Chapter 11 - The Accident
published: Wednesday, 6 May 2020
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Four beeps. Matthew counted them until he could muster up the energy to open his eyes.
Beep.
Matthew started at the white ceiling and matching lights. Turning his head over to the right, Matthew frowned when he saw the monitor.
Beep.
The graph with peaks and jagged waves greatly resembled a heartbeat.
What the hell...
As Matthew tried to move, an aching groan escaped his lips. Pain shot through his limbs as he tried to sit up, every single muscle in his body sore.
Beep.
"Oh, you're awake."
Matthew glanced up. His father stood in the doorway, arms crossed and expression stern - as always.
The sheer disdain in his father's voice told him that he wasn't at all glad that he woke up.
As Matthew struggled into a sitting position and scanned the room, he realised that he was in a hospital room.
"You passed out at Jared's party," his father said, voice unsettlingly calm. "An almost lethal overdose on methamphetamine and alcohol."
Matthew cowered under his father's glowering stance.
"What," his father snapped. "Were you thinking?"
Matthew rubbed his head. "That I had to keep Jared happy," he said bitterly.
His father's gaze soured. "Do not turn this on me. Do not try to blame this-this addiction," he spat. "On me."
Matthew bit down on every insolent remark he could think off, drawing blood in his lower lip. The pain cut through his hazy thoughts.
"And definitely do not throw around ideas like that," his father hissed menacingly. "Do you know the lengths I had to go to to cover this up? I can't have you going around destroying our family name and reputation."
"It was Jared's party," Matthew repeated through gritted teeth. He ungracefully ripped out the IV connected to his arm, wincing at the pang.
"I know." That surprised him. That was probably the first time his father had ever agreed with him. "Jared's father came by this morning to request that we...hush up last night's events." Possibly the closest thing to a pleasant expression crossed his face. "He has allowed me to proceed with some business plans he was previously against."
Matthew felt like he was about to throw up.
He had nearly died to please his father. 'An almost fatal overdose'. And he'd turned it into a business opportunity.
"I'm leaving," Matthew said shortly, swinging his legs out of bed. Whatever they'd been giving him in the IV had to be working, since he felt like himself again.
Except that he was craving another hit.
Everything Matthew had been trying to avoid crushed him. What was he even going to say to his friends? He'd told them he'd at least try to stay sober, and he'd fallen off the wagon in less than 12 hours.
His parents didn't even care that he'd almost died.
His eyes darted in all directions. It was evening already. His mouth salivated with the idea of another drink, another high.
Matthew grabbed his change of clothes and phone off the seat, ducking out of the hospital room. His father didn't even try to stop him.
^*^*^*^
"Look at you," Jared regarded Matthew with a certain smugness. "Out of the hospital already?"
Matthew ignored the snide comment. "I need more," he breathed. "Anything." His gaze flickered to Jared's friends gathered in the living room behind him. He recognised some familiar faces from last night.
Matthew felt his cheeks burning, but he was too impatient for embarrassment. If he didn't get anything to quench this undeniable need within the next few minutes, he worried about what would happen next.
His head was already pounding and his legs felt like jelly. It'd taken all his strength to find Jared and most of his pride to plead on his doorstep.
For a terrifying moment, Jared was silent.
"I'm sorry, Matthew, but I can't put you through this anymore."
Matthew froze, his chest heaving as he gave Jared an imploring look. "What?"
"To see you like this," Jared shook his head. "It's a nightmare for me. You almost died."
"I don't care!" Matthew cried. "I-I-" His hands shook uncontrollably.
"No, Matthew," Jared said decidedly. "I have to act responsibly here." Smugness flickered across his face, eyes flashing with a dark triumph.
Responsibly? Matthew wanted to scream. You stole my first times for so many things.
You gave me my first taste of drugs.
You got me drunk and high last night.
You got me in that hospital.
This is your fault.
And you can't even help me when I need it the most?
Matthew couldn't control the unevenness of his breathing as he backed away, shaking his head. He was too tired, too sickly to scream at anyone right now.
"Mr Campbell."
Matthew turned away from Jared, the door shutting behind him like a closed pathway.
Phil, his bodyguard, stood by a black limousine.
"I know, I know," Matthew's voice cracked. He stumbled down to the car, leaning against the metal, eyes squeezed shut.
He'd never experienced this before. Matthew had never had an issue like this before. He'd never craved drugs this badly before, as if everything in his life depended on it.
The aching wouldn't stop unless he got it, Matthew knew that. And Jared just left him to suffer.
"Sorry," Matthew mumbled. "I'm a mess."
For the first time in his entire life, Matthew saw Phil's stony facade falter to show an emotion; sympathy.
When they reached the house, Matthew caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror. God, he looked worse than death itself. His cheeks were gaunt, and his skin was pale and clammy.
"Matt?" James' small voice came from the kitchen. His brother stood in the hallway, staring in horror at him. Matthew brushed past him silently, not saying a word.
That was how Matthew ended up a quivering mess in his bedroom, curled up in his bed. Bottles of alcohol had already been emptied out in vain. After his second bottle of whiskey, Matthew realised that alcohol wasn't going to fix something like this.
Cold sweats and shivers wracked his body minutes after minute. They never stopped, even well into the night.
