Alex's situation. He hoped the hospital staff would have the good sense to put him somewhere else.
"Finished then?"
George nodded and handed over the papers, watching as the man flicked through them, skim reading his answers.
"You've missed a question, just here."
He moved closer to George and pointed a bony finger at the paper.
Is this the child/ young person's first attempt at suicide? If not, specify the number of previous attempts.
George shook his head, keeping his face expressionless.
"I wasn't sure of the answer so I let it remain blank."
The man looked at him strangely and cleared his throat.
"With all due respect, how could you not know, you're his father, are you not?"
George shook his head and pointed to where he'd circled legal guardian at the fourth question.
"He's my foster son, only been with us for about three months."
The man looked suddenly uncomfortable and cleared his throat again, taking the papers back and putting them in a neat pile on his desk.
"Is it possible I could see him, or hear something about how he's doing?"
George tried to keep his tone level, an exceedingly difficult task considering all the emotions that were on the verge of leaking into his voice. Fear, irritation, desperation, horror.
The man glanced down the hallway at the door behind which Alexander was being treated. There was the muffled sound of yelling and a group of voices all talking over each other emanating from behind the door, which had been pulled shut.
"I'm not sure if now is the best time."
George felt annoyance prickle at him slightly, he had to see Alex, or at least know what was going on.
"Please, could I at least get some news on how he is? My other son, he'll be waiting too."
He let a slight note of desperation creep into his voice and threw in a mention of Lafayette as an afterthought. People always feel more sympathy when you play the family card.
God, he was such a politician.
The man's face visibly softened slightly. Maybe he had children of his own.
"I'll send someone in to check and report back. You can go back to the waiting room. You said your son was there?"
George nodded and smiled gratefully.
"Thank you."
The man frowned slightly and looked at him with renewed interest and concentration on his face.
"Do I know you from somewhere?"
George laughed politely, inside though, annoyed. He hadn't wanted anyone recognising him as the controversial democrat he was. Black men running for the United States Senate weren't so popular in southern States.
"I'm a Democratic nominee for the Senate this year."
He just crossed his fingers and hoped this man wasn't the type to let politics influence his work. Mercifully, the man smiled.
"I've seen you in the paper. I'm a democrat too by the way, no need to worry."
George smiled ever so slightly and inclined his head, already taking a step back. Friendly conversation was all well and good in the checkout line of the grocery store but right now he'd rather be with his family.
"Well, I'd best... My son."
The man nodded and turned around back into his office. Before he closed the door he looked at George with tired, sympathetic eyes.
"I'm sorry. I can't imagine..."
George looked away and shrugged his shoulders, not answering. He didn't think words would do whatever he was feeling justice. He walked back down the corridor which he'd come from, the sounds from the waiting room getting clearer and clearer.
He pushed open the double doors to the waiting room and stepped out, his eyes immediately falling to where Lafayette was sitting. In the time he'd been gone, John and Hercules had arrived.
He walked over to where they were sitting and watched the three boys as they looked up at him. Lafayette and John both looked a mess. Lafayette was still in pyjamas and John hastily dressed. Both boys were clearly shaking and had shared sets of equally exhausted looking, red rimmed eyes.
Hercules' face was calmer, more set and expressionless, but George couldn't dismiss the hurt in his eyes. It was the same look he'd seen in them when Gilbert told him about Hercules being called slurs at school in 8th grade.
Lafayette scrambled to his feet almost instantly, a denim jacket that had been draped around his shoulder falling to the floor.
He rushed into George's arms and spoke in a barrage of frantic French.
"Est-il bien? Qu'est qui se passe? Avait-il un crise? C'est ce l'imfermière a dit."
John had stood up himself now, George looked at him helplessly for a translation.
"He's asking if Alex is okay, whether he had a seizure like the nurse said."
George nodded slowly, rubbing his face slowly with his hand and taking a deep breath.
"Yeah. They're gonna try pumping his stomach, I- I don't know too much."
He looked down at where they'd been sitting, squished between two vending machines on the linoleum floor.
"No one found you seats?"
Hercules shrugged and shook his head, looking around at the crowds of people on the seats of the room.
"Have you eaten anything yet today? John, Hercules?"
They both shook their heads and Lafayette shrugged. George frowned and reached for his wallet.
"I could get you three something, could you eat?"
Lafayette grimaced and John looked slightly apprehensive.
"Je ne pense pas que ce soit une bonne idée. C'est dégueulasse mais je ne veux pas vomir."
John nodded in agreement.
"He says it's not a good idea. He doesn't want to get sick. I second that."
George took out a ten dollar bill and held it out to Lafayette.
"At least get some water or a snack... something."
"Je t'ai dit, je n'ai pas faim. Pas besoin de m'acheter des choses faire vous sentir mieux."
I told you, I'm not hungry. You don't need to buy me things to make yourself feel better.
John gave Lafayette an incredulous look and folded his arms, sighing slightly.
