Broken (28 page)

“I won’t be gone long,” I say, patting Max’s shoulder as I walk past.

What have you done, James?

Following Tom out to his car, I consciously keep my gaze moving in different directions. If I look at the same spot for too long, the image of James lying unconscious and drowning in a tub of red water reappears. That image, that memory, alone has the power to completely break me. If I lose him…

“How did I not see this coming?” I ask, sliding into the passenger seat of Tom’s car.

“Don’t, Theo. Blaming yourself, blaming
anyone
, won’t help James.”

“After his meltdown I thought I could take care of him. I thought…I thought if I just made sure he ate, got some rest, if I just…
loved
him…”

“This isn’t your fault. He’s sick, Theo. He needs help only professionals can give him, and he’ll get it now. And while he does, keep doing what you planned.
Love
him. He needs you.”

But I’m not enough. If I was, I wouldn’t be covered in his blood right now. He must’ve known
I’d
be the one to find him. Why would he do that to me?

Oh, James…

**********

We’re back at the hospital in just over an hour. Max is still waiting in the family room and, given the amount of time that has passed, it unnerves me. “Why are you still in here?” I ask instead of
hello
.

“Had to wait for the shift handover. A nurse has just been in. We can go up in ten minutes.”

“So he’s…”

“The same.”

“Good. That’s good.” Or is it? I have no fucking idea. “Has the, um…” I click my fingers, trying to remember the word. “The coal thing worked?”

“Activated charcoal,” Tom cuts in. “They’ll administer more doses at regular intervals.”

“Did you know he was taking citalopram?” Max questions.

“I don’t even know what that is.” My head hangs in shame. I
should
know what it is, what he’s supposed to take and when.
I’ve let him down.

“It’s an SSRI,” Tom answers on Max’s behalf. “A type of antidepressant, and a drug which wouldn’t usually be prescribed to someone with bipolar, especially not the strength found in his bathroom. Either he’s been seeing a doctor who’s unaware of his history, or he’s got them from someone else. Maybe the internet.”

“How long has the stupid bastard been planning this?” Max mutters to no one in particular. There’s no anger or venom in his voice, just overwhelming sadness.

Planning it?
He couldn’t have
planned
this. Could he? The idea rolls around in my mind, heavy like a boulder, and my head starts to ache. He can’t have made a conscious decision to put me, put his family, through this kind of pain.

Could he?

No. He wouldn’t. This had to have been a snap decision, a moment of weakness and desperation. A cry for help perhaps. He didn’t mean for it to go this far. He never intended to succeed, to leave me.

Did he?

When the door opens, interrupting my thoughts, the nurse that walks through instantly becomes the centre of our attention. “The ICU are expecting you. You can go up whenever you’re ready.”

Max is already by the door, waiting for the nurse to move. I, however, am frozen. Again.

“I’ll take you through the service lift,” Tom says, heading for the open door. “It’s closer.”

I’m scared, Tom.
I think I’ve said it out loud until Tom turns around, cocking his head. “Come on, T.”

“Right,” I mumble, somehow getting my feet to cooperate.

Tom leads the way with Max by his side, while I lag behind a few steps. Nerves claw at my throat when I step out of the lift. My airway feels restricted, like something’s pushing into my chest. Tugging on my collar, as if that will ease the imaginary pressure, I hover by the nurses station while Tom discusses more numbers and technical jargon with another doctor. They clearly know each other well. It’s evident in their casual stance and the way the older doctor pats my brother’s arm before walking away.

“What’d he say?” I ask Tom, the second he steps up to me and Max.

“Just a little more in depth version of what his surgeon told you. Look, guys, before you go inside, remember there will be a lot of machines. Don’t be alarmed by all the beeps and wires. They’re there to help him.”

“Uh-huh,” is the only sound I can summon. I start to move forward towards the room I assume James is in, the one Tom’s doctor friend pointed to while they were talking, but Tom grabs my arm, stopping me.

“James has a tracheostomy. It means there’s a tube attached to a ventilator, fed through a small incision in his trachea…” Tom points to his neck, just below his Adam’s apple. “It can look a little scary but, again, it’s there to help him, and I can assure you it doesn’t hurt.”

“Okay,” I breathe, closing my eyes for a few seconds. “Okay.”

What I don’t realise until I walk into the large room is that no amount of reassurance from Tom would ever be enough to prepare me for what I’m seeing right now. It’s a small ward with four beds, four patients, and an office behind a glass wall manned by three nurses and a doctor in green scrubs.

He’s a young doctor, like Tom, and I wonder if they know each other. His stethoscope is cool – striped with all the colours of the rainbow.

“Theo?”

I’ve never seen one like it before. Maybe he works on the kid’s ward.

“
Theo?
”

I bet
she
doesn’t work with kids,
I think, eyeing up the older nurse with grey hair and a sour expression. Her stethoscope is black. Ordinary. Her eyes are ordinary, too. I don’t see a very exciting story behind them. I imagine her in a marriage of convenience, no kids, works overtime to avoid spending time with her equally boring husband.

“Theodore?” My full name snaps me from my musing and, for the briefest second, my heart flutters.

James?

It’s not James of course. It’s Tom, and he’s holding my upper arm. “It’s okay, T. Come on. He needs you.”

But I don’t want to look at James. I’m not sure I can handle it. My knees are already weak, and I’m scared that if I look at him, they will buckle altogether. Instead, I stare at the doctor’s stethoscope again. Tom should get one like that. Maybe I could get him one for Christmas.

“Let’s go outside,” Tom suggests. “We’ll come back in a little while.”

