Madness of Two- MorMor + Severich

detox just to retox

Jim and I don't hug each other. Not like Sebastian and Severin do. Actually, I don't think anyone hugs each other like like Sebastian and Severin do; they hug so tightly and ferociously that you'd swear they'd never see each other again- which, I suppose, is fair given the circumstances. They trap each other in an embrace so consuming that it's hard to tell where one twin ends and the other begins. They become one, glued together, parting probably as painful as if they were literally glued together and had to be ripped apart. Being apart for so long has scarred them both.

Our meeting was unconventional, to say the least. A quick phone call from Jim ("heroin overdose, my place"). It wasn't the first time I've had to medically intervene for my brother, and I'm not sure I enjoy it, but given everything he's done for me, it seems right to be able to help him out on the odd occasion he asks for it.

A darkened room with a shaking heroin addict, long hair plastered to his face with perspiration, deathly white skin with lips that look bruised as anything, a watercolour painting of blues and purple. He'd overdosed alright, his breath no better than an old, failing exhaust of a car that's been dumped in a lake (the morbidly coined 'death rattle', a frankly horrifying sound that convinces you the suffering is drowning on air). His arms are clasped around himself, fingers dig into his biceps, knees tucked to his chest in a protective position as he lays shivering and sweating on his side. I'm not sure he's conscious, or maybe he's somewhere in the middle of consciousness and death, teetering on the brink of oblivion.

I sit next to the bed on a chair that's been placed there for me, taking a syringe out of my bag.

"Wh-who... you...?" a rough, gravelling voice asked from the depths of a mess of hair and sweat.

"Richard," I mumble in reply, inserting the needle into a bottle of naloxone. "I'm here to help." Looking up now, searching for his eyes, pupils constructed to the size of pins, surrounded by a pool of ice blue. "I haven't been told who you are?"

"Sev... Severin..." He catches sight of the needle, his expression changing to panic and distress. "Are you gon' p-put that in me?"

How odd, a heroin addict afraid of needles.

"Yes, unfortunately. It's naloxone. It's going to flush the heroin out of your system so you don't overdose," I explain calmly, using my best doctor voice on him.

He still looks terrified, like a child I'm about to hit, and a weight settles uncomfortably on my chest, knowing I'm the reason for his discomfort. I fight the unbearable urge to twitch and nibble on my lip and tug on my hair- all the nervous ticks I've acquired over the years when facing unsettling situations (anything with violence, anytime someone raises their voice at me, crowded rooms where people stand far too close or touch me, and oh god when people ask if I'm okay. What an absolutely stupid question. None of us are ever okay. We paint façades and keep up these pretences to one another that everything's all sunshine and rainbows, the more we pretend the harder it gets to admit the truth to others and ourselves. We recede into a hole in our minds, buried under our own unendurable emotions. Who does this benefit? Absolutely no one. We learn to shut up, that our feelings are something we need to hide away, and that when people ask if you're okay, they don't want an honest answer).

When I practiced medicine- a mistake, in hindsight, but nevertheless, it happened- colleagues used to tell me I had a friendly face, one patients trusted resolutely. Something about my eyes, they all said, large and dark, like a puppy, which always made my stomach crawl, although, in this situation, I'm finding it's helping. Severin's analysing me apprehensively, but the more he stares, the more I can see his defences falter. I offer a smile- that's what trustworthy people do, right? Smile?

"Hey, it's okay, I promise... a quick pinch. I know the right place to put it and all. I won't stick it in the wrong place."

"Sev, please..." There's a desperate voice at the door, I turn and there's Sebastian. Tough guy. Quite intimidating (although Jim seems very fond of him), but as close to tears now without them escaping his eyes, fists clenched. He settles himself next to Severin on the bed, takes his hand fiercely. Their resemblance is quite striking now actually. They must be brothers. That'd explain the urgency Jim had; he wouldn't let anything happen to something his Tiger cared about. "I'm here, okay? I won't let anyone hurt you. Richard's a good guy. He only wants to help..."