Another World | ✔️

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Trigger Warnings
Suicide
Depression

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Worry grows inside my as I see that there is still no reply on my phone. It's unlike Evan to miss school, especially without asking if it's okay. Him not answering on top of this makes me feel sick. I keep thinking that maybe something is wrong.

After some thought, I walk to the office, finding my boss sitting at a desk inside. He greets me kindly, and I quickly explain to him what's going on. "I got a notification that my son is absent at school today," I start. "He didn't mention staying home to me, and he's not answering my texts. I'm starting to really worry and I was hoping I could go on and check on him."

He's not too happy with my request, but he lets me go. He has kids of his own, and I know that he understands. I thank him many times before racing out of the hospital to my car. I drive right at the speed limit, wanting to get home quickly without risking anything. I know that I can't afford a ticket right now.

I still manage to get home within fifteen minutes, moving swiftly through the house and up the stairs. Evan's door is closed, and when I open it I freeze.

"E-Evan!"

Trying to stay as calm as possible, I run over and start shaking him. I feel tears streaming down my face as I take everything in. His skin is pale and starting to gain a blue-gray tint. His face is cold when I feel of it, and only a light breath against my hand reveals that he's alive.

After taking a shaky breath, I manage to gather the strength to pull out my phone and call 911. I find it hard to speak, but I manage to tell the operator the information that she needs to know. I almost choke on my words when I see the empty pill bottle and the note that's lying on his chest. I've seen scenes like this so many times, but I never imagined I would see it in my own home.

I gently take the paper from his hands and fold it up. I slip it in my pocket, deciding to read it later. For now, at least, Evan is still alive. Just barely, but he's still there. It's not time to focus on the paper, it's time to focus on him.

Still struggling to keep it together, I grab his hand in mine and squeeze it tightly. "Hang in there, Sweetie. Momma's here. Help is coming. It's going to be okay."

I want to believe those words are true, but I can see him declining in front of me. His breathing is growing more and more shallow, and when I feel for a pulse I find it weak and thready. His skin is growing more blue, and it looks as if he's gone.

It seems like hours before help comes. They rush upstairs and begin to work immediately. It hurts to watch as they attach a bag to his face and start to use it to give him breath. Within a few moments, an IV is in his arm and he's loaded into the back of an ambulance. I'm terrified as I sit beside him, still holding his hand, and watch as they remove the bag and shove a tube down his throat.

"Respiratory arrest is common in this situation. I'm afraid that intubation is the only option for survival. He's already starting to go into organ failure and waiting any longer risks cardiac arrest."

As a nurse, I know what all this means. I know that I'm watching my son die right in front of me. I know that there's a chance that this will be the last time I see him alive.

I feel so guilty. He was hurting and I didn't notice. What could I have done to help him? What could I have to stop him from doing this if I had saw sooner that something was wrong? What could I have done to make life better and easier for him? To make him want to live?

"Is he. . . Will he. . ."

I can't manage to get the question out. Thinking of the possibilities hurts me. I know what may happen. What probably will happen. What he wants to happen. I just don't want to believe it.

"Right now it's hard to say," he says gently. "We'll know more once we get him settled in. I would prepare for the worst but hope for the best."

I grip Evan's hand tighter at these words. I can feel myself shaking. How will I survive without my little guy? How can I live knowing that this could have been stopped? How could I ever forgive myself?

"Anything to make you happy. . .
Anything at all. . .
Anything for my boy. . .
In the bedroom down the hall. . ."