Broken

Blinking my eyes back into the room, I notice the other doctor isn’t here anymore. Max is sitting, slumped forward with his head down. How long was I staring at the fucking wall?

“I’m not leaving him,” I say, twisting out of Tom’s grip.

“Theo, look at me.”

Reluctantly, I do.

“You’re a mess. You stink, you’re covered in blood, and you’re exhausted. Come back with me, take a shower, eat a sandwich, and I’ll bring you right back.”

“He’s right,” Max interrupts, rubbing his palms down his cheeks before sagging back in his chair. “Go freshen up. We’ve got a tough few days coming up, maybe longer. Take a breather. Prepare yourself. I’ll call you if there’s any change.”

Weakly, I nod in hesitant agreement. “What about your mum? Is she on her way?”

“I haven’t told her yet,” Max says, sighing regretfully. “I rushed over here on autopilot. When I’ve seen James, know what we’re dealing with, I’ll call her.”

“Okay,” I mutter, though I don’t understand his thought process. If the situation were reversed and it was my brother fighting for his life in the ICU, my mum would be the first person I’d want by my side. But their family dynamic is very different and, even if I had the energy, it’s not my place to question it.

“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.”