by TL Gehr
I press my lips to his. No breath. He’s not breathing. The heel of my hand finds the center of his chest. I’ve practiced this so many times on rescue dummies, but never on a real person. I start to count and compress, keeping rhythm with the Bee Gees Stayin’ Alive like we were taught, even though hot tears are spilling down onto his face.
I only just found you. You can’t leave me. Not like this.
I cover his mouth with my own and block his nose. Two breaths. Then I’m pumping again. His chest still isn’t moving.
“They’re on their way,” Cynthia says behind me. It doesn’t matter. If I can’t get him breathing, it won’t matter. There’s so much traffic, they won’t get here in time to do anything.
In my panic, I forget myself and pump too hard. I hear the crack of his ribs. Shit! I cover his mouth again and will him to breathe as I fill his lungs. It feels like my insides are being wrung out. Everything is so twisted and dark. I did this. I killed him. I can’t continue with the CPR, not when I’ve already broken his ribs. I sob as I kiss his lips. They’re still warm, they still feel so alive. My heart is splintering into so many pieces. How will I go back to a world without him in it?
Warm breath brushes against my lips. I pull away a little. “Brian?” It could just be my own breath exiting his lungs. A cruel joke. I feel it again and this time I also feel his chest move.
“Brian!” I gather him in my arms and hold him to me. His fragile form close to my heart. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
I don’t know who I’m thanking. God? Fate? Brian himself? I can’t stop crying, but it’s okay. Brian’s breathing. Brian’s alive.
33
Brian
First there’s the pain in my head, like there’s a hose clamp around it, being screwed tighter and tighter. Then there’s my name. “Brian?”
Gradually more sounds filter through: A constant clicking, soft voices far away, traffic. The smell of antiseptic. More pain in my chest as I stir. I crack open my eyes with some difficulty. Lights blur above me. I try to take a deep breath, but fresh pain shoots through me and my stomach churns. I whimper.
“Brian?” Warmth tightens around my hand.
Where am I? How did I get here? Was I in a car accident? I search for the last thing I remember.
Someone touches my cheek. Their face hovers over mine. It blurs into focus.
Philip.
Everything comes rushing back at me. His father, my file, the money, that cold look on Philip’s face, the suffocating pain, getting the stuff, shooting up. Receding into calm. Nothing after that.
“What happened?” I croak. My throat is dry. Philip holds a cup to me and puts the straw in my mouth so I can sip some water. It tastes metallic. Or maybe that’s just the inside of my mouth.
“You overdosed.”
I choke on the water. My ribs send pain searing through me. Philip leans over to help me sit, help me cough. He holds a pillow against my chest and rubs my back. I think I’m going to throw up. I can feel the vomit at the back of my throat. My mouth fills with saliva. I swallow wildly, getting the coughing under control.
What must he think? That I was trying to manipulate him into feeling sorry for me? That I was crying for help? “I didn’t… mean to.” I can’t seem to get in enough air and every time I try my ribs scream.
“I know, I know.” He says soothingly, helping me to lie back again. “The paramedic said it often happens with a relapse. It’s hard to judge what you can handle after being clean a while.”
“The paramedic?” I finally look at his face, his Concerned Philip look with the large blue eyes and the line between his eyebrows. If he spoke to the paramedics does that mean…
“I found you. And I’m afraid the pain you’re in now is my fault.” He puts a hand over the ache in my chest, just below my sternum. “A fractured rib. From the CPR. I clearly need more practice.”
“CPR?”
“You weren’t breathing.” His expression makes my heart ache even more than my ribs.
“How… how did you find me?” It doesn’t make any sense. “Why?”
“Brian…” his voice cracks. He looks like he’s going to cry. “Oh god, I’m so sorry.” He puts my hand to his lips like he did on the dancefloor.
I’ve missed something. Or he’s just feeling guilty because I nearly died. “You don’t… have to say.” I close my mouth. Getting words out is too difficult. I need to choose them carefully. I try to focus my thoughts. “Should have told you ‘bout my record.” I stop and catch a few shallow breaths. “Would have. Prison was bad. I don’t like… to think… ‘bout it.”
“Shh, you don’t have to say anything. You’re not going to prison again. I promise.”
He kisses my wrist. “I shouldn’t have doubted you. I was an idiot. I came over to tell you and that’s when I found you. I thought I was too late.” A tear rolls down his cheek. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“You saved… my life.”
“I wouldn’t have needed to if I’d stood by you in the first place. What a fucking rich dickhead I was. As if you’d ever steal from me, when you wouldn’t even accept that damned phone. When I saw the video and then my father read me your file I just… my mind went to this very dark place and it wasn’t to do with you, it was to do with me.”
“Negative thought spiral.”
“Can you forgive me?”
He’s asking me to forgive him? After he just discovered what trash I am? I want to say that I understand how he shuts down when his heart is breaking, but I condense it to, “You were hurt.”
“I shouldn’t have—”
“You thought I hurt you.”
He closes his eyes again and holds my hand in both of his with his head bowed.