Matthew had practically been placed on house arrest, and he was too fatigued to argue about it. His phone buzzed with calls from his friends that he couldn't bring himself to answer.
How could he face them after everything he'd done?
Three raps on his door alerted Matthew to the fact that someone was waiting on him.
"Come in," he croaked, back plastered to the mattress as he faced the ceiling.
Even in his delirium, Matthew muttered a confused "What?" under his breath when Maya stepped into his room.
"Great," he mumbled. "Now I'm hallucinating."
Maya closed the door behind her. "Don't be dumb," she said shortly.
Matthew shifted into a seating position, head leaning back against the headboard. "You're really here?"
She nodded slowly.
He squinted at her. "Why?"
Maya remained by the door, hands clasped in front of her. "Elizabeth has been unusually agitated for the last two days."
Matthew closed his eyes. "Please, don't talk to me about Elizabeth."
"Well, tough luck, because I am."
Matthew brushed the perspiration from his brow as he regarded her warily.
Maya held his gaze. "She told you about her mum, right?"
He nodded. "Car accident."
"It wasn't some freak accident," she said. "Her mum's an alcoholic. She was under the influence while driving."
"Let me guess." Matthew opened his eyes. "After the accident, she recovered and you want to tell me that I can do it too."
Maya pursed her lips. "No. Actually, she never got over it. Elizabeth and her dad left. They couldn't do anything more for her." She hesitated. "I think that's why she's so upset about you. She couldn't do anything for her mum then, and she can't do anything for you now."
"She walked out," Matthew mused. "Elizabeth. When I woke up the next morning. Who could blame her?" He gestured feebly. "Look at me. I'm a mess."
He'd said that so much recently that Matthew was starting to think the three words basically defined him at the moment.
"I had a classmate in middle school," Maya said quietly. "She would cut herself - on the wrists. I always asked why she did it, and she said she just couldn't stop." Maya shrugged. "She died in the eighth grade."
"i'm not suicidal," Matthew mumbled.
"I know," Maya said. "Neither was she. But it was addiction - just like this."
Matthew gritted his teeth. "This isn't an addiction."
"It's not a weakness to admit that it is," Maya told him. "Her addiction killed her. Don't let yours do the same to you."
Matthew closed his eyes. He really, really couldn't deal with this right now. Maya had zero right to come in here and tell him how to live his life.
"How the hell did you even find my house?" Matthew muttered.
She chuckled. "I Googled it."
When Matthew opened his eyes, ready to give her a piece of his mind, she was gone, the door shut behind her.
Matthew sunk back into his bed, rolling onto his side so he could look out the window.
The sky was so beautiful tonight. Stars glinted, and a random memory of an astrophysics class he'd sat in on last year slid into his mind. They were supernovas that eventually would burn out. He'd only taken the class because there was a pretty girl in it. But it turned out to be rather interesting.
Matthew didn't sleep at all that night. He didn't know if darkness just made everything worse or he was imagining it, but the body aches got even more painful. He was both boiling and freezing at the same time, sweating and shivering.
Every time his eyes fluttered close, the dull throbbing all through his body would jolt him awake again.
The sun rose, and it didn't stop. Matthew wished he'd asked for an estimate on how long it would take for all the drugs to get out of his system before leaving the hospital.
In the back of his mind, he vaguely remembered that drug tests could detect doses taken up to four days earlier.
God, he was miserable. Matthew realised that around noon the next day. Being left alone to his own depressing thoughts weren't great. It also didn't help that Maya's visit had forced Elizabeth back into his mind.
Matthew wondered how everything had gone downhill so quickly. He'd been playing laser tag with James just a few days ago. Now he was...almost in a vegetative state.
One of the most overwhelming regrets Matthew felt was James. Matthew knew for a fact that James looked up to him. And he always made it his priority to protect James, from their parents, from the world - whatever was needed.
Matthew hated that James had to see him like this. He hated that he had been left to fend for himself against their parents while Matthew was like this. He hated himself for being such a horrible role model to his brother, who stared at him like he was the sun.
Matthew hated the idea that he could've died. James would've been alone. Really alone. He would've had to grow like Matthew had, with all the pressures of being a Campbell and none of the caution that came with it.
He hated that if he'd died, another Jared would've come along and ruined James completely. He hated that if he'd died, James could be in this exact same position in a couple of years.
And it was completely plausible. He really almost had died.
Matthew could barely comprehend it. Obviously, he wasn't stupid. He'd always thought he'd die before 60 - probably from some well-deserved liver issues - but not at 21. And not from something as dumb as this.
An overdose. That he could've well avoided if he just hadn't taken it. But then again, Matthew always did this. He always went just a little bit too far over the edge.
He couldn't help it. Every time he started, he couldn't stop.
But now, panting breathlessly as he lay limp on his bed, Matthew wasn't sure how worth it it was anymore.
Ethan, Frederick and Maya were right; he was killing himself. And driving away everyone around him while he was at it.
Matthew allowed himself a reprieve to think about Elizabeth.
She was...something else. It was like, for the first time, someone didn't see him as a complete failure.
And he'd chased her away within 48 hours.
Matthew closed his eyes. Sleep was an unattainable luxury at the moment, and worries about his father, his inheritance, the company all plagued him.
It was overwhelming - all of it.
But he had to start somewhere.