Tracks (Rock Bottom) (30 page)

After a few more seconds his shaking subsides again and he lays still. I sob and put his head in my lap, using the bottom of the towel to wipe the bubbling saliva from his mouth. Scott stands up and moves everything out of the way, all the furniture and shoes, and then returns to the floor at his feet.

“I think we have to time them to see if they’re getting longer. The l
ast one was about 20 seconds.”

I look up at him in terror. “
You mean there’s going to be more?”

He shakes his hea
d. “I don’t know. I hope not.”

I tremble and stare desperately at Scott. “
Did he overdose? Is he dying?!” I scream.

Scott shakes his head again. “I don’t know. I don’t think so
,” he says, quickly.

I look down at his lifeless body, his head lulling on my lap. “Jeremy,” I cry out. “Jeremy? Wake up! Jeremy
, please!” He doesn’t respond.

I feel his body
start to move, but it’s trembling again. I hyperventilate. “No, no, no!” I say over and over. But it doesn’t stop the shaking from growing, traveling down his body, until his whole body is again bucking. His head flies back and forth on my lap.

I put my hand on his cheek and steady his head. I whisper
, as low as I can in my terrified state, in his ear. I tell him how much I love him and how special he is. I tell him that he can’t leave me, and that I need him. I tell him I’ll never love anyone the way I love him, over and over, until the shaking subsides once again.

His breathing is hard and uneven. I look up at Scott, who is staring at me, disappointed. Whether or not it’s at the state that Jeremy is in, or if in the words I said, I can’t tell. Surely he wouldn’t deny a dying man some comfort? My
stomach rolls at the thought.

“30 seconds,” he whispers to me as I sob. It’s getting worse, then.

I hear my door knob turn and the door burst open. I see Rich run in the doorway and stop when he spots Jeremy’s body on the floor. The doctor, who is the same doctor I saw when I was rescued from the crowd, comes around Rich and drops immediately to the floor.

“What happen
ed?” he demanded, rummaging in his bag. I open my mouth to speak, but an ugly crying sound is the only thing that escapes.

“He’s seizing,” Scott volunteers. “He started shaking and fell to the ground. He’s had three seizures. They keep getting longer.”

The doctor removes a long needle from his bag and a vial of liquid. He sticks the needle in the vial and draws up the medication, spraying some out of the top before sticking it into Jeremy’s upper arm. He pushes the medicine into his arm and withdraws the needle.

“Ativan,” he says
to me. “To stop the seizing.”

I nod and try to calm myself. The doctor suggests that we get him into a bed. I stand so Rich can grab his upper bod
y while Scott carries his legs.

I grab jeans and a t-shirt from my drawer while they move him and run into the bathroom. I make record time throwing my clothes on and run into my room just as the men
place him on the bed and are backing away from him. I walk over and kneel by the side of the bed. I grab his limp hand, running my fingers over the rough tips of his. Silent tears fall from my eyes.

We all stay like that for a few moments, and with relief Jeremy doesn’t seize. He still trembles a bit, but his face seems
serene. He almost looks like he could be peacefully sleeping.

After the doctor takes Jeremy’s vital signs
and determines they’re stable, he excuses himself to make a few calls. Rich sits in the chair that Scott slept in the night before, rubbing his face from strain and worry.

“Rich,” I whisper, not wanting to break the silence. “You know him better
than anyone. What’s going on?”

Rich shrugs. “I don’t
know Miss Dylan. I’ve seen him shake sometimes, sure, but never seen him like this.”

I look up at Scott who is standing by the foot of the bed, looking intently at my hand clasped in Jeremy’s. He makes eye contact with me for a brief second and then looks away. He clears his throat. “Excuse me,”
he whispers, exiting the room.

I feel incredibly guilty, but I can’t bring myself to leave Jeremy’s side.
This may be the last time I’m with Jeremy. Scott would forgive me, but I’d never forgive myself if I wasn’t there to comfort Jeremy at the end.

The doctor enters back into the room and stands at the edge of the bed. I see Scott stand by the doorway. I hold my breath
as the doctor begins to speak.

“I’m relatively sure he’s going through alcohol withdrawal. The shakes and seizures he’s having fit with that. I’d say he hasn’t had a drink in a day or two, and for a major a
lcoholic, that’s a long time.”

“Since
I left,” I mutter in surprise.

The doctor continues, “I happened to notice he has track marks on his arms and hands. I think Mr. Mason is in serious jeopardy
if he doesn’t get some help.”

My breath catches, “What kind of help?” I ask desperately.

“Rehab. I can get him into a facility quickly.”

“But, his label will drop him if there’s any talk of drugs agai
n. They told him so. And he’d be violating probation.” I say, dazed.

“Miss
Ackhart, he will recover from this incident, but without rehab I believe Mr. Mason will eventually die.”

I stare at the doctor as that sinks in. I know what he says is true.
I’ve thought it many times myself. But no one knows Jeremy like I do- the problems he has now and has faced his whole life. Because he’s a genius, he sees the world differently. He sees people and situations differently. No one is truly on his level; he feels no one could ever understand him. How are these counselors and nurses at the rehab supposed to make him better, if they don’t understand him?

The doctor sees that I’m warring with myself in my thoughts. He sighs. “I suppose there is another option that would keep this fr
om the press, but it’s risky.”

My eyes shoot to him. “What?”

“He could detox at home.” The doctor waits for my reaction.

I think for a moment. It seems like a reasonable soluti
on. “Why would that be risky?”

“Because it’s not as secu
re at home as a rehab center would be. He doesn’t have other peers here he can relate to. Drugs would be much more easily accessible to him. Does he live alone?”

I bite my lip. “Yes.”

The doctor nods. “We can have a nurse stationed with him at all times.”

