Timothèe Chalamet Imagines

❈overdose II❈

Trigger Warning: This depicts description of suicide and its aftermath. Please do not read if you think that this could be triggering in any way. I really want to make sure that I am not romanticizing this extremely delicate and urgent issue. Please take this warning seriously.

Your POV

"...blood pressure is alright, oh, she's coming around." I hear someone say. I also hear a loud ringing in my ears. I slowly open my eyes, and realize there are two faces leaning over me.

"Hi sweetie. How do you feel? You fainted, you're okay," one of the faces says. It's the doctor who took the glass out of my hand.

Jack.

Jack is gone. I gasp and try to sit up, but the doctor pushes me back down.

"Sit up slowly. Everything is going to be alright," she says. I let her help me sit up, and realize I'm on a stretcher in my own living room.

"Where's Jack?" I ask. She hesitates before answering me.

"I'm sorry honey, but he's gone," she says. I don't even register her tone. I fight back a scream. My head feels light and fuzzy.

"Here, drink some water," the other doctor says, holding out a glass of water from my own kitchen. I take it shakily.

"Is there somebody that you can call?" the doctor that pulled the glass out of my hand asks.

"Uh... Timothée. Where's my... phone? Where's my phone?"

Am I saying these words out loud?

I realize my phone is on the floor where I dropped it. I swing my legs over the side of the stretcher, but the doctor stops me.

"You stay here, drink the water," she says, as she walks over and grabs my phone for me. I take it and instantly call Timmy. The other doctor starts packing everything away, and I realize it is just the three of us now. I wonder how long I was blacked out for.

"Y/N?" Timothée answers.

"Um... Timmy... can you come get me?" I ask. My voice is hoarse and shaky.

"Uh... yeah sure. Where are you? And why?" he asks.

"I'm at my apartment. Can you come? Please?" I ask.

"Yeah. I'll be there in, like, twenty minutes," he says. He has no idea.

"Okay... thanks. I'll explain when you get here," I say, my voice still shaking. I don't wait for a reply, I just hang up. The doctor comes over and rubs my back.

"I'm so sorry sweetie. Where are you parents?" she asks. I swallow, my throat dry.

"I live here alone. I'm an actress. I just moved here. My parents live in Iowa."

She nods and continues rubbing my back.

Jack is dead. Jack is dead. Jack killed himself in my bathroom.

"Everything is going to be okay. We'll help you through this. Try to take some deep breaths," she says. The other doctor has finished packing everything away.

I slide off of the stretcher and stand shakily before sinking into my couch. Hot tears start streaming down my cheeks as the doctor sits beside me, still rubbing my back.

I don't know how long I stare at my freshly painted blue living room wall and cry, numbness tingling through my body, before I hear a knock on my door. I start to stand, but the other doctor opens the door before I can.

Timmy stands there, a worried look painted across his face.

"What's going..." he sees me standing behind the doctor. "Y/N! Thank god you're okay. There are ambulances down there... what's going on?" he asks, walking across the room and over to me.