Micah. Yeah. Micah.
I try to lift my head, say something,anything, but my body is dead weight. The world sways lazily, like I’m drifting in deep water. The door yanks open, cold air rushing in.
“Jesus—Jude.” His voice cracks. Hands grab my shoulders, shaking me. My head lolls forward, chin dropping to my chest. “Hey. HEY, look at me.” His breath is warm and panicked against my cheek. “Jude, wake up. Please. Oh my god—please.”
I want to tell him I’m fine. I want to lift my head. I wantwords.
Nothing comes.
He slaps my cheek—light at first, then harder. My eyelids flutter uselessly. My chest manages half a breath...then stalls.
“No. No, no, no—Jude,please.” He chokes on a sob. “Stay with me. Just—just breathe. Come on, man.Fucking breathe.”His hands cup my face. His thumbs are shaking. “Don’t you dare do this to me,” he cries.“Don’t you fucking dare.”
My body tilts as he hauls me up, one arm locked around my aching ribs. I groan, and it’s a broken, useless sound that doesn’t feel like it belongs to me.
“Okay, okay...come on.” He drags me out of the car, my feet scraping gravel. My head drops against his shoulder. Too heavy. Too gone. He half carries, half drags me toward the porch light.
“You’re okay,” he lies into my hair. “You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.” He says it fast and desperate, like repetition might force the universe to listen.
I know I’m not okay.
My knees buckle. He snarls a sob and tightens his grip, hauling me over the threshold. “Don’t die, man,” he whispers, voice shredding. “Don’t die on me. I swear to god—don’t.”
Everything inside me is sinking. Fast, cold, dark. I can’t tell where he is anymore. Next to me. Across the room. Inside my skull.
His hands shake me, trying to pull me back from the edge I know is reaching for me.
I try to lift my head, to show him I hear him, but my body won’t listen. My limbs hang uselessly. My tongue feels as heavy as a slab of stone.
Micah is crying.
I’m so sorry.
“Come on, come on. Pick up,” he stammers. “Fuck. Heather, please...it’s Jude. He’s—he’s barely breathing. He won’t—he won’t wake up.” He sounds like someone’s kicking the air out of him over and over.
I try to pry my eyes open...just a millimeter. The light above me blurs into a smear. My head rolls sideways.
Micah catches me like I’m fragile. “I don’t know what to do,” he sobs on the last word. “Heather, he won’t wake up. I can’t lose him. I can’t—”
Another violent sob tears out of him.
Some flicker sparks in my brain.Is the song still playing?
There’s shuffling. A sharp inhale. “Okay...yeah, okay. Bring it. Please, Heather. Hurry.”
He hangs up. Then he’s calling someone else.
“Emma?” His voice caves in on itself. “I need you. You have to come. Now. Jude, he—” He stumbles over the words. “He overdosed.” He leans over me, forehead against my temple, breath shaking. “Heather is on her way. Please hurry.”
He ends the call but won’t let go. His hand cups my jaw, thumb dragging over my cheek. Time stops meaning anything. I’m out, then back, then out again.
The door slams open so hard it rattles the walls. Heather is suddenly here. “Okay. He’s responsive enough. Get him upright. Narcan first. Keep talking to him.”
I can’t respond. I can’t reach them. My mind fractures, slipping between panic and void, like I’m falling through a floor that never ends.
A needle bites into my arm.
Fire follows, flooding my veins. The fog thins just enough to make everything hurt.