Trembling I reach for his hand, tears poured from my eyes. It couldn’t be. It’s not true. Not him. Why wasn’t it me? I curl my fingers around his hand and whispered, “ Jordan?” It fell from my lips like molasses from its jar.
Stretched out like a corpse he lay on bed, right in front of me. Three bottles of pills sit on the bed, vile to my eyes. All empty. I can’t think, I can’t hear, I can’t breathe. “ No, No. You don’t get to give up!” I scream. Pulling out my cell I dial 911. The phone falls from my hands.
“911.” A woman’s voice pours from the phone.
I have to talk. I have to speak. I barely get out the words as they tumble across my tongue “ I need an ambulance to 685 Rosewood Street.”
“What’s the emergency?”
I need to get him out. My mind is screaming, and my thoughts drowning in the sound. I leave the phone on the bed without responding. I manage to pull him out of the bed. His body thuds against the floor. He’s dragging against the carpet, but what choice do I have? This is supposed too be me. He’s too heavy. Jordan’s 170 pounds feels like 300 on my puny arms. I can’t do this...
Somehow I manage to get him up the stairs. His body is limp, and his fingers are ice cold. Am I to late? That’s when I hear them. The sirens screaming from down the street. Thank God. Hot tears are rolling down my cheeks, falling from my eyes, and onto his black, messy hair.
“ Jordan, please, be okay. Please.” I keep dragging him. I make it through the kitchen and to the front door. Pain courses through my arms.
A man with broad shoulders comes to the door, and pulls it open rushing to pick up Jordan. I fallow behind him, all the way up our steps. I count each one.
Step 10.“Please, Don’t let him die.” My words slip out as whispers.
Step 28. I’m bawling so hard, I can barely breath.
Step 34. I’m supposed to be the depressed one. I dig my fingers into my arms.
Step 40. I’m the cutter.
My foot reaches the last stair. Step 50. Why him?
Once we’re in the ambulance, they do something to him; Jordan moans loudly. Bittersweet relief entertains my mind, at least he’s alive. “ Don’t let my brother die. Don’t let him die. Don’t let him die.” I’m whispering it over and over. The Paramedics don’t hear me over the screaming sirens. They are all yelling phrases my mind can’t process, at each other over the sound of the sirens. I cover my my ears and press my head hard against my knees. He just wanted it to be over...
After what seems like the longest ride of my life, pull into the hospital’s emergency entrance. “ Is he going to be okay?” They rush past me, leaving me sitting in the ambulance. I’m running. I’m screaming. Why is no one telling me anything? I’m told to sit. To wait. That I would be updated. How do they expect me to wait? Fill out papers? How can I...?
Seconds pass. Minutes drag on. Hours taunting me with evil thoughts.
“ Hello, you’re with Jordan Gates, right? Jenny, his sister?” A man in a long white coat stare down at me from behind his glasses. My eyes are stuck on the clock behind him. Where they have been stuck the last two hours. More like the last year. I snap out of it, and stare him in the eye. His grey hair is well combed; his eyes are kind. He going to tell me he’s dead. He’s going to tell me I didn’t get there fast enough... He’ll try to make me feel better or tell me he’s sorry for my loss. I’m breaking. I can’t. I need to be together for Jordan. I need to be brave.
“Yes.” My voice cracks, and again I can’t stop tears from pouring over my eyelids. The palms of my hands are clammy and squeezing my arms tight enough that I’m sure there will be bruises along with the scars.
“There were complications, but your brother is going to be okay.” The doctor smiles at me. “ He’s sleeping, but you can see him now.”
Well anyways, you kept the readers attention. (which is really good, especially since you kept mine. Lol) I'm not too good at reviews, but I usually come up with some questions that can help expand a story.
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