Page 164 of Tell Me I'm Enough

My hands shake so hard the phone slips before I catch it and answer as fast as I can.

“Lydia?” My voice keeps breaking. “Lydia, please—hello?”

It’s a man’s voice that greets me, though.

Not Lydia’s.

My heart sinks all over again.

“Hey—this is Bash,” he says. “I—I found Lydia in my dorm’s community room. I think she overdosed.”

“Is she—”

“No. No, she’s…she’s not good, but she’s here. Pulse is really faint. We called 9-1-1. I’m taking her outside so the EMTs can get to her faster.”

“What building?” I ask breathlessly, already willing myself to be by her side as quickly as possible. “Tell me where—”

When he tells me which dorm building he’s at, I hang up and rush out the door with Lani.

“I called Sandro,” she tells me, “He’s already driving to us to take us wherever we need to go.

“Thank you.”

I can’t say anything else. I can’t even form a single complete thought right now.

All I can do is panic.

All my brain can do is play out the scenario of her not making it.

It hurts so badly that I feel like I could fall over from the pain as we run down the hall.

The elevator takes too long, so we take the stairs. It feels like the adrenaline is the only thing keeping me moving, not being able to think about anything else but getting to her.

The campus is always alive at night. Some people are still hanging out in groups, having a good time, as if nothing matters. I see a couple walking past holding hands, and someone else nearby is yelling something from across the sidewalk.

And my best friend is dying.

My brain can’t hold those two contradicting realities at the same time.

As soon as Sandro pulls up, we jump in. And as soon as he makes it across campus, I sling myself out of the car before he can even come to a full stop.

Lani and Sandro are right behind me, running to where we see the emergency lights at.

It’s all too real, and I hate it.

Staring at her being worked on by the paramedics, all I can do is beg God to let me trade places with her.

She’s not built for this.

Let me take it for her.

Let her have some peace.

Her story doesn’t get to end like this.

When they finally get the Narcan to work on her, I let out the longest relieved breath.

I feel lightheaded.