by Nicky James
I cleaned up the mess we’d made and got rid of the evidence before throwing on a pair of joggers and a T-shirt. At Arden’s side again, I stroked his cheek and talked to him, calling his name and begging him to wake up while keeping a steady eye on his breathing and pulse.
A minute later, he whimpered and rolled his head. His eyes scrunched but didn’t open.
“Hey. Can you hear me? Arden? Open your eyes. It’s Iggy.”
Looking through slits, he searched the room until he found me.
“There you are. Hang tight. Can you squeeze my hand?”
I linked our fingers and waited to ensure he responded. He seemed disoriented and blinked in confusion, but he applied a distinctive pressure to my fingers, following my instructions, which was a good sign.
“Good. That’s good. How are you feeling?”
His lips rubbed together a minute before, “Really tired. Like I got hit by a truck.”
“Just lie still. Help is coming.”
He winced and shook his head once before giving up on the gesture.
“No,” he groaned. “I’ll be okay. Just need a minute.”
“You’re not okay. You passed out twice today. Your heart rate is alarmingly low. You need a doctor.”
“Iggy,” he tried to protest.
I leaned in and kissed him gently to silent him, encouraging him to stay lying down when he made a weak attempt to pull himself upright.
A second later, a loud knocking sounded from the front room followed by Chris, a fellow paramedic, calling into the apartment.
“Hello? Iggy?”
“In the bedroom.”
In a flash, Chris and Jasmine came in with their stretcher and gear, taking up all the remaining space in my small bedroom. I backed up against a wall, despite desperately wanting to be the one to snatch up the equipment and jump in and help. It was my job, but more importantly, it was my boyfriend.
“What have we got?” Jasmine asked as she approached a frowning Arden who did not look impressed at being surrounded by EMTs.
I repeated what I’d told the operator—information I knew the pair already had. It was routine to confirm everything at the scene. Chris had the tablet ready as I went over everything again. He punched in the data as I spoke.
Jasmine hooked up a blood pressure cuff and proceeded to take a reading. When she completed the process, I quirked a brow, silently asking for the result. Jasmine looked me right in the eye as she dictated numbers for Chris to type into Arden’s file.
“BP 88 over 52. Pulse 47.”
I was right. Those numbers were far lower than they should be.
Jasmine took Arden’s temperature and asked him a few questions to assess his cognitive state. Arden stalled when Jasmine asked what he was doing prior to fainting.
Arden’s gaze flipped to mine, his cheeks glowing crimson.
Jasmine caught the panicked look on Arden’s face and mumbled, “Never mind,” before either of us could answer.
Chris chuckled under his breath, and I could have sworn he muttered, “Nice.”
I’d hear about that later, no doubt.
Arden was more aware as the minutes ticked by, and his gaze continued to flip between Jasmine and me as we shared multiple non-verbal glances.
“I’m going to help you sit up, Arden,” Jasmine said. “Before we transfer you to the stretcher, I want you to take a few deep breaths and let your blood flow to all your limbs. Then, I’ll assist you to slowly stand.”
Arden didn’t argue. When he sat on the bed, I moved in beside him and offered him a T-shirt since the poor guy was in his underwear and showing obvious signs of distress over his exposure.
With assistance, I helped him pull on the joggers I’d lent him earlier, too. Once he was settled on the stretcher, Chris helped me secure the straps required for transport.
Arden grabbed my hand.
“Will you come with me?”
“Are you kidding? Try and keep me away.” I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, uncaring that we had an audience. “I’ll be right behind you. I promise.”
I nodded at Chris, and he and Jasmine took Arden through the apartment. I grabbed my phone and keys on the way out the door.
Once Arden was secured in the ambulance, I assured him I’d be there shortly and left him in the care of my colleagues.
In my car, I checked the time on the dash. Twelve forty-six. It was late, but it felt irresponsible not letting his family know that he was on his way to the emergency room. Because I didn’t have his parents’ number—nor did I think it was a good idea for me to make direct contact with them at this stage—I called Phoenix.
It rang five times as I pulled onto the main road before the call connected. A sleep-groggy and grumpy Phoenix snipped, “What? Why? Seriously, dude, I work tomorrow.”
I didn’t dance around the subject. Phoenix was the “get pissed off first and ask questions later” type of person so I knew if I didn’t spit it out immediately, he’d hang up on me.
“Arden is on route to the emergency room via ambulance. I have no other way of informing your family except to call you and someone should know.”
“What?” His sleep haze evaporated. “What do you mean the hospital?”
“I mean he fainted twice today, and his blood pressure and heart rate are exceptionally low.”
“Wait… you called an ambulance because he fainted? Dude, that’s just Arden. He faints on a regular basis. Are you sure he wasn’t faking it?”
“Are you kidding right now? Do you hear what I’m saying? His vitals are dangerously off balance. Something is really wrong with him, and I have no doubt it’s from not eating enough.”
“Of course it’s from not eating enough. I told you he does that. And now he’s got you wrapped up too. Look at the attention he’s getting.”
I slammed my brakes on too late, almost running a red light because I was so irate with what I was hearing. “What the hell is wrong with you? I’m not a doctor, Phoenix, but his heart could be failing. Do you understand that? Do you think I’m talking out of my ass?”
“I understand. Don’t fucking yell at me. Sorry if I’m skeptical. I know my brother.”