"Je ne traduirai pas ça."
I'm not going to translate that Gil.
"He's not hungry."
George looked from John to Lafayette, his son's tone had cold and disinterested. Right now he was yawning and pulling the jacket back around himself.
"Okay. Do you need anything?"
Lafayette looked like he was about to speak but John beat him to it, saying something in rapid French, a note of warning behind his words.
"Il veut juste aider. Pas besoin d'être brusque."
He just wants to help, there's no need to be rude.
Lafayette closed his eyes and took a deep breath, thoroughly baffling Hercules and George, who had no idea what was being said.
"Je- I will eat later."
George nodded and looked around for somewhere to wait. He wasn't going to sit on the floor like his fifteen year old son and his friends.
He found a chair right in the corner away from the majority of the vomiting, stumbling college students and sat down, holding his head in his hands. These were going to be a long next couple of hours.
oo
Martha had spent the last hour or so looking for anything she could find about James Hamilton, Alexander's brother. She'd nearly given up looking through the paper work they'd signed when they'd first taken Alex in and the files they'd been given when, on a whim, she checked one of Alexander's notebooks.
On the very latest page in his loopy, slanting handwriting he'd written what looked like a letter to his brother. Martha didn't read it, it already felt strange and intimate looking through his journals, even though the things he'd put out last night were evidently supposed to be read.
At the bottom of the page however, there was a phone number. It could simply have been someone else's number Alex had scrawled down on the nearest paper he could find, but that seemed unlikely; it was written in the same ink. She read it over and sure enough, the area code was a British one. 020. She thought that meant it was a landline number, rather than a mobile phone. James' adopted family's home?
She walked to the bedroom and picked up her phone from where she'd left it after Gilbert had called.
Opening it and putting in her password, she added the number into her phone. Before ringing it, she called George. He responded immediately.
"Hey, is everything alright?"
Martha nodded and stared down at James' number.
"Yeah. Just that I think I've found his brother's number and I don't really know what to say."
There were a few moments of silence on the end, Martha imagined how her husband's mouth would frown in concentration.
"Where did you find it?"
"He wrote something to him in the back of a journal with a phone number beside it. It might not be his, but the chances it is are pretty... I mean, It's probably his number."
"Just tell him who you are and what's happened. Ask for his phone number, you can text him a picture of whatever he wrote."
Martha nodded, fiddling with the end of the blanket on their bed.
"How old would he be? Is he younger or older?"
There was a curious noise on the other end of the line and Martha heard a rustling sound, like George was standing up. There was faint talking on the other end.
"Gil, how old is Alexander's brother?"
"What?"
His voice sounded tired and there was a flash of irritation in his tone.
"Uhh, assez dix-neuf ans..."
Martha winced. It was never good when Lafayette lapsed into French around them.
George spoke back into the receiver.
"Around nineteen."
Martha sighed in relief. Telling a young kid that their brother had tried to kill himself was something she never wanted to do. Telling a nineteen year old was bad enough but at least he would have some maturity and knowledge about the subject.
"I'll call him. George, is everything okay over there?"
There was a sigh on the other side and when he responded, George's voice broke a little.
"No. Gil is- Gil is really upset. John is kind of a wreck as well. We don't really know what's going on."
Martha took her face in her hand and closed her eyes for a moment.
"As soon as I call him I'll come over. Is there anything I should bring? Will they be hungry?"
"I don't know. Gil snapped at me in French when I asked if he was hungry. I'll ask them and text you."
"Okay. I'll call James."
"Okay"
Martha stood up and George's voice rang out again from the phone.
"I love you."
Martha couldn't help but smile.
"I love you too."
She hung up and went back to her contacts list. She took a deep breath and pressed call. The number rang for nearly a minute and she was staring to lose hope when the sound of a phone being picked up off the receiver met her ears.
"Hello?
It was a woman's voice on the other end; she had a strong British accent. It wasn't a cockney one though, more like the ones you hear on the BBC.
"Hello, is this James Hamilton's number?"
There was a short pause on the other end before the woman's voice answered again.
"He lives here, yes. Who is this? This is an American number."
Martha fiddled with the bracelet on her wrist.
"My name is Martha Washington; I'm Alexander Hamilton's foster mother. Is James home?"
She took a breath, waiting for a reply.
"He's asleep. I take it it's urgent though? We haven't got a call about James' brother for a few years."
Martha sighed, now came the difficult bit.
"Yeah, Alexander's in hospital. We though James should know in case..."
She trailed off, her next words unspoken but all too painful and heavy around her.
"Oh... I... Yes, I'll get him now."
Martha put the phone down on the bed and waited, the sound of footsteps and faint talking in the background of the call.
"Hello? This is James."
It was strange, his voice. There was a hint of the same accent Martha sometimes caught Alexander slipping into. It was slightly... European? French or Spanish sounding. Unlike Alex though, his accent was mostly British, with a similar sound to that of his adoptive mother
"I'm calling about Alexander, I'm his foster mother."
