She grabs my bicep. Her short nails bite in. ‘Harris, if the ambos come to the house and see an OD, they’ll call the cops –’
‘Jesus.’ I close my eyes, try to breathe. Reggie shivers in my arms. ‘Lemme think. Christ. Lemme –’
In a few fast strides I cross the living room, lay Reggie down on the couch. His shivers turn into jerks and twitches, like he’s about to launch into a full-blown seizure. I’m not gonna dump this kid on the pavement. I’m not gonna have that on my conscience, no fucking way. Shit.Shit.
I dunno what else to do. I yank my phone out of my jeans pocket and punch Call.
‘Harris?’ Amie’s voice sounds hollow down the line.
‘Come to the house. We need a medic, there’s been a… Jesus Christ, justcome to the house.’
‘I’m coming,’ she says, and disconnects. God, does this girl ever hesitate?
‘What did you do?’ Steph pulls me around. ‘Harris. Who did you just call?’
‘A friend.’ I can’t stand here, watching Reggie twitch on the couch. I pace in front of him. ‘A nurse. Shit –’
‘You called anurse?’
‘Get outta my face for a second, will ya?’ I pace some more, pull at my hair. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. This is a bad idea. This is a good idea. I can’t fucking decide. I think Reggie is deciding for me. He starts to convulse on the couch.
‘Jesus –’ Steph starts, then she tugs at him, pulls him off the couch. ‘Move the table. Thetable, you dickhead!’
I clear the coffee table outta the way with one sharp shove as Reggie tumbles to the floor. His head hits the carpet with a thunk.
‘Turn him,’ Steph pants. ‘Christ, will you hold him?’
‘I’m holdin’ him!’ I get a sudden nauseating flash on some of the stuff the doctors and nurses said when I was first admitted to Ouyen hospital with my leg. My stomach rises, but I can’t spew now. Things are too urgent for that.
There’s a knock on the door.
‘It’s open!’ Steph calls, which is weirdly neighbourly and hilarious, and I’m gonna throw up in a minute if I don’t think of something else. Reggie’s heels drum the carpet. My heartbeat drums with them.
‘I’m here,’ Amie says, breathless, and I need to glance at her, just to centre myself. She takes in the scene. ‘Oh god –’
‘Is this –’ Steph takes one look at Amie as she sinks down beside us, immediately looks at me. ‘The clothes.’
‘Bloody –’ I’m almost ready to scream by this point. ‘No one gives a shit about the clothes!’ Turn to Amie. ‘What do you need?’
She ignores me for a second, starts talking, almost like she’s talking to herself. ‘Okay. Okay – recovery position. Don’t hold him – Harris, let him go. Watch his tongue. Rapid shallow breathing. Pulse is…’ She lifts her eyes to me. ‘Timer?’
I grab for my phone, set it. She puts her fingers on Reggie’s neck, watches the clock as she talks. ‘I need cold – wet towels, ice, blankets. His temp’s gotta come down.’ She jerks back, we all do, as Reggie convulses and a spill of watery gunk comes out his mouth. Then she shuffles closer. ‘A towel, something –’
I strip off my T-shirt, still damp from the bathroom, and thrust it at her. She wipes Reggie’s vomit, slips her fingers inside his mouth, feels around. ‘Okay, airway’s clear –’ Suddenly her eyes are on me and Steph, and her voice is commanding. ‘Didn’t I tell you I need cold?’
‘I’ll get towels.’ I stagger off my knees, run for my room. Call out to Steph as she goes for the kitchen. ‘Have we got any ice?’
‘When do we ever have fuckingice?’ Steph yells, but she goes to look anyway.
Towels, sheets, the blanket off my bed: I sprint it all through to the bathroom, dump it on the floor of the shower and spin the cold faucet to full. Takes ten seconds for the stuff to soak. By that time, Steph’s come in with a red plastic bucket.
‘In here.’ She’s still not looking at me. She waits for me to shove the sopping load into the bucket, then carries the whole mess back out to the living room.
As soon as it reaches her, Amie starts yanking the cold wet cloth out of the bucket and on top of Reggie. ‘Help me. Here, on his neck, under his arms and knees –’
I drag out handfuls of wet sheets and stuff them around Reggie’s limp body, swaddling him up. Reggie’s stopped convulsing; now he just looks sick and awful. I can’t think about what he did to himself, what it means. I can only concentrate on what’s happening this second – the sound of my own harsh breathing, Amie’s scared-looking face, the water soaking into the knees of my jeans.
But the cold is good for me as well as Reggie: I don’t feel so airy now, my head is starting to come back online. ‘Is he gonna be all right?’
