ripped jeans | hes

fifty three

nepenthe (noun)- something that can make you forget grief or suffering

"What?" I felt my body freeze.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

"Harry." I rushed in behind him, stepping around Harry to see my brother leaned over the toilet, his arm hugging the bowl and his squishy cheek rested on the seat.

"What? What happened?" My jaw dropped and my eyes grew.

"I've seen this before." Harry calmly walked over to Alec and gently spun Alec's limp body around so we could see his face.

His gorgeous face had flushed to a putrid pale blue color, liquid vomit staining the front of his blue shirt and spilling onto the seat of his shorts. His eyes were peacefully shut and his body was almost lifeless.

"Harry..." I covered my hand over my mouth, body suddenly stiff with shock. "Oh, I'm going to throw up. He looks dead! Is my brother-"

"Addison, shut up!" Harry whisper-yelled at me. "He's not dead."

"Oh my God." I cried, holding onto the shower handle to stay upright.

"Hey, Alec. Hey, buddy." Harry bent down so he was eye-level with Alec and softly slapped his cheek.

Alec didn't respond or even flinch.

"Harry." I whispered but he didn't respond.

"Alec. Alec, wake up." Harry slapped Alec again, a little harder that time. "Hey, Alec. Are you alright?"

"Harry, stop." I cried out louder, my legs beginning to shake. "Stop. You're hurting him!"

Harry pressed his ear against his chest before immediately adjusting Alec so he was on his side. "I think he has alcohol poisoning."

"What?" I asked.

I couldn't even grasp the concept, everything was just becoming clogged in my brain. I couldn't even think straight and I could feel hot tears pricking my eyes.

My little brother looked dead.

"I-I can't be sure." Harry brought his hand to Alec's cheek, as if he was going to slap him again, but he just kept it there. "But I've seen it before. I can practically taste the vodka in his breath, he reeks of it. He's really fucked up."

"Vodka?" I didn't understand. "He's only-"

Harry looked up at me, his voice firm. "Get one of his sweatshirts."

"But, I-"

"Addison." His voice was stern. "We don't have time. He's cold."

I looked over at Alec's limp body one more time before sprinting into his room. I dug wildly into one of his laundry piles, flinging the clothes around his room, until my hands finally grasped onto a blue UCLA sweatshirt- the one I had gotten him for Christmas.

I ran back into the bathroom and threw the sweatshirt at Harry, who easily caught it and shimmied it onto Alec's limp body.

"What are we going to do?" I asked, staying in the doorway.

"Well," Harry pulled the hood over Alec's head before flattening out my brother's blonde hair. "He's unresponsive and unconscious. He's cold.  He's barley breathing. He's pale. He's thrown up everywhere. He still might have alcohol in his system. This really isn't looking good. We have to think fast."

"I used to be a lifeguard at the country club. Should I try CPR?" I asked quietly. "It might not work since he's already unconscious, but."

"Yes, yes. Try." Harry stood up and beckoned me to kneel beside my brother.