Her light is fading from her eyes by the time I reach her. Her pillow of vomit is the only thing holding her up anymore.
Her breath is faltering, stuttering i-in and ou-ou-out of her clogged lungs. I crouch down next to her, heaving her up into a sitting position in my arms. Her head falls back, limp like her bleeding arms.
I pick her up, leaning her over the bath tub filled with bodily fluids. Spit dribbles down her pale chin. I shove two fingers down her raw throat, looking for a broken eject button.
I have to call someone. Who?. . . Her mom! I dial the number of the hospital room her mother lives at, shoving the phone between my shoulder and ear. I struggle to pick her dead-weight body up.
As I stumble towards her room,
As I stumble towards her room, a nurse picks up. "Hello, this is the room of-"
"Hello! Is Mrs. Darthe there? Her daughter's overdosing-"
"I'm sorry, son, but the cancer took Mrs. Darthe three hours ago."
The phone falls from my shoulder as I trip, crashing to the floor As her lifeless body hits the unforgiving ground.