Nothing. No response. His skin was cool to the touch but not cold, and when I put my fingers against his neck I found a pulse that was there but weak and slow.
He was breathing. Barely. Shallow and irregular in ways that made terror slam into me so hard I could barely think.
I grabbed my phone and dialed 911 with hands that were shaking so badly I almost dropped it.
“911, what's your emergency?”
“My friend—he's unconscious. Not responding. There are pills everywhere and I think he overdosed.” The words came out fast and jagged. “He's breathing but barely. I need an ambulance right fucking now.”
“Okay, sir, stay calm. What's the address?”
I gave it to her, rattling off the street and house number while I kept my other hand on Soren's chest to feel it rise and fall. The dispatcher was asking questions—how many pills, what kind, how long had he been unresponsive—and I didn't have answers to any of them.
“I don't know. I just found him like this. There are bottles everywhere, I can't tell what he took or how much.” My voice was getting louder, panic bleeding through. “Please, you need to send someone now. He's not waking up.”
“Paramedics are on their way. Can you tell me if he's breathing?”
“Yes. But it's shallow. Too shallow.” I leaned closer to him, watching his chest barely move. “Soren, come on. Stay with me. Please.”
“Sir, I need you to stay on the line with me until help arrives. Can you do that?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I'm here.” I was kneeling next to the bed now, one hand still on his chest and the other gripping the phone so hard my knuckles were white. “How long until they get here?”
“They're three minutes out. You're doing great. Just keep talking to him, okay? Let him know you're there.”
I set the phone down and grabbed Soren's hand, squeezing it hard enough that it should have hurt. “Baby, it's Rook. I'm here. The ambulance is coming. You're going to be okay. You have to be okay.”
His hand was limp in mine, and the wrongness of that — the complete absence of response — made my chest feel like it was caving in.
“I'm sorry,” I said, and my voice cracked. “I'm so fucking sorry for Montreal. For pulling away. For making you think you were too much when you were exactly what I wanted. I'm sorry, Soren. Please don't leave me. Please.”
The silence that answered me was the worst thing I'd ever heard.
I heard the sirens before I saw the lights, and thirty seconds later the paramedics were through the door. The 911 operator told me I'd done well and ended the call, and I stepped back to give them room and immediately called Talia.
She picked up on the first ring. “Did you find him?”
“Yeah.” The word came out rough. “I called an ambulance. You need to get to the hospital. Now.”
“Oh god.” I heard her breath catch. “How bad?”
“Bad. Pills everywhere. He's unconscious, barely breathing. Talia, I don't know—” I stopped because saying out loud that I didn't know if he was going to make it felt like giving up. “Just get there. I'll meet you.”
I hung up and immediately called my mom, and the second she answered I started talking.
“I need you and Dad to meet me at the hospital. Toronto General. It's an emergency.”
“Rowan, what happened? Are you hurt?”
“Not me. Soren. He's—” My voice gave out, and I had to take a breath to steady myself. “Mom, just get there. Please.”
“We're leaving now. Twenty minutes.” She didn't ask more questions, didn't demand explanations, just accepted that I needed her and moved. “We love you, sweetheart. We'll see you soon.”
The house was full of paramedics who moved with efficient urgency that made the situation feel even more real. They asked questions I couldn't answer, checked vitals I couldn't interpret, and loaded Soren onto a stretcher with movements that looked practiced and terrifying.
I followed them out to the ambulance, and one of the paramedics—a woman with kind eyes and steady hands—stopped me before I could climb in.
“Are you family?”
