CW: overdose, suicide mention
There was a commotion at the door, the obnoxious chime of keys, several hard knocks and faint bickering Casey couldn’t quite make sense of. It brought him back in time, to his hotel room in Pahrump when his mother and whatever boyfriend she brought home would argue outside the bathroom while he laid in the tub, door locked - drunk - trying to sleep through it.
Casey didn’t move, just listened with a furrowed brow, lackadaisical stare on the door while the arguing continued. What used to keep him up at night as a teenager with sensory overload was lulling him to sleep as an adult who’d spent the entire night hosting a one-man party, complete with a handful of painkillers and a bottle of Jack to wash them down with.
At some point, he’d apparently issued invites?
The knob on the door rattled. The bickering continued. At some point, he swore he muttered something himself, but he wasn’t sure what he was saying, or if anyone could hear him, or if he’d even said anything at all. He wasn’t entirely sure the door was real, let alone the people behind it.
They were too loud not to have been there, right?
Another spark of awareness came before he ever realized he’d blacked out, eyes snapping open, a sudden gasp of air stolen after what felt like an eternity, but it would be the last free one for some time. The door was wide open. Shadowed figures frenzied around him, yelling, crying - a lot of crying. A lot of yelling. More crying.
He had to be in the hotel. Right?
“Oh my God, Casey…”
“Casey, what did you do? Sh*t, man, what did you do? Hey!”
There were hands all over him, feeling his neck, his chest, tapping his cheek. Every touch was almost, almost too faint for him to feel, but he could see it through warped vision, the way multiple hands ( he had no idea whose at that point ) jutted out toward him repeatedly. A tap to the cheek caused him to turn his head, then it was redirected back in place.
Casey shut his eyes, suddenly feeling a shift of weight, putting an unexpected pressure on his chest. He could feel the contents of his stomach shifting, waving, curling in a way that was oddly nostalgic. He couldn’t even breathe, let alone answer bombarding questions, issued in a panic by the shadows hovering over him.
What had he done?
His head lulled again, then jerked when his body was hoisted up. Casey didn’t know where they were going, he just felt himself moving. More people were huddled around him, two remaining dark while the other two finally managed to ignite some form of familiarity. Christian was on the right side, walking alongside him on the phone with someone, but it sounded like he was speaking a different language. To the left was Sarah, crying. Even in his stupor, he wanted to reach out for her. She was shaking her head, her face wiped clean of the anger that usually tainted it -- the anger he usually faced when they had to see each other.
What was she doing there?
Had he invited them both?
What had he done?
He wasn’t in the hotel room anymore; he wasn’t laying on the couch, but he couldn’t make sense of his surroundings beyond all the people hovering around over him, fastening things to his face and arms. His head lulled again, this time to the right, where Sarah stood over him, her hand over her mouth. Casey stared lackadaisically at her while she broke down into a sob. That time, he understood it.
“I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sorry.”
“Heyyy, he is awake!”
“Yayyy.” Casey gave a weak smile as Christian neared the bed, eyes rolling. Being stuck in a hospital bed, fighting for his life after both exes found him dying alone in his apartment wasn’t an ideal cause for celebration as far as he was concerned.
Christian looked tired, his eyes bloodshot, glazed over. Part of Casey wanted to apologize while another part of him thought he deserved it for showing up and crashing his party. The nostalgia of it all was bitter, cold, sickening.
Completely devastating.
Being lost in what felt like another realm, no concept of time other than the fact that it was still dark outside; delirium from ridiculous amounts of medication that offered little relief in the way of sorrow-drowning; the stiff bed in an obscenely bright hospital room; worried faces and crying he could only remember in small bits that made zero sense upon true awakening; memories he wasn’t sure were even real.
Most familiar, though, was the interrogation from the nurse about why he’d done it - if he’d been feeling depressed, if he partied too hard. For his convenience, she had a list of psychiatrists and rehabilitation programs for him to look into, but he’d been there, done that, and he wasn’t about to do it again.
“Was Sarah here?” Casey strained for much more than a whisper, his eyebrows furrowed. Another familiarity was the fiery feeling raging through his stomach and up his throat, making it hard for him to breathe, let alone talk. But he swore he recalled Sarah being in his apartment, so he had to ask.
“She was, but she took off,” Christian answered, taking a seat beside Casey, arms folded over his chest.
“Mm. Probably didn’t want me to know she helped me out.”
“It was actually Sarah who realized something was up with you,” Christian pointed out. “She lost Isaiah and Jake’s numbers, so she called me instead. Guess you were texting her some weird sh*t.”
“Wow.” Casey shut his eyes, his head drifting to the side. “What a rookie move...”
“Not your best, kiddo.” Christian shook his head, then let out a heavy sigh. “Sooo, are you… okay? You wanna talk, or?”
“I’m pretty miserable, actually…” Casey remarked, a faint smile resting on his face, eyebrows arched matter-of-factly even while his eyes remained closed. “This bed feels like cardboard and I’ve had to pee for like three hours.”
Christian laughed. “You know what I mean, dork.”
At that, Casey’s eyes finally fluttered open, focusing on the window, his smile dimming. “Right now, I kinda wish she hadn’t answered.”
