Chapter 2: Void

I'm totally drunk. I should leave soon. But where would I go? Home? Do I have a home anymore? I sent my wife away and I have a boy who's sleeping in my house who isn't mine. It feels like he is my son, but he isn't. Still, I should stop drinking that cheap whiskey. To hell with it, I finish my drink and stand up. That was easy, although walking in a straight line isn't. What am I talking about? Walking is, point blank hard, straight or not. I can only concentrate at one point in my vision at a time. Let that be the door. I look for my car outside. Driving is not an option, but maybe I can sleep in it. I remember I left my car at the surgery, a block down. I walk along the wall. It helps with the balance. I don't like being drunk, I don't like loosing control. But it was a good idea this time, I seem not to care who and why cheated on me, and what will I going to do with that information. I only want away from both of them, maybe if I don't see them for a while, I will know where I stand. I reach my car, it's standing right in front of the surgery. It would be nicer to sleep in a bed, even if it is as bleak and sterile as the ones in a practice. The surgery is open and for a second, I'm happy about it. I'm not sure I'm in any condition to find the key hole. But it's strange. Who would want to break in? Maybe some drug addict. Right enough, the door to the medicine room is also open. I sober up a little bit, awaiting an attack. Everything's silent, so I move towards the door to peek in. I'm too drunk for such a fine movement, so I stumble into the room instead. Some things are not where they should be and the cabinet door is also lying unlocked. There's a needle on the floor. I hold on to the table as I corner it and almost trip over the body that's lying next to it. It's Christian. I look up to the cabinet, then back down the floor in confusion. I don't understand. He can't do this. He can't do this to me. Once again, I feel cheated. Anger flares up in me once more. I'm the one who's life has entered crisis, not him. Why is he doing this to me? He's always been the one I had to save. I'm not playing that game anymore. I stare at him and I notice that I can't see his chest going up and down. Finally, that gets me. I sober up even more and practically jump on him to check for pulse. I'm wrong. There is one, however weak. I wanna know how bad it is, so I snatch a torch from the table and lift up his eyelids, much more in control of my own movements then I was two minutes ago. I go on automatic pilot. I detect dilated pupils, cold, sweaty skin, shallow, irregular breathing. He won't be able to keep it up long. I check if the airways are clear, place him in the recovery position and cover him with my coat. He remains unresponsive though the whole procedure. I need to find out what drugs are missing and how much. At the same time, I pull my cell out and call for an ambulance, telling them about my location and my colleague's condition. Only one of the Thiopentone boxes are open, but it seems like I can't tell without Liz how much was in there. Of course, there should be written down somewhere, but I don't have the time to look. I will talk to her a little bit later, maybe on the way to the hospital. I pick up the oxygen, put the mask over Christian's mouth and contemplate whether I should perform haemodialysis myself to remove some of the drugs from his bloodstream, but I hear the sound of the ambulance. Just a couple of minutes later I help the paramedics put him on a stretcher.

"I'm going with. He's my partner," I tell them, and on my way out I look at the McNamara/Troy sign that I bashed to pieces yesterday. I can't see any of the letters from Troy intact. Is that a bad sign? No, most people recover if treatment is begun early. But how early did I arrive? Somewhere along the line I started to care, I monitor myself. The paramedics urge me to try to find out how much aesthetics he had taken, so I speed dial Liz. She tells me the box was unopened before, so it was full. She gets uncharacteristically worried about Christian and tells me she will meet us at the hospital. I'm nervous, still a bit drunk and I can't count. Especially as I freak out when I realise how much of the powder was missing. So I tell the amounts to the man who sits next to me in the ambulance. He takes a pen out of his pocket and calculates for a few seconds on his chart. I don't wanna look. He doesn't have to tell me the result of his computation, I know already that Christian meant it. He wanted to die. It wasn't just some cry for help, an appeal to me or anybody. Oh, my god! Oh my God, he meant it! I don't understand any of this! Why? I know that the most likely people to complete a successful suicide attempt are male, single and with a history of abuse and they'd do it without any warning. That's what the statistics say. Still, the voice in my head shouts, I don't understand!

"I don't understand," I say out loud, "it doesn't make sense."

The paramedic glances at me sympathetically, "suicide hardly ever does."

I rub my face, trying to shake off the rest of my drunkenness. I'm shocked and confused and my stomach turns. At least some of the drinks are out of my system.

"Are you ok? Physically, I mean," the paramedic asks me and gives me some paper to clear up the mess I created. He can't. He's busy with my friend.

"Yeah, I'm sorry, I got pretty drunk tonight. If I didn't I would've never went back and I would've never found him," full realisation hits me again as I say this. Nobody would've found him till the morning. That was the way he intended it. I notice how sweaty my clothes are and I realise at the same time that my own breathing has gone shallow. I'm in shock. But I tell my body that my reactions are wrong. I shouldn't be in shock because Christian is not my friend. Maybe he never really was, if he slept with my wife. I plan how I will give him into trouble for this suicide attempt as well if he survives. If, if, if…I hate that word! I can't loose him. Somehow, I don't know how, this has to do with me. He will make me feel guilty for the rest of my life if he dies now, and I have done nothing wrong! Maybe that was what he wanted. Selfish bastard. But how will I be able to live without him? I don't know how to do that, we were together for that long. My body doesn't listen to my arguments and my heart is still beating fast. Shit! I should have started haemodialysis. This journey takes way too long. I knew it! The monitor starts to produce straight horizontal lines and I shout, "start compressions!" Of course, they are already on it, pushing me out the way. There's nothing I can do. Oh, my God, please don't let him die. Please, please God! I don't care what he has done. I don't care about anything else than his life. We arrive to destination and Christian is getting rolled away from me. I try to follow, but they push me back.

"Please, I'm a doctor, you know that," I plead with the paramedic.

"You are also drunk and you are too involved to be able to help. How about completing some forms? A nurse will be with you in a minute."

I know he's right and I nod, slumping back against the wall. But that isn't the reason why I'm not there with him. I know I'm a coward, but I don't want to watch him die…

Tbc