Sweet Little Nothing

I step into the dark space and flip the lights on, still shouting her name. Abigail checks the bedrooms while I head for the bathroom.

What I see stops me in my tracks, my heart lodging into my throat, choking me as grief and guilt rain down on me.

"Oh my God. Baby!" I drop to my knees and pull her limp body to me, cradling her head in my lap. "Baby!" I press two fingers to her throat and shout for Abigail. "Call 911!"

She flies into the room, her phone already pressed to her ear. "Help, please help. One of the girls in my dorm... I think... she overdosed." Her words are rapid fire as panic consumes her, just as it is me.

"Put it on speaker," I order, and she does.

"I need you to calm down," the dispatcher says in a mild voice. "Is she breathing?"

"Yes, barely."

"Conscious?"

"No."

"Do you know what she took, sir?"

"No, I don't. I don't know."

Abigail rattles off the address, before collapsing to the floor beside me where she buries her face in her hands and cries.

Seconds feel like minutes and minutes like hours while we wait. "What's taking them so long?"

My entire body shakes as the woman I love slips further away from me, succumbing to whatever it was she took.

"Campus police!"

"In the bathroom!" I yell.

"Sir, please move away so we can work."

"I'm not leaving her," I grit out through clenched teeth.

"We need you to move back," he reiterates. "It's in her best interest, we're trained first responders."

At those words, I gently slide out from beneath her and retreat to just outside the door with Abigail.

The other officer immediately springs into action, crossing Emmy’s arms over her chest and rolling her to her side.

"Do you know what she took?"

"No."

"Do you know when?"

"I don't know. An hour? Maybe?"

"Does she have a history of mental health issues?"

"Yes," I admit, feeling like I'm somehow betraying her.

"A history of suicidal thoughts?"

"I'm not sure." I swallow roughly. "She... her stepbrother abused her most of her life and tonight..."

"What happened tonight?"

I rehash the sordid details for the campus police. By the time I'm done, Abigail is sobbing inconsolably. "Oh my God."

"Got a pill bottle!" the officer in the bathroom yells. "Benzos."

"I'll let 'em know."

The officer who has been questioning me reaches up and speaks into the mic clipped to his shirt. "We've got a suspected benzodiazepine overdose."

The radio crackles. "10-4. We're about five out."

The paramedics make it in less than five—thank fuck—and from there, it's a flurry of activity, with them checking her vitals and loading her onto a stretcher.

A million-and-one questions sit on the tip of my tongue, but the officer's earlier words about being in the way keep me from asking any of them.

"Let's roll," one of the paramedics says, and I spring into action, following them out into the hall.

"I-I'll clean up here," Abigail says, tears still falling.

I nod my thanks and take off behind them, once again taking the stairs so that I'm on the first floor waiting when the elevator arrives.

"Which hospital are you taking her to?"

"Who are you?"

"Her boyfriend."

"We're taking her to Central North," he says, as the other maneuvers the stretcher into the back of the ambulance.

I try to follow them, but the paramedic stops me with a hand to my chest. "Not so fast."

"Please," I beg.

He offers a sympathetic look. "Sorry, family only."

Those words are an arrow through my already tattered heart.

"Please take care of her," I whisper.

"Let's go," one of the other workers calls.

He gives me a nod before turning and heading for the truck.

As they pull away, I realize I don't have my car. "Fuck!" I yell for what has to be the hundredth time tonight.

I scramble to grab my phone from my pocket, dialing Gabe.

He answers on the first ring. "Did you find her?"

"Yes, but I need you to come pick me up."

"What's going on, Sterling?"

"Just come get me. I'm outside of her dorm."

"I'll be there in five."

I pace back and forth until I hear the sound of squealing tires. I look up just in time to see Gabe's truck jerk to a stop.

Wordlessly, I run and jump into the cab. "Tell Zach to meet us at Central North."

He whips around in his seat, glaring at me. "I'm sorry, what? Why are we going to the hospital?"

Even as he asks, he's shifting the truck into gear.

"She overdosed."

He curses under his breath and peels out of the parking lot. "If anything happens to her, if she doesn't pull through this, I'll fucking kill you."

I want to argue, to plead my case but, deep down I know he's right, so I don't. Instead, I pull my seat belt across my lap and say, "Just hurry, man."

* * *

The drive to the hospital passes in a blur.

Gabe tries to ask me questions, but my mind is completely shut down. All I can think of is the way Emmalyn laid limp in my arms, her breaths so shallow I'm almost convinced I imagined them.