“I didn’t mean… to scare… you. Can’t believe I… nearly four months.” I’m such a weak little shit. Now my body is shaking with withdrawals again. I know the treatment for an overdose, because I’ve seen it applied enough times. They give me meds to force the opiates out, which of course makes my body tantrum like all hell. What did I think would happen? I know I didn’t mean to die, but how did I expect to live? From one craving to the next again? It’s just like the old days. I didn’t think. All I thought about was one more hit. I haven’t actually gotten better at all. All this, to end up in a hospital bed anyway.
“Your father probably thinks… I spent Spindle money… on this.”
Philip shakes his head. “I told him it wasn’t you.”
Philip’s parents don’t seem the type to listen. “The cameras…”
“Caught you studying. I worked it out almost as soon as you left. When you didn’t know how much was taken, I remembered that I never gave you access to the register because of your number thing. I should have known that at once. I just… you’ve been so nice to me. It was too easy to believe it was all pretend.”
“Nice to you?” How shit is everyone else towards him that things I said seemed too good to be true? Anger rises up in me again. “Chase was the one who lied… to you. About you.”
Philip gives me a pained look, then he leans forward and kisses me. He pulls away quickly. “I told them I’m your brother so they’d let me ride in the ambulance and stay with you. They only let me stay because it’s a private room. They let me get you a private room because… you know, it doesn’t matter. Just, if there’s anyone around, we’re brothers, okay?”
Philip and his lies. I can’t help but smile. “How are we brothers?” We look completely different. I’m pale, thin and dark. He’s blonde and glowing with vitality.
He shrugs, but he smiles back. “Adoption?”
That smile. I never thought I’d get to see that smile again.
Then his expression clouds. “Um… I don’t know how to tell you this, but you have a right to know.”
My pulse speeds up. I can’t take any more bad news today. “What?”
“I think I know who really took the money. I think… I mean I don’t want to believe i
t, but I think they set you up. They were the one who reported the money missing and then when my father interrogated them earlier, they said that they saw you take it. I’m still not sure how they did it, but I think they had help.”
He keeps avoiding the name, and I know immediately why. “My mother.”
He frowns and nods. “How did you know?”
“Remember I wanted… to talk.” Dammit I wish breathing didn’t hurt so much. There’s no way to soften the words now when I have to speak with so few. “Saw her using.”
His eyes grow large.
“Wanted to… but your test. Sorry.” Mom knows I saw her. So, she decided to get me fired first. She could have had me sent to jail. The betrayal hurts far more than it should, given that I knew what she was like before I even came here.
“Your own mother framed you to save her skin?”
I nod. “Dragons prob helped… Think she’s one… of them.” The thorn tattoo is clear in my mind. I don’t know why I didn’t notice the tattoos before.
Philip buries his head in his hands. “Shit. I’m the worst manager ever. Why didn’t I have her checked out? I thought running background checks was discriminatory.”
I’m sure if he had run a background check on me, he wouldn’t have hired me. We wouldn’t have gotten to know each other. “You give people a chance… makes you vulnerable… still good.”
A nurse comes in then and her face lights up. “Mister Rose, you’re awake.” She fusses around me, checking the clicking machine and adjusting my drip. I twist my neck to try read the label on the liquid that’s feeding into my veins.
Philip puts his hand on mine again. “It’s just ibuprofen.” He hastily pulls it away. What, like brothers can’t touch? I don’t suppose he’d know. Then again, neither would I. We’re both only children, we don’t even know how to pretend to be brothers.
“How’s the pain?” she asks, concerned, as if I’m here for something that wasn’t totally self-inflicted.
“It hurts… when I talk.”
“It does?” Philip sits up straighter in his chair. “You should have said. No, you shouldn’t have said. I should have realized. I’m sor—”
“Don’t apologize again.”
“Sorry.”
The nurse laughs. “Well I’ve given you some more painkillers, as your brother said. I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake. I’m sure he’ll want to double-check everything’s in tip-top shape.” She gives Philip a pretty smile before leaving.
“Has she been flirting… with you the whole… time?” I ask.
“What?” He looks back at the door that just closed behind her. “No! She wasn’t flirting. She was just being nice.”
“Sure, brother.”
“You keep quiet. I can’t believe I made you talk so much.”
He offers me the water and I take a few slow sips. Then we sit in silence until the doctor arrives.
“You’re a lucky man, Mister Rose,” he says, as he scans my chart. “Normally when patients are unconscious as long as you were, we see some lasting damage. Seems your brother got to you just in time.” He gives me a significant look and the guilt twists through me. “You can treat the fracture with an ice pack and rest. I’m prescribing some painkillers. A follow-up appointment shouldn’t be necessary, but if you aren’t fully healed in eight weeks, I’d like to know about it.”
He doesn’t say a thing about the overdose. He signs a paper and hands it to me. “Your discharge summary. I’ll send the nurse in…” he checks my drip, “about ten minutes.”
“You’re discharging him already?” Philip asks.
My heart starts racing again. Discharge. I can’t go home yet. Not back to the apartment, not back to the temptation.
“There’s nothing more for us to do for him here that you can’t do for him in a home setting. Ribs need time to heal.”
“And the drugs?” Philip asks.