I consider the idea of that. It seems like a good idea, aside from Jeremy being
basically alone with only a stranger around. It seems lonely and boring, which would make me want to use if I were an addict. “What if…” I say, quietly. “What if he stays here?”

I hear Scott scoff. “You can’t
be serious?” he almost pleads.

“Why not?”
I ask. “He wouldn’t be cared for by only a perfect stranger. I could be here and care for him, too. Help him. Wouldn’t it be nice for him to have a comforting, familiar face?”

Sco
tt stares at me, open mouthed.

The doctor considers the idea. “Actually, it is a good idea.
He doesn’t have drugs that he’s hidden here. If you think you can stomach it, that is. Detox can be nasty. People change during that time. They suffer as well, as much as we try to control it.”

I look over at Rich, wh
o is looking at me. He shrugs.

I hear Scott begin to walk forward, moving past the doctor. He grabs me by the shoulders and stands me up, forcing me to let go of Jeremy’
s hand.

“Dylan,” he begins. “What makes you responsible for him? What makes this your problem? You’re in your first year at Harvard! In your first God damn semester! You don’t need this bullshit. You’re going to ruin your life over this. There’s no way you can handle school, a job, and all of this shit.”

I look down towards my feet. His pleading face is hard to bear- so full of concern and caring for me. Honestly, deep down I’m worried that he’s right.

“He has people that
take care of him,” Scott continues. “I know you feel love for him. But you don’t have to throw away your life for the stupid choices he’s made.”

I look back up at him. “I don’
t have to. You’re right.” Scott looks relieved.

“No, I’m not done,” I continue. He tenses again. “I don’t have to Scott, but I’m willing to. Because I love him. When you love someone, their problems become your problems, a
nd their pain becomes your pain.”

He whispers to me, “So how do you think the pain you’ll have when you throw your life away
on him will affect me?” He stares into my eyes intensely. His blue eyes sparkle, and search mine for a reaction.

Did he just tell me he loves me?

When I don’t respond, Scott lets go of my arms and turns quickly, walking for the door. I want to call to him, to stop him, but I know whatever I say isn’t going to be what he wants to hear. Fleetingly, the visions I had about Scott not long ago floated across my brain: sweet kisses not tinged with sex or cigarettes, Thanksgivings at home with my Dad and Scott at my side, graduating from Harvard top of my class and earning my dream job with an engagement ring on my finger, a nice home with a blonde haired baby and a dog. But when I hear my front door open, the dreams of him follow Scott out the door, and are shut out of my mind as the door slams shut.

The doctor nods at me when I focus my eyes again on him. “I’ll make the arrangements, then.
I’ll have a nurse here within an hour. I’ll stay until she gets here.” He walks out of the room, digging his cell phone out of his pants pocket on the way.

I look at Rich, who’s staring at Jeremy, still by the bed. “What are they going to do about the tour?” I a
sk.

“His publicist will take care of all that. We’ll say he’s sick with something that will leave him in bed for a few
weeks.” Rich looks exhausted.

“Go home, Rich. We’ll b
e ok. No one knows he’s here.”

Rich nods. “I’ll have a police car stationed across the street anyway. But I’m going to get some sleep.
I’ll take the doctor home.”

I scoot against the wall to allow Rich to pass between me and the bed. I watch him silently walk out of the door before turning back to Jeremy.
His breathing is light and even; his body still. His skin is still disturbingly grey, but even now his beauty is breathtaking. His multicolored hair is haphazardly lying on the pillow, and I find myself pulled toward him to fix it. I run my hand through his hair, smoothing it, petting him.

I realize how tired I am, looking at him sleep. I debate whether or not to sleep in Theresa’s room, knowing since it’s Saturday she won’t be home until at least tomorrow night.
I remind myself that it would probably be wise to call her in the morning to warn her about what she’s walking into. I’m hoping Sean will offer her a place to stay while Jeremy detoxes here. I wouldn’t want Theresa burdened with this mess, too.

I let my hand run down his hair and onto his face, the stubble tickling my fingers. I think about him in his prime, on stage, sweat dripping from his head. I see him strum his silver guitar, raising his hand above his head and arching his back: his sparking eyes, his white smile, his infectious laugh. How far he’s fallen…how broken he l
ooks…

I don’t bother to change out of my t-shirt and jeans. Instead I round the bed to the empty side, gently climbing on and pulling the covers over my legs. I slide carefully over to Jeremy and rest my head on his chest. I form my body against his and drape my arm around his waist. I hope he can feel me and know I’m there. I hope my body feels as wonderful and familiar to him as his does to me.

When I saw him standing in the foyer of my house and we made eye contact, I knew he was there because he loved me. He was coming to tell me he wanted to change, that much is clear because he stopped drinking the moment I left. Knowing that he loved me, I know I would do anything and give up anything to see him better. I was no longer a single person; I was drowning in him again. Except this time, it wasn’t just physically, but mentally and emotionally, and every other way imaginable. My person was consumed by him. At this very moment, feeling the man I love against me, knowing I’m comforting him in his hour of need- it was more than enough to make me blissfully happy.

            
 
The night flew by in a blur. I vaguely remember meeting the nurse, thankfully an older lady with graying hair. I remember being selfishly happy that I probably didn’t have to worry about a Florence Nightingale effect. I drifted in and out of sleep as she hooked Jeremy up to many machines: an IV in his left arm, a heart monitor, and every hour or so a blood pressure machine.

I begin
to stir late the next morning, when I feel a hand petting my hair. My eyes flutter open, adjusting to the light. I don’t feel well rested at all, due to waking up multiple times during the night. I lift my eyes up towards the hand that’s caressing me and see a pair of ice blue eyes staring down at me.