(I want to make this very clear, this one handles sensitive subject matter! This one is mainly about 2D’s drug addiction and his subsequent overdoses. I did a ton of research and I’m 95% sure everything is accurate. I had a bunch of people beta read this, so thank you guys so much!)
It started with well-meaning intentions. Stuart's parents loved him, maybe too much. His mother had the ability. She was a nurse, after all. A highly respected and a very well meaning one. And his father would never deny his son anything that he needed. Sure, it was a sketchy and dangerous idea, but only the very best for their pride and joy. But they were idiots. Turns out, you can't control where lightning hits. Even if you have done everything right.
They did everything right.
Except, perhaps, go through a professional.
His breathing is getting weak. He's colder and paler than usual. His lips are turning blue and he's making a strange noise that will keep me awake later tonight. He's barely responding. Finding a pulse is getting difficult. It's not the first time we've found him like this. The doctors had forbidden him from taking codeine, yet Stuart had all the wrong friends in all the right places.
Upstairs an inconsolable child screams bloody murder. A warm man holds her tight and promises better tomorrows.
She already knows he's lying. She's seen worse before. She knows what kind of disease this is. It's the kind that even Lucifer would turn away from.
I've been there before, sleepy and unresponsive. I've always been lucky, but lately it's become increasingly obvious how damaging living like that can be.
The first time she realized something was wrong likes to play itself on repeat in the back of her mind. Noodle had called for a sleepy 2D to come check her progress on a video game. The man, akin to an older brother, had been lounging on the couch watching over her. He had been breathing shallow all day and thought some elevation might be the cure. However, upon hearing Noodle's request, he popped up instantly. Half a second after he righted himself, his eyes rolled back and he dropped.
Russel rushed in to scoop up a traumatized child frantically shaking the young man. I then made my reckless way to the hospital, my blue haired idiot in tow.
I left Russel to calm down the kid. I always leave Russel to that. I'm no good with emotions. How do you tell a child not to blame themself? Children are inherently selfish. It's normal. But this sabotages the young when nightmares don't wait for sleep. She still thinks his fainting spell was her fault.
Later, when we'd gotten him home from the hospital, he grinned and said, "Don't worry Noods, I just had too much cough syrup."
I hope she never understands.
He's gotten worse since our band took off. His medication had been closely monitored by his mother. However, once we started making actual money and touring, he found that no one could tell him no anymore.
It took a few years to really get bad. It started with an extra pill every once in a while. He was careful too. He never wanted nor planned for this. He never knew this was a possibility. 2D's headaches were so bad though. Some days, he'd just hole up in his room, under a million blankets, with the curtains drawn. It was like an unearned hangover. I watched his suffering take over his life.
I can't blame him. I really can't. He'd tried so hard to bottle lightning. He got struck instead.
Now it's morphine. I guess the codeine didn't react as much as he wanted it to. I guess codeine tends to lead people to harsher opiates. I guess doctors don't regulate that drug as much as they should.
He's vomiting now. Russel just vacuumed this morning. I'm yelling at the lady on the phone, screaming for an ambulance. She's yelling back that I need to calm down. That she can't do anything. That she's just the messenger.
I'm crying now. All three of us are. Noodle's screeches will leave a ringing in my ears for days. Russel's heavy sobs hit the floor like stones. My silent tears stream down my cheeks, showing how how scared I really am.
He slurs something that sounds like, "I'm tired," and I'm screaming at him now. I've dropped the phone but nobody could hear it's thud over our agony.
We've done this before, why am I screaming so loud? I know Noodle can hear me. I know my words will haunt her. I know that yelling fixes nothing. I know. I know. I know.
But it's never been this bad.
He's still mumbling. His fingertips are blue. He's trying to reach for me, but I back away. He's too cold for me to touch. He looks and feels already dead.
I wonder if this is all my fault. Maybe, if I hadn't pushed him so hard. Or said all those hateful words. Or blamed him for that. Or messed with his ex-girlfriend. Hit him with a car. Eject him through the windshield. I've done so much to him.
Maybe I'm just a bad influence.
Sirens pierce through the air, cutting through all the tension. The lady on the phone is asking if she can hang up now. Noodle is yelling for 2D. Why does she always have to find him? He'd be dead by now if she didn't tag after him so much.
The thing that scares me the most is Russel. I can hear his deep sobs. They bounce off the walls and roll down the stairs. He never reacts like this. Of course he'd panicked a little in the beginning, but he always kept his head on straight. He's crying like 2D's already dead.
Then it hits me. Russel doesn't think 2D will make it. Even Russel doesn't think there's hope.
The paramedics are shouting over us now. They're rolling a gurney in. My stomach turns like its wheels. I watch as they pull the near comatose Stu onto the gurney. They're shouting at me now, trying to get me to respond.
"Morphine," I say, "Morphine! He used to take codeine, but now it's morphine! I think."
I think it's the morphine. Or has he already turned to something else? What does morphine lead to? Heroin? No, Stuart can't handle something that harsh.
Maybe I'm underestimating him.
I miss who he used to be. Before I ruined him.
They're rolling him away now. He slowly reaches an arm out to me, calling out in a lethargic voice for me. I follow after, climbing in the ambulance behind them. The EMT's move like clockwork. A saline drip is already in. His face is obscured by the oxygen mask. I sit on the bench next to him. I place a hand in his. We're both two scared idiots trying to thwart the lightning after it's already hit. I open my mouth, my voice rolling out like thunder, "Stuart, please. You need to get help."
He's looking in my eyes, my hypocritical eyes. He sighs. He knows of my self medicating too. He knows how ironic me saying this is. He knows I will go home tonight and drown the image of his blacked out eyes in rum.
I squeeze his hand, "Please. For Noodle."
He sighs again, looks up at the ceiling, and closes his eyes. The medics are moving faster now. They're injecting naloxone now. I try again. I'm not the kind of person to beg, but desperate times call for desperate measures. He sighs a third time.
It takes a moment to realize that he's not sighing. He's saying, “Yeah.”
