I should’ve known then it would be a lot more than “hard.”
I drove to his apartment after work. I had a key, so I could’ve let myself in, but as it turns out, I didn’t need to, because the door was unlocked.
And Gideon was on the bathroom floor, with a needle still in his arm.
I thought he was dead. For the second-worst ten-second stretch of my life, I was completely sure my little brother was dead.
He wasn’t, though. His pulse was weak but there. I called 911 and rode with him to the hospital. Then I sat in the waiting room for two days straight while they pumped him full of Narcan and intubated him until he could breathe on his own without aspirating vomit into his own lungs.
When he woke up, I told him this was his last chance. It was either rehab or I was done. I couldn’t keep doi
