Fixated

9.

Tears began to brim at my eyes. “It was you…” I whispered again.
I remembered everything so lucidly all of a sudden it was almost as if it were panning out again. Right in front of my eyes, there I was… Slouched against a cold brick wall in an alleyway. It didn’t feel so cold to me though, I couldn’t even feel the stony cobbles underneath my bare thighs. My dress was hitched up so there was nothing left to the imagination; I didn’t care one bit. At the time all I’d wanted was my hit, so I’d escaped and injected the brown liquid-bliss right into the crook of my elbow. At the time it felt like nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary, just an extra strong hit. I didn’t feel any different than usual at first, then I was overcome by a pounding headache. Then came the struggle to breathe, I began to take big gasps of air. It felt like I was drowning but at the same time, I was drowning peacefully. I was in a complete state of acceptance and comfort that I was perhaps not going to make it through this time. My vision started fading and the sounds around me began to sound as if they were underwater. I occasionally snapped back to reality when I heard the sporadic car horn coming from the streets nearby.
I was bought back to a semi-conscious state when I heard an unfamiliar voice shouting at me. I wondered what they wanted. I squinted (trying to force my eyes not to shut), trying to make out the dark figure looming above me who seemed to be yelling for some reason, holding my head up.
Next thing I know I am in an unfamiliar place on an unfamiliar bed, the middle of my chest hurting something awful. Next to me on the bed, holding my hand was the tall, dark figure I’d seen in the alley. My vision was too blurred to make out any features or great detail and I was so weak I could barely move any part of my body. I tried to ask what had happened but I couldn’t even force the words out of my mouth. I could vaguely make out a deep voice softly speaking and occasionally humming to me; I felt safe. It was saying things along the lines of, “You’ll be okay, I’m here…” and “You’re safe now.” Contented, I decided that it would feel okay to close my eyes for a short while again.

The next time I opened my eyes I was in a hospital bed, I had no idea what was happening so I panicked and asked the nurse frantically what was wrong.
“You overdosed on heroin. You’re very lucky to be alive, Laura. A man brought you over here to ensure you regain full health… after he’d executed the correct measures to save your life.”
I felt sick to my stomach, I’d had a brush with death and a mystery man had taken it upon himself to save me. “Who was he?”
The nurse bluntly replied, “He never told us, sorry. Now get as much rest as possible.” And ever since that day, the fact that I had no clue know who my rescuer was haunted me terribly. I owed them my life.

{POV Switch}
Surely enough, there she was, slumped against a dark wall in an even darker alley. An empty syringe cast aside next to her. My heart sank; I knew what this was. I knew it all too well. I ran towards her and cupped her cheeks in my hands, trying to observe the state of her pupils; they were tiny pinpricks. Her skin was pallid, her eyelids and lips turning blue and bruised-like; it was as if the colour and life was seeping out from her body in front of me. Her breathing shallow and labored. I knew I needed to act fast or else she would die, I didn’t have time to call and wait for an ambulance. I was perfectly experienced in what to do in times of a fatal overdose, there was no need to waste time by calling the paramedics. I began to raise my voice in an attempt to snap her into reality and keep her somewhat conscious. I lifted her up off the filthy pavement and carried her to the main road, urgently hailing the nearest taxi.

I ran up the stairs and gently placed her on my bed in the recovery position, tucking her hair behind her ears. I began to rub her sternum vigorously attempting to rouse her as much as I possibly could. Failing that, I emptied my cabinets for my emergency Naloxone (opioid antagonist drug) stash. I hurriedly ripped the small vial out of the wrapper and filled a sterile syringe with the clear liquid. I pressed the needle deep into her arm and dispensed the whole contents of the syringe into her. After another two attempts with the Naxolone; the young girl took in a huge gasp of air, her eyes half opened.
I spoke to her softly; trying my hardest to sound reassuring and not so much heartbroken at the fact such a beauty had fallen into the clutches of hideous substance abuse. After a while of sitting by her side and stroking her hand, her colour started slowly returning to her face and her breathing evened out also.
As soon as she was in a fit enough state, I took her straight to the hospital in which I left her to fully recover under the surveillance of trained medics. I left without saying a proper goodbye as she was still so drowsy she would not have remembered anyway. Relieved, I turned out of her ward and disappeared from her life without a trace.
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