“The opioids have already been flushed from his system. He may experience some uncomfortable side effects, but nothing life threatening. The best thing your brother can do right now is rest.”
Philip throws a worried look at me.
“Mister Rose,” the doctor says, and at first I think he means me, but he’s still talking to Philip, “I’m aware of the generous donation you made to the hospital to secure this room, but I’m hard pressed to find a reason to keep your brother here, unless you are asking me to lie?”
Philip throws up his hands. “No, no. I’m just surprised. I mean a few hours ago he was dying… but okay, if you think he’s good to go, we’re good to go.”
When he leaves, I ask quietly, “Donation?”
Philip walks over to the little dresser at the foot of the bed and takes out my clothes. “I wanted to stay with you. They said I’d have to come back during visiting hours unless you had a private room.” He doesn’t look at me. “Don’t be angry? Please? I just needed to know you were okay.”
“Why would I… be angry?” I can’t believe he’d do that. He bribed the hospital just so he could sit with me.
He fidgets. “Abusing my power? I don’t know.”
“Don’t think giving money… to hospitals… is abuse.”
He hurries back to me. “Stop talking. We can talk later.” And he kisses me again, while there’s no one around to see.
When the nurse arrives with my wheelchair, I’m already back in my clothes thanks to Philip’s help. When he saw the bruising around my ribs he gasped and his eyes glistened again. I wanted to reassure him, but I didn’t know what to say that I haven’t said already. He saved my life. If he hadn’t come after me, if he hadn’t done the CPR that cracked my rib, I’d be dead now.
He chews on his lip as he walks beside me down to reception. The nurse makes small talk with him, but I can tell his thoughts are far away. I’ve really messed him up. This whole day—everything from discovering my record to discovering my unresponsive body—is probably going to haunt him for years to come.
When we get to the front desk, the administrative clerk passes me a paper to sign. It’s got all my details correct. Philip must have given them to the hospital. I scan it, looking for the place for my signature, and then I realize what I’m looking at. It’s a bill. It’s an incredibly large bill. How can it have so many zeroes when I was only here for a few hours?
It doesn’t even include the private room. Philip must have paid for that already. It includes the ambulance, the respirator, the medication and a bunch of other sundry expenses I can’t even understand. My chest stings as I try to breathe. I can’t pay this. I can’t ask Dad to pay this. He probably wouldn’t be able to anyway. Oh god, how will I tell him?
A credit card flashes in front of my face. “I’ve got it,” Philip says.
“No, you can’t.” It’s even more expensive than the phone.
“I can. Let me help.”
The clerk looks at the card, then looks back up at Philip and looks at the card again. She blushes. Shit. It will have his real name on it. She’ll know who he is. This is going to be all over the press.
Philip Arrigo’s new beau nearly dies of overdose.
Philip Arrigo seeing a drug addict, paying his bills.
A distressed noise escapes my throat. Philip puts a steady hand on my shoulder. “By the way, you’re the only person who knows I was here today,” he tells the clerk. “So if this were to reach any other ears, say People or the Enquirer, I will know who to thank.”
Her blush deepens, but she nods and gives him a receipt. I sign where they tell me to sign, and then I’m being wheeled out into the sunshine.
I don’t have time to ask for a ride to my apartment, because Philip’s driver—the one from the other night—is there in the pick-up lane. He’s wearing suave sunglasses and he greets me by name before helping me into the Merc.
“Where would you like to go, Mister Arrigo?” He asks once we’re settled in the back.
Philip looks at me as he answers, “Home, thank you.”
“Home?” I whisper.
His gaze drops to his lap. “Would you let me? I don’t like the idea of you being alone right now.”
“Let you?”
“Take you home with me?”
I meant why the hell was he asking? Surely there’s no reality in which anyone would rather go back to a crappy apartment with four flights of stairs than wherever it is that Philip lives, with Philip. Especially not me who’s so fucking afraid of his own shadow right now. I don’t trust myself to get through this alone. Once the ibuprofen wears off and the pain comes back, I’m going to start craving again. I know I am. But I also know I can’t manage to say all of that right now. I just nod.
34
Brian
I’m still trying to convince myself this isn’t a dream when we roll up outside a brownstone highrise. It’s probably about eight stories high and half a block wide. I crane my neck to see the top. That must be where Philip lives. I’m sure he’ll have the penthouse. It’s probably one of those fancy pads with a rooftop garden and shit. It’s decorated with crenulations like The Spindle and the arched windows make it look more like a bank than a home. Maybe it’s a hotel. I’ve heard the super-rich sometimes don’t bother with buying and just live in luxury suites where they can have every need attended to.
The doorman greets Philip by name and holds the door open for us.
“Are my parents in?” Philip asks.
A lead weight lands in my stomach. It slipped my mind that he said he still lived with them. I don’t want to encounter his father again any time soon.
“No, sir,” the doorman says.
“Any idea when they’ll be back?”
“I believe your mother has a social engagement. She mentioned she would be home for dinner. I have not had word from your father since he left with you this morning.”
“Thank you. Can you have Emma let me know when they get back? I need to speak with them.”
