Antipodes

Fourteen

He couldn't remember how he woke up nor how he managed to answer the phone. He wasn't sure who called him or why but he knew it was important that he goes faster. He couldn't say if he was actually awake or just dreaming. What kind of dream was that? It was five in the morning and he was driving to ... to where? He was confused as he tried to reconstitute the discussion in his head. "She's dead", he thought and he felt sick just the thought of it. "No, no, no", he said trying to reassure himself. He was in such a state of mental dullness that he hadn't notice the red light he just passed. 

He pulled over, breathing in and out. His hands were shaking, he wondered how he managed to drive without actually going into a wall or a tree or someone. He ran to the elevator, praying, to whom? God? He couldn't tell but he could now understand people who believed in some God. He entered directly into the living room. The music was loud but he heard nothing but his heart beating to break his ribcage. He felt like drowning in an ocean of people, going in and out, screaming, dancing. He looked around searching for her. He was pulled out from his thoughts when someone screamed in his ear "Follow me !". And he did follow the girl who led him upstairs.

"She's there, in the corner", she told him. 

And there she was, sitting in the corner, with her head between her knees and her arms around them. He sighed from relief and approached her. He knelt by her side, caressing her hair.

"Rox", his voice broke. "It's me, Ryan".

She raised her reddened eyes and looked at him smiling. She looked lost or insane, he couldn't tell.

"You came", she said.

"Yes, I'm here. I'll take you home", he said lifting her.

"Shouldn't you take her to the hospital instead?", asked Kacey still standing at the door.

"Why didn't you take her yourself then? And what the fuck did you gave her?", he screamed looking at her dead in the eye.

"I... she...", she mumbled.

"She didn't want to go anywhere with us. She was screaming and kicking and she told us to call you", said Sam helping him lift her.

"Stay away from her", he threatened him. He backed away. 

"What did you gave her?" Ryan repeated.

"Gave her?", asked Kacey. "She took it herself !" she screamed trying to defend herself.

"Okay", he said getting up calmly. "Then what did she take by herself?", he asked again. He wanted to slap this girl so much, she was getting on every little one of his nerves.

"We smoked some weed at your house...", Sam hesitated.

"Just fucking tell me!", screamed Ryan impatiently. "I'm not calling the police if that's what you're afraid of".

"MDMA, vodka, maybe some thing else, I'm not sure", he said.

"You seem to be used to these little mortal cocktails, aren't you?", he asked him.

He didn't wait for his answer, he had his sister, and she was alive. He put her on the backseat, she fell asleep right away. He drove all the way home turning around every now and then and checking if she was still breathing. As soon as they arrived to his apartment, he took her straight to her bathroom. He knelt her in front of the toilet seat and stuck two of his fingers in her throat. Her eyes widened in pain.

"I'm sorry but you need to get whatever you took out of your system", he told her holding her hair with his other hand. And vomit, she did, for what seemed to be an eternity. He then took her to the bathtub.

"Wake up", he told her taking her beautiful pale face between his hands. She opened her eyes, and looked around.

"Where am I?", she asked him in a low, weak voice.

"Home", he said. "It's gonna be a little cold okay?", he said taking off her dress. He sprayed her with cold water first to accelerate her blood circulation so that she eliminates the maximum of drugs from her system. After what, he washed her hair  and body with soap and tepid water. He dried her carefully with a towel and dressed her with one of his t-shirts and a boxer shorts. He didn't know where she kept her pyjamas. And he'd seen enough of her intimacy tonight to go and search for underwear in her drawers. He put her in her bed and sat in the little armchair near the window. He put his face in both of his hands, breathing deeply trying to chase away the tears that were about to flood his face. He tried. He failed.

"What's wrong with you?", he asked himself.