One Last Attempt

011

"Freds," a voice whispers, shaking my arm. "Freddie. Wake up."

I rollover. I don't want to wake up. Sleep is the only time that my mind stops wandering. It's addicting. Sometimes I feel guilty for being so stressed, after all my life is pretty good. There is only one bad thing that has happened to me, and it hasn't happened yet.

"The taxi's waiting outside, come on," Baker insists.

Finally, I force myself upright. "Where are we going? You have an exam in the morning."

"Something's happened to Ava," he insists.

I pull myself out of bed and rush over to the closet. Baker excuses himself from the room as I pull on a hoodie. I switch out of my pants, only into sweats but at least they aren't plaid and made of fleece. From there, I dart into the hallway, only pausing in the doorway to put on my shoes and coat.

Once we're in the lift, and I've begun to catch my breath, I finally ask him. "What happened?"

"Jessie wouldn't get into details," Baker insists. "He just told me to come to the hospital. I figured that I'd bring you."

I can't be sure what it is, but I know that it has to do with drugs. Adderall, probably, but nothing is a guarantee even though this is my third time living through this night.

Baker is shaking in the taxicab. His whole body is convulsing. He bites his bottom lip until it turns bright red, and then he continues biting it. Soon enough, he's going to split his lip and bleed all over the seats.

My hand reaches over, and I place it over top of his. I squeeze down. He looks from our hands back up to me, his eyes wide and his lips parted.

"It'll be alright," I lie. I don't know anything at this point. I don't know how far we've diverted from the first timeline, if we've departed at all.

He shakes his head, but he doesn't move his hand. His skin is soft, softer than I was expecting. I don't have a list of things I've never told Baker, but if I did, I would add it there.

We get to the hospital, and only as we get out of the back of the cab do our hands pull apart. Together, we stand just outside, in the cold hours of an April night so late that it ought to be considered an April morning.

"We've got this, yeah?" Baker says, looking over at me. "We can be there for them, right?"

"Of course," I'm not sure that this is the right answer. I'm not sure that there is an answer.

We walk inside. I hate the smell of hospitals. They are so sterile that it's unnatural. In the entryway, I clean my chapped hands with hand sanitizer. Everything burns and so I let out a wince.

Baker picks up my hand and brings it closer to his face, examining it. "Jesus Freddie, you really need to moisturize."

I haven't gotten the time to smooth out the wrinkles in my life when I am so focused on him.

He takes hand sanitizer too, and I hope it doesn't destroy the softness of his skin. I hope that I can hold it again. The thought pops into my head when I don't want it there. I'm trying to save Baker because it's what he deserves, not for my own selfish reasons.

It takes a while for us to find Jessie. We make it to the emergency section, and he's hidden in a waiting room in the back. Baker actually has to call him before we can find him. His voice is more throat than anything else, probably still coated in slumber. It is late after all. If Jessie called us here at this hour, it must be something serious.