He couldn't breathe. He was so tired, he wasn't sure if he even wanted to breathe again. Everything was just… so much, all the time. The only time he felt unburdened, felt free, was when he swallowed those tiny white pills. He didn't have to think, or worry, or do anything but allow the calming waves wash over him as his mind drifted higher and higher, laying wherever he happened to be in drowsy bliss.
Nothing could hurt him here.
He liked that. He liked the painlessness, and not just because he was tripping on painkillers. It was so much more than the physical sensations. It was like these pills had unlocked a part of him that he never knew existed before. The part of him that was the epitome of chilled out, relaxed, unanxious.
TK laid on the ground, eyes half-lidded, lips slowly turning blue from lack of oxygen. He stared vacantly up at the ceiling, mind miles away as his body wasted away. He could barely feel himself struggling to breathe. Air whistled through his dry mouth, seemingly scratching at his throat and lungs, before being shakily exhaled. Less and less air managed to get pulled into his lungs, and his chest barely rose anymore. Not that TK cared at this point. Maybe if he stopped breathing altogether, he would be free. Distantly, he recognized that that wouldn't be the case. He'd simply die. But caring would take too much energy, too much fight.
So TK surrendered to his prescription high, as he wheezed out one final breath, unaware of the chaos erupting around him.
Teenagers fled from the house, fleeing the scene of the latest rager. But this time it had gotten out of hand, and it looked like TK was going to pay the price. As the last of the partiers ran from the house, one of TK's classmates pressed a shaky hand to his throat, trying to find his pulse. He recoiled as his fingers met with unnaturally cold and clammy skin. He called 9-1-1, before he, too, fled the scene. He didn't want anything bad to happen to TK, but he knew if he stayed around, he'd be busted by police for having drugs on him, not to mention the underage drinking. So with one last panicked glance back, he ran for the stairs, managing to slip out into the back as red and blue lights lit up the neighborhood. Sirens filled the air, as a firetruck from the 252 pulled up in front of the house.
The Captain stayed outside, corresponding with other first responders, as his crew rushed in to find the OD'ing patient.
"Looks like a narcotic overdose, let's administer Narcan and get him transported."
"Agreed." The other firefighter nodded, as he shone a pen light into the kid's eyes, looking at his pinpointed pupils.
"Is it just me or does this kid look familiar?"
"Hold on," he slammed the Narcan into the teen's thigh, before looking at his partner and then back to the kid, "now that you mention it, yeah. Shine some light over here?"
Bright white glow lit up the kid's pale face, shining off of droplets of sweat. A look of recognition passed over both firefighters, just as his body jolted and he began to vomit from the medication.
"Easy there." They rolled him onto his side, gently patting his back as he puked out his insides.
"Hey Captain?" One firefighter hesitantly radioed, giving the shaky teen a weary look. "We got a situation."
"What's going on in there?" A pit of dread filled Owen's stomach. Something was really, really wrong.
"The kid overdosing? It's your son."
