Categories > Original > Drama > What's Another Night All Alone, When You're Spending Every Day On Your Own...

Heather's P.O.V.

by NauticalStarGirl 0 reviews

This one's in Heather's point of view, 'cause I thought she needed a turn to speak :')

Category: Drama - Rating: G - Genres: Angst,Drama,Romance - Published: 2011-11-15 - Updated: 2011-11-15 - 1001 words

First off, sorry for the century long wait for this chapter, for anyone who may have been reading this...I've had severe writers block and two maths exams in one week! But the story is back now, and is in Heather's point of view this time! :)

Heather's P.O.V

I sat in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, holding Dylan's cold hand the whole way. It was terrible, seeing him like this, so pale, so fragile. I knew he'd been picked on at school, but to this extent? They'd actually driven him to attempt suicide? The bastards. He didn't move, the whole way there he was still as stone, unless the paramedics moved him. They asked me questions, things like his surname, his age, things I couldn't tell them, because despite him being my friend I hadn't known him all that long. The only reassuring thing in this moving metal box of death, was the heart monitor they'd clipped to two of his fingers, it was beating, slowly, but still beating. One of the paramedics came and sat next to me, and put her arm around my shoulders. "You alright kiddo?" She smiled at me, "Not particularly..." I admitted, "What...What will happen to him, y'know, when you get to the hospital?" I asked, nervously. She took a deep breath and responded with "At the moment, it looks like we'll have to stomach pump him, he's quite heavily overdosed, and drank near enough the entire bottle of vodka. That's almost straight ethanol plus two boxes of sleeping pills..." I gulped, more tears spilling over my eyes and down my cheeks. If he woke up...No, WHEN he woke up, I was going to slap him so hard for doing this. "Will he be okay though? Will he make it?" I asked, my voice cracked slightly on the last four words. "I think he'll be okay sooner or later, it'll take a while for him to recover, and he'll be in the psychiatric unit for a while, but suicide via overdose only really works 40% of the time." I hated that word, suicide, but it was reassuring that there was a 60% survival rate..."Okay, thanks..." I said, looking at the floor.

About half way to the hospital, the ambulance put on the sirens, it was so loud, Jesus Christ.../ I thought, [/Noise like this could wake the dead... Then I immediately pushed that last thought from my head, looking back at Dylan's un-moving body, it sent a shiver down my spine. I was worried now, surely they'd only put on the sirens if they needed to get to hospital quickly, if he'd gotten worse? I held my breath and prayed for the best. He WILL get through this, he fucking well WILL. I thought.

We arrived at the hospital and the ambulance doors were flung open, Dylan's stretcher was wheeled out and rushed to the hospital by the paramedics and I ran after him, it was raining heavily by now, and getting dark, one of the paramedics put a cover over his face but while they were running it flew off again and landed in a puddle. I picked it up for them and we kept running. When we got into the hospital they ran down the hall, past numerous rooms and into an empty one, where they lifted the bed part of the stretcher onto the actual hospital bed and started messing around with tubes and shit. I looked down at him, he was still scarily pale, and his hair was soaked from the rain, he had an oxygen mask on his face and the doctors were sticking tubes into his arms. I asked one of the doctors standing to the side when they'd pump his stomach, and he said as soon as possible.
In the mean time I sat and watched as they worked over his dying body.

About ten minutes after arriving in the hospital and what I presumed to be them 'stabilizing' him, they moved him again. I wanted to tell them to leave him to rest, but I realized they must be ready to start the stomach pumping. I followed them out of the hospital room and made note of the number on the door, 39, we went down a hall way and around a corner, then down another hallway and around another corner, then they went into a set of double doors, but when I tried to follow one of the doctors turned to me and said "Sorry, but this is as far as you're allowed to come. You can wait outside though." And he pointed at a set of chairs and a coffee machine. I don't know how long I sat out there for, but it felt like millenniums. I contemplated getting a coffee, but the thought of the events from earlier today put me right off. After about and hour or so, one of the doctors came out wiping sweat from his brow. I panicked silently, was this good news or bad? He just looked down at me and said "It's getting late kid. I think you'd better go home." WHAT?! I thought, WHAT?! I waited out here for fucking ever and you're just telling me to go home?! I turned to him and said "Will he be okay? Please, I need to know." He just looked at me and said "He's in a stable but critical position, at the moment he's pretty bad, but not showing any signs of getting worse. Don't worry, he'll still be here tomorrow, you can visit him then." I sighed, I knew I wasn't going to win with this guy, "Okay, well thanks...I'll be back tomorrow." I said, and I got up, and left the hospital.
I didn't know how I was going to get home, I didn't fancy calling dad, and I had no money for the bus, Might as well walk. I thought to myself, as I set off in the rain for home.
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