Timothèe Chalamet Imagines

❈overdose❈

Trigger Warning: This depicts description of suicide and drug overdose. Please do not read if this could be triggering to you in any way. This imagine is very descriptive, and I really urge you to take this TW seriously.

Suicide Hotline Number: 1-800-273-8255

Timmy isn't as much in this part but he will be in part 2. you and Timmy are friends in this one.

Your POV

I smile as I walk into my apartment complex's elevator. I just had an incredible meeting. I was offered a role in one of Greta Gerwig's films, and I just finalized the filming details with my manager! The first thing I plan to do? Call Timmy and Jack. Timmy has been an incredible guidance through my acting journey so far, and Jack, another actor my age who I met while filming my last movie, had instantly become a best friend. I can't wait to tell them the news.

On top of that, I just moved in to my first apartment in NYC. I'm actually building a successful career doing what I love most - acting.

I practically skip over to my apartment door. I try to unlock it before realizing that it's already unlocked.

Did I forget to lock it today? No. I didn't I never forget to lock my door. I'm too paranoid to forget to lock my door. That means that someone is in my apartment. Jack has a key... he comes here often. But it's not like him to come over completely unannounced.

My giddiness completely gone, I carefully open the door and peer inside. Everything is exactly how I left it. There's no noise that could allude to someone trying to steal all of my things or kidnap me. After sweeping my living room with my eyes, I decide that I most likely did just leave the door unlocked for some reason this morning. I was probably to excited about this meeting to remember.

I put my things down and walk over to my huge windows, which face the now darkening city skyline. This is the life. This is the perfect life. Tears well up in my eyes as I stare into the city's glittering lights, thinking about what I've accomplished and how much I have ahead of me.

I walk back through my living room and over to my bathroom, planning on calling both Louis and Timmy after I use it.

When I swing the door open, the light is already on, and all I can do is stand in the doorway for a moment, taking in the sight in front of me.

Jack is sprawled on my tile floor. Slouched against the bathtub, his head hangs down, chin resting against his chest. There is an empty bottle on my counter. An empty pill bottle.

For a moment, I can't move. I can only stare, and connect two and two. Empty pill bottle. Motionless on the floor. Empty pill bottle. Motionless on the floor.

I suddenly hunch over, sinking down to my knees next to him, a shaking hand placed against my chest.

I feel the scream leave my throat, but I don't hear it.

I reach over and grab his arm. I shriek at how cold his skin is under my fingers. I press my fingers against his wrist, trying to feel for a pulse, a heartbeat, movement, anything.

There is nothing.

I realize that I am breathing extremely heavily, so heavily that my lungs feel like they're being stabbed. I reach out both of my arms and sort of hug him agianst me, wrapping them around his shoulders and head. This time I hear my scream. It is piercing, and it echoes around the bathroom for what seems like minutes.

I realize that I have to call someone. I have to get him help. He's still alive. I know he is.

I stand extremely quickly and run from the bathroom, and through the living room. I trip over my rug and reach out to catch myself on my coffee table. My hand crashes against a glass vase and shatters it, leaving a slices across my right palm and small shards stuck in my skin. I don't feel it at all. I need to get to my phone. I stand and run to my bag. I rummage desperately through it, smearing my blood all around.

I finally find it, and with shaking fingers, I press 911 into the screen.

I hold it up to my ear, trying to catch my breath.

"911, how may we assist you," a calm woman's voice asks.

"I... my friend took too many things. I mean too many pills. Please come. Help me. My friend took to much," I pant into the phone.

"Where are you located?"

"62nd Street, Grim Apartment Complex, Number 49," I recite.

"How much has your friend taken," she asks.

"I... I don't know... I just found him here... There's an empty bottle," I say shakily.

"We'll be there very soon. Stay calm, everything will be -" I throw my phone on the floor before she can finish. I rush back to the bathroom. He's slumped in exactly the same position.

"Jack..." I say, reaching out and shaking him by the shoulder. "Jack... Jack! JACK! JACK!" I continue shaking him and screaming his name, before giving up and wrapping my arms around him again. I hold him as tightly as I can against myself, embedding my fingers through his brown hair, sobbing against his cold body.

I don't know how much time passes while I sob against him. I don't know if it's an hour, or twenty minutes, or a few seconds before there are other people in the bathroom with me. I didn't even hear them come in. Someone pulls me gently away from him. Doctors surround him as I am pulled away from my bathroom and into my living room.

"Are you alright?" It's a woman talking to me. A nurse. She's holding my shoulders, staring right at me.

"I..." I can't say anything.

"Come here. Let's get your hand taken care of," she says gently. She guides me to my couch and uses a small first aid kit to start picking out the shards of glass and bandaging my hand.

"No. No, I want to see what they're doing to him," I say, trying to stand and get a better view of what's happening in my bathroom.

"No, stay here," she says, reaching for a tool to pull out the glass. I don't feel anything as she wraps it up, but I stare into the bathroom, trying to see around the doctors. There's a stretcher in my living room. Why aren't they putting him on the stretcher.

"Hey. Why aren't you putting him on the stretcher?" I demand. It comes out as nothing more than a faint whisper.

"What did you say?" The woman asks me.

I don't answer.

Through all of the noise, I hear the words: "No pulse."

Time seems to slow down. I sit still and rigid as stone on my couch. I see them pick him up and put him into a bag. A bag. They put him into a bag.

Someone is talking to me.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, sweetie. Everything is going to be okay." It's the woman who bandaged my hand. I watch with wide eyes as they place the bag on the stretcher and move out of the room. Now there is only me, the woman, and a few other doctors. I feel my head spin, and my vision begins to fade before my world goes completely dark.

there will be a part two involving Timmy!!!!!! this is a bit different from my other stuff in that it's a bit longer of a story line, so there will be parts throughout!

thank you so much for reading. I know I don't have a huge platform or anything, but it truly means the world to me to have people read what I write :)