You've Changed

Chapter 3

The rest was even quicker. Jacky had pried me away, allowing the paramedics to examine him and one immediately began compressions. They pulled him into a stretcher, the one man continuing compressions as they rolled him out. Like a zombie or some undead creature, I followed them out and watched as they loaded him into an ambulance. Somehow I managed to ask one of the paramedics, "Where are you taking him?" And they told me the name a the nearby hospital. The last paramedic filed in and the door opened for a moment, where I saw the man charging paddles. "Shit." Was all I could manage.

"Demetri? Who is that?" Steph was shaking my arm, but I could barely feel it. I didn't answer. I don't know how I would have. Who was Eli? An old friend, I suppose.

"We have to go. I have to go see Eli. I have to go see Eli." In my panic, I just repeated that I had to see him, unsteadily turning to look at my friends. I was pretty much sober, but the others were either tipsy or drunk.

"O-Okay, Dem. Let's take an Uber to the hospital." Her voice was shaky, and I knew I was scaring her. She was rubbing my back as she pulled out her phone.

By the time we arrived at the hospital, Eli was awake and sedated. After they resuscitated him and the narcan took effect, he started getting aggressive and talking nonsense, the receptionist had told us. She warned us that the sedation made him drowsy and could make him a bit delusional.

As I entered the room, I saw the figure that was curled up on the bed with an IV drip attached to his wrist. When his blue eyes met mine, he immediately recoiled—pushing himself into sitting position and farthest away from me. "Lady, whatever you gave me is making me see things. Get it out." He cried and went to reach for his IV, but she stopped him and threatened to heighten his sedation if he kept fighting back.

"You aren't seeing things, Eli."

"Eli." He repeated his name like it didn't belong to him. His voice was raspier than it had been in high school. "I haven't heard that name in years." The young man let himself fall back into a resting position, but was looking at me curiously.

I looked towards the nurse, she took it as her cue to leave and scurried out. He clutched the pan in his lap harder when I approached, so I stopped a bit away. Scared wasn't how I imagined Eli when I thought of him, then again I barely thought of him in my time after high school. Steph and the others were in the waiting room, just a few room away from my two worlds colliding. "Dem..." I thought he was going to finish his sentence, but instead he leaned into the pan and began to vomit, violently. So violent, in fact, that I called for a nurse. They had put him in a hospital gown that had an open back, so I could see the bones of shoulders and how they jutted. His muscle mass was almost entirely gone, with just faint biceps to remind of what there once was. His collarbones...god, they were so awfully apparent.

The nurse rushed in, then saw the problem. "You're going to be throwing up—"

"Yeah, yeah. I know the symptoms of withdrawal." Eli panted once he had finished puking his guts into the bed pan. She quickly took the soiled one and handed him a fresh one. There was a certain annoyed feeling I got from her, as if she was annoyed by another heroine addict stumbling into the hospital. But he wasn't "just another heroine addict". He was Eli. My childhood best friend. My binary brother. The guy that peed himself when we watched The Shining. The guy who would lay beside me as we watched Doctor Who, fighting over which Doctor was superior. The resentment and anger I had felt in high school had dissipated in that moment, leaving behind just sadness. I wondered if everyone treated him like they were annoyed with him nowadays.

The nurse left in a hurry. "Were you crying?" Eli watched me, his eyes going big like how I remembered they always did. He looked like a deer at times.

"Yes, of course I was."

"Why?"

"You're Eli Moskowitz."

"I haven't been Eli Moskowitz since I was fifteen." He said with a straight and final tone. Silence took over, until he spotted my red hoodie. "Stanford. I had heard that you went there."

"Yeah, I'm a junior now. Studying comp sci, as I'm sure you would have guessed.

"Jeez." He went silent again. "My head hurts."

"Maybe I can get them to give you something for the pain or—"

"No, I just have to ride this out. I know how it is." He sounded annoyed, I had aggravated him. Now I was the deer in headlights. The room was silent, again, and he faced away from me when he laid down.

By the third phone call, I was sure she had forgotten my number, but the fourth was answered. "Hello?" A familiar, warm voice asked.

In awe of the familiarity, I stuttered. "M-Mrs. Moskowitz?"

"Speaking. Who's this?"

"It's Demetri. Demetri Alexopoulos." The line went silent and I thought she had hung up. "Hello?"

"If you're calling asking for Eli, he doesn't live with us anymore."

"I'm not. Well, I am. He's in the hospital. He overdosed in Palo Alto."

"Same as he did in Vegas, and in Oakland, and in Sacramento." She sighed. "How did you get roped into this."

"I found him."

"Demetri, don't involve yourself with him. He isn't the same boy I raised. I don't know who he is, but he's not my son. Listen to me. Don't get involved."

"But—" By the time I spoke she had already hung up and the shrill beep was in my ear.

Stephanie had returned with a cup of coffee, and was smart enough to not ask how the call went. She sat beside me, laying her head on my shoulder. The sounds of complaining, people in pain, and telephones ringing filled the waiting room. It was all unbearable.