He needs you. Be strong for him. Don’t let him down again.

Sucking in a deep breath, I shake my head in defiance. “No. I-I’m okay.”

Releasing my breath through pursed lips, I flex my clammy fingers and turn around. James is lying on the bed in the corner, and the second I see him, my head falls to one side as if my neck is no longer strong enough to support it. Max is sitting on a high-backed chair to James’ right, so I amble to his left and hover my hand over James’ arm, too afraid to touch it.

“God, James,” I whisper, allowing my thumb to brush over the blue dragonfly tattooed onto his forearm. His skin is so much warmer than the last time I touched it. It’s comforting, so, sitting down, I lower my hand and interlock my fingers with his. The back of his hand is pink and blistered from the boiling water and when Max asks why, I tell him. He doesn’t reply, simply looks down, closing his eyes.

My gaze travels up, over the bandages covering his wrist and I can’t prevent the image of what’s underneath from torturing my mind.

“I’ll leave you alone for a while,” Tom says, patting my back.

“Me too.” Max stands from his chair. “I need to call my mum.”

I hear them walk away but my eyes are trained on James. It looks like he’s sleeping, which comforts me because it means he’s not in pain. My gaze keeps wandering to the tube in his neck and it makes my stomach feel queasy and my chest ache. The sterile dressing around it doesn’t do much to hide the incision and all I can think is,
why?
Why did he do this to himself? Why did he give up? Why wasn’t I enough?

“Why didn’t you talk to me?” I whisper, brushing the back of his hand, careful to avoid the cannula, with my thumb.

The machine next to me makes a whooshing sound every time it forces air into his lungs, and each whoosh stabs into my heart like a knife. There are several pieces of equipment, each emitting different beeps, displaying numbers I don’t understand, and housing various wires and tubes attached to numerous parts of James’ body. I don’t know how they’re helping him, I can only hope they
are
. I’m not prepared for any other outcome.

“Come back to me,” I say, reaching out to palm his cheek. “Be the stubborn bastard I
know
you are and
fight
. Fight for me, James. I won’t let you down again.”

Tears roll freely down my face and I don’t even attempt to stop them. People throw the term
heartbreak
around all the time, and until today I naively thought its definition was sadness. Only now, sitting here with my head pressed against the guardrail of James’ bed, do I realise that it
literally
feels like my heart is breaking, splitting in two. It’s not just sadness, it’s a debilitating ache in my chest. It’s struggling to breathe – consciously focusing on each breath I take because it feels like if I don’t my lungs will collapse. It’s suddenly having all my future dreams ripped from under my feet because all I can think about is getting through today, getting
James
through today.

Heartbreak is uncertainty.

Desolation.

Confusion.

Doubt.

Anger.

Fear.

Heartbreak feels like your entire world is crumbling above your head, and all you can do is sit back and wait for it to crush you.

This is our story. It’s not supposed to end here.

“Don’t give up, baby. Don’t give up.”

**********

“Theo.”

There’s a nudge on my shoulder. I want it to go away.

“Theo. Come on, mate. Time to go.”

“Huh?” Peeling my head off the back of the chair, I see Max standing over me. We’re in hospital.
James
. For the briefest of seconds, I’d forgot. For just a moment, my life wasn’t falling apart. “Sorry,” I mutter, massaging the stiffness in my neck. “Must’ve nodded off.”

“It’s kicking out time. Tom’s waiting for you downstairs.”

Looking at James, I don’t want to leave him. How am I supposed to say goodbye not knowing if it will be the last time I ever do? “You’ll call me, right? If there’s any change,” I ask, knowing as James’ next of kin, he’ll be the person they contact.

“Of course I will.”

Standing, I bend over James and lower my lips to his forehead. “You be here in the morning, You hear me? Don’t you dare leave me.” I stroke his cheek, whispering straight into his ear. “If you can hear me, James, know that if tomorrow never comes, I…I love you.”

I walk out of the ICU with my gaze locked onto my feet. I left a piece of me behind with James and all I can do is pray he holds onto it. If he doesn’t, I fear that part of me will be gone forever.

Max and I exchange quick goodbyes when we reach Tom and then I follow my brother to his car.

“You okay?” Tom asks, fixing his seatbelt.

“What part of today makes you think I’d be fucking
okay
, Tom?” I bark, relenting immediately. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.”

Putting my seatbelt on, I realise I haven’t seen James’ mother yet. “Did James’ mum visit? Did I sleep through it?”

“No. She can’t face it just yet apparently.”

Selfish bitch
. “He’s her fucking son.”

I
hate
her. Maybe if she’d given a shit when James was a kid, got him some help, supported him, he wouldn’t be fighting for his life right now.

“Do I know everything?” I question. Confusion forces Tom’s eyebrows together, silently asking me to elaborate. “I know doctors gloss over details. You’d tell me if he wasn’t going to make it, wouldn’t you?”

“Theo, when they told you it was too early to give a prognosis they meant it. They’re not hiding anything from you.”

“So the surgery went well? I saw you talking to that doctor.”

“Jason, Dr Garcia, is a friend of mine. James couldn’t be in better hands. His heart stopped again during the surgery, but they got him back and gave him the best chance to fight this.”

“He will. He’ll fight.” He
has
to.

“Theo…you know that’s just the first step, right? Even if…
when
, he wakes up, his mind is going to take a
lot
longer to heal.”

“I know that. I’ll drag him to the GP surgery by his ear if I have to.”

“James won’t be going straight home, T. He’ll be taken to a psychiatric unit.”