James sounded nervous now; when he next spoke it was with trepidation.
"Where are you calling from? Is he still in New York? What happened?"
Martha hadn't known how little contact James and Alex had.
"We live in Virginia, and uh, he's in hospital."
"Why? What happened? Is he okay?"
Martha drew in a deep breath and clenched her fist.
"He- I don't really know how best to say this. He took an overdose either this morning or last night."
There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the call and Martha pinched the bridge of her nose tightly, her eyes closed.
"Is he- Is he going to be okay?"
Martha felt part of herself crumple and her eyes stung slightly, there was a lump in her throat and when she spoke her voice was thick with emotion.
"He- We don't know yet. I just thought it was important you know."
"Do you have Skype? Or we could facetime? I want to see him."
Martha nodded and took another deep breath.
"Yeah, we could do that. Is there anything you what me to tell him when I needy get to see him."
She didn't want to think about that word 'when', the possible lie that implied. That Alex would be okay.
"Tell him- Tell him I'm sorry. That I don't call."
Martha nodded and smiled into the phone.
"He wrote you something, do you have a number I could text a picture of it to?"
They exchanged numbers and Martha took a photo of the letter, sending it quickly to Alexander's brother.
Martha (just now): I'll text you when we're ready to skype. It might be a few days.
James Hamilton-Devron (just now): Okay. Thanks for this.
Martha (just now): good bye
James Hamilton-Devron (just now): bye
Martha turned off her phone and pocketed it, sitting on the bed and holding her face in her hands. She could feel the tears rising in her throat.
She sat there and cried for a while, her throat ached with the effort she was making to stop, taking deep breaths and trying to calm herself, but it was no use. She just let herself cry it all out.
Martha walked to the bathroom and washed her face, quickly redoing her hair and rubbing some moisturizer into her skin so it was less obvious she'd been crying.
She pulled out her phone again and texted George, fumbling slightly with the small keyboard as her hands were shaking.
Martha (just now): Anything you need before I leave?
GeorgeWashington (just now): Gil won't like it but some food might be good. Sandwiches or something, I don't know. Clothes for Gil too, he's still in pyjamas.
Martha walked to Gilbert's room, doing her best not to look at the spot where Alexander had been lying only around two hours ago.
She opened his drawers and pulled out some jeans and a tee shirt. Lafayette normally wouldn't be seen wearing an outfit that wasn't carefully chosen and matched against a men's fashion magazine, but given the situation, he most likely would care very little.
Martha (just now): Anything else?
GeorgeWashington (just now): I'd like to read the paper, there should be one in the mail box.
Martha (just now): I'll call an uber now.
GeorgeWashington (just now): See you soon.
Martha put everything in a bag and walked downstairs. The house was cold; she hadn't thought to put on the heating with all the chaos. She opened the fridge and brought things out for sandwiches, making the food hastily and putting it in her bag.
When she arrived at the ER her throat was tight and her chest hurt with anxiety. She had no idea what she was going to find in there, George's comments on the phone hadn't done anything to quell the fear settled like ash in her lungs. In fact, it had only exacerbated it.
George stood up when she walked in, pulling her into a tight hug and kissing her very briefly on her lips.
He looked at her and took in her red rimmed eyes and helpless expression. Martha in turn took in his tightly clenched jaw and terrified eyes. She felt like she was lost at sea.
The emergency room was slightly less busy now, the crowds of college students had been cleared off home with advice about orange juice and eggs, as well as warnings not to drink so much again. Yeah, right.
Lafayette, John and Hercules were still sitting on the floor by the vending machine and by the looks of it; Lafayette was asleep against Hercules' chest, his jacket still wrapped around his shoulders.
John sat up from his lazy position on the floor and smiled weakly at Martha. It wasn't so much a smile really, more like a crooked grimace. Simply moving the muscles in your face doesn't equate to a smile.
Hercules looked at her and held up his hand in a defeated wave, not moving too much for fear of waking Lafayette. The teenager had gone through enough in the past few hours, he deserved some rest.
Martha turned to George, her eyes no less fearful after seeing her son and his friends' state.
"How is Alex? Do you know much?"
George shook his head.
"I filled out some paper work, answered all the question I could and waited here. It's been at least three hours."
Martha sat down in the seat next where George had been and closed her eyes, meaning her head back against the wall.
She would have gone over to Gilbert, said something to him, talked to him, but what could she possibly say. There were no words she could summon to try and comfort him. Saying everything would be okay was dangerous, too risky. Trying to act like everything was alright would only put everyone on edge, make them feel uneasy.
So Martha just sat there instead, sending small smiles over to Gil whenever he looked her way. He didn't return them and she didn't take it personally.
Now, she guessed, they just had to wait.
Aha! I've successfully waffled for about 9,000 words! I'm evil, I'm so sorry. I think I'll post a shorter chapter tomorrow. 2,000 words or so. Not sure.