Turmoil

Leave me in the Dark

Phoenix

Atlanta trembles in my arms, I can feel her chest inflating, moving against mine, our heartbeats syncing, hers slowing.
I tighten my grip around her.
"It's okay now,"
It's good to have my best friend back.

I saw everything. From them kissing, to Atlanta freezing then pushing Jordan away. And all the while I watched her face. Stagnant and twisted and lost somewhere in the folds of time, eyes seeing creases where mine couldn't go with her.

Maybe in the future, she'll tell me in full what she went through. Maybe she won't. And I'm okay with that.

Gently, I slide a finger under Atlantas chin and tilt her face up, so she's looking at me. Two dark ponds, reflecting the moon stare back . I brush away a tear, trapping it beneath my thumb, as if I could squash her pain.

And with my eyes, I tell her how fucking proud I am. Proud that she found the courage inside herself, the strenght to push Jordan away. To realise that she is more than just what guys think of her.
She understands.

"Can you walk me back to the campsite, please?" her voice is a quiet whisper, hitching in her throat "I don't think... I don't think I can walk back alone"

I her own way, Atlanta just told me she needs me. That is enough.

I loop my arm around her, pulling her at the waist, pressing her to my side, and like two bloodied soldiers, we make our way home.

Tim is lying on the ground. At first, that registers as odd in my mind, his whole brawny body, set loose from all the formal rigidness that he usually carries.
Drunk.

I turn to share a raised eyebrow with Atlanta, I never thought Tim was the kind of person to get drunk. After his whole break down during the rubbish collection I thought he'd go for a run or something, to get it out of his system.

I half expected the whole silent fit to be a show, to get him away from us. Away from me. Something flashes in my mind. I turn to Atlanta, at my side so I don't have to think about it.

"I didn't think Tim was the drinking type,"

Before Atlanta can respond Lorraine emerges from the trees. Beside me, I feel Atlanta tense, body unmoving against mine. When Lorrane notices us, she freezes, gaze travelling between Atlanta and me, before landing on Tim. Her eyes widen. Atlanta's breath stills.

"That's because he isn't," Atlanta says and lets go of me, already running towards Tim.

They both see the bottle and the half empty plastic zip bag before I do.

"Oh my God," Lorraine whispers and then both she and Atlanta are kneeling, beside Tim, fingers pressed into the crevice of his neck, to his wrist. Looking for a pulse.

"He's not breathing," Lorraine is saying but Atlanta is already moving, lips pressing to Tims, blowing. Blowing life into him.

All I can do is watch. Atlanta bends down again, and again, life guard training kicking in, and she blows and she blows and Tim still doesn't breath.

Lorraine, on her hands and knees is collecting the scattered pills, pouring them back into the bottle. I'm not sure why she's concerned about that now, when Tim is fucking dying.
Tim dying.
Tim dead.
God.
Oh god.

"What are you standing for?" Lorraine snaps when her eyes peel away from the forest floor and settle on me "go get help"

Her voice, the command, wake me up better than an icy cold bucket of water. Finally, pushing movement into my feet, I run.

Donna opens the door of her hut, wearing nothing but frayed pijamas and a frown.
"There better be a damn reason-" she begins to say when she sees me but I cut her off.
"Tim overdosed," I wheeze out "he's at our campsite, unconscious,"
Donna's face changes from mildly irritated to glacial cold. Without a second word, she disappears inside, and I can hear her, speaking on the phone. My whole body is itching with tension. Even though Donna has been inside for less than a minute, every second we waste feels like we're pushing the grim reaper closer towards Tim. Finally, she emerges.
"Get in the jeep," is all she says.
I've never seen an adult drive so terrifyingly fast before.

When we get there, the paramedics are already on scene. Swarming in their red jackets, and the police are there too, weaving a flashing yellow tape around the trees. A crime scene. Somehow, I'm too exhausted to care.
One of the doctors is talking to Lorraine, who passes him all the collected drugs.
"Thank you," I hear him say "these will be very helpful when we apply the treatment. It's always good to know what exactly you are dealing with,"

Donna disappears to talk to some people, and despite wearing pink bunny pijamas, she looks fierce and very warroir like. She stands, arms crossed against her chest, staring down at the policeman trying to question her with a cool gaze.

"Where's Tim?" I ask Atlanta, when she comes over and slips her hand in mine. She feels warm and familiar. Comforting.
"They rushed him off to hospital," my hand is squeezed between her fingers and I lean my head against hers. Her hair tickles my cheek. I'm too tired to stand but yet I do, swaying on my feet a little. Atlanta takes the pressure of my weight without complaining. I want to ask her how she is, but my lips can't find the words etched in my mind.

"This isn't your fault Phoenix," Atlanta says suddenly, gently. It's like she read my mind. She really knows me too well.

"It feels like it is," I mumble into her hair and all the guilt comes rushing forth "if I hadn't pushed him into such an emotional place, if only I had ran after him when he got that panic attack or whatever it was, if only I had talked to him-"
"It wasn't your fault," my friend says firmly. Her arms wind their way around my torso. I think she knows that she's the only thing keeping me upright.

Donna, with her whole fierce self strides over to us from where she was talking to a paramedic. Her hair is pulled into tiny, tight braids close to her head, and she radiates a collected calmness that I can't match up with her maniac driving.
"You guys look beat," she says eyeing us critically before tossing us the car keys "the jeep is open for sleeping in, I'm going to be here for another while,"

She winces painfully as she says this and rubs her temple. Atlanta catches the keys with one hand. I sway a little when she loosens her grip on me. The night has taken a toll on all of us.

"How's Tim?" Lorraine asks, materializing out of the shadows and stopping by Atlanta's side, the fued between them forgotten, at least for now. With Lorraine, it's hard to say what she's feeling, with her airs of politeness and manners to shield her. She looks paler in much too scrawny in the watery moonlight. Her face is pinched together with tension.

"We don't know yet," Donna says and offers us an apologetic shrug before walking off to talk to some paramedic that caught her eye, leaving the three of us standing in the dark.