“No, I don’t think you do. I don’t think any of your family has a clue. Look, I’m being courteous and letting you know your brother is going to the hospital because it’s the right thing to do. Please tell your parents for me.”
“You don’t want me to do that.”
“Actually, I do!” I snapped. “He’s their son.”
“You may have flown under their radar at the wedding. You won’t escape notice now. You ready for that?”
“Furthest thing from my concerns right now, believe me. Arden comes first. I’m hanging up.”
Gripping the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip, I pressed the gas to the floor. The streets were empty, and I got the sense I might be the only one with any real concern for Arden. If his parents held the same philosophy as Phoenix, he needed me.
By the time I got to the hospital, found a decent parking space, and made my way into the emergency room, twenty minutes had passed.
It was the middle of the night, which often meant a quieter waiting room. Tonight, that was not the case. A familiar buzz of commotion surrounded me as I skipped past the line and poked my head into the nurses’ station.
“Hey, Iggy,” Martha greeted when she looked up from where she was processing a young woman’s paperwork. Martha scanned my plain clothes and raised a brow. “You’re not working. What are you doing here?”
“Chris and Jaz just brought my boyfriend in. Can you buzz me through?”
The rooms where patients were seen were behind a security door that could only be accessed by hospital personnel—or ambulance attendants who were on duty.
“Sure.” She leaned across the desk and hit a switch on the wall. “Hope everything is all right.”
I waved and caught the door leading into the back before it slid closed again. I didn’t
have to go far. Chris and Dr. Singhal, a shorter, east Indian man I’d worked alongside many times, were chatting and reviewing the information collected on Chris’ tablet just outside a curtained-off area where Jasmine and a nurse named Phillip were getting Arden situated on a bed.
Although drawn to the conversation with the doctor, I went to Arden’s side instead. He reached out and took my hand when I stood beside him. Jasmine left with the stretcher and Phillip took all of Arden’s vitals again.
“Hey, Iggy,” Phillip said, smiling his notorious shy smile as he looked up from his work.
Phillip did a lot of charity volunteering around town, and we ran into each other outside work frequently. His build was not dissimilar to Arden’s—if Arden were healthier. He was short and slender with a warm complexion and curly black hair.
I hovered over Phillip’s shoulder without shame as he recorded and compared his readings to Jasmine’s readings from earlier. There was a mild improvement in Arden’s heart rate but not enough to bring him close to the realm of normal.
The doctor came in and went over the entire scenario of what led up to Arden requiring emergency care that evening. Saving Arden the shame of telling the story of our sexual activity, I filled Dr. Singhal in with as much detail as I thought was important, including Arden’s episode by the pool.
Dr. Singhal listened attentively before turning his entire focus on Arden. The doctor had a thick accent and an air of authority and wisdom about him that made most people pay close attention when he spoke.
“We have you on file, Arden, from a fall a few months back. During that visit, your bloodwork showed a red blood cell count that was alarmingly low. Against our recommendations, you decided to leave the hospital.”
I frowned, knowing what incident he was referring to but unaware that Arden had ignored signs months ago.
“Your blood pressure,” Dr. Singhal continued, “although higher during that visit, was reaching levels of concern, as well. Today it’s worse. I’m going to have the lab come and take more blood and I’m calling for a few other tests in the meantime to rule out a few things, but I think we both know what’s going on and the root cause of all these issues. Arden…” The doctor planted himself down on the side of the bed and held Arden’s gaze with grave concern leaking through on his face. “This isn’t your first rodeo. Answer me honestly. How much did you weigh last time you checked?”
Arden hesitated and worked his bottom lip between his teeth. His gaze flicked to mine before he mumbled, “Ninety-eight pounds.”
“Mmhm. And when was your last proper meal?”
Arden’s gaze skated sideways before answering. “This evening.”
“That wasn’t a proper meal,” I interjected, knowing Arden wouldn’t be pleased but needing to be as transparent with the doctor as possible. “He ate a half a package of ramen noodles and maybe a half an apple.”
The doctor’s gaze never left Arden’s. “And before that?”
Arden’s chin fell as he mumbled, “Half a piece of toast with butter on it for breakfast.”
“And the day before that?” Dr. Singhal urged.
“Eight saltines, a third of an apple, a piece of toast.”
I was sensing a pattern. These items were the only ones I’d ever seen or known of Arden eating.
“The day before that?”
“I get it. Do we have to do this?” Arden snapped. “I don’t remember.”
“The point I’m making, Arden, is a man of twenty years old at your height and weight requires a minimum of eighteen hundred calories a day to maintain their weight. Maintain. You are significantly underweight for a man of your age and height which means you should be increasing that caloric intake to roughly two thousand and more. Your daily meals are barely gracing one thousand if I were to guess. Probably less than five hundred on a bad day. Do you know what that is doing to your body?”
“I know,” Arden mumbled, shrinking into himself.
“I hope you know because people die all the time from starvation and that is exactly what you are doing. Your body needs fuel. Depriving it of the appropriate vitamins and minerals will cause your organs to shut down.” The doctor tapped the chart in his hand and quirked a thick brow. “Starting with your heart.”
My chest tightened with Dr. Singhal’s little speech, and I squirmed in my seat. Listening to him talk brought the ugly reality to the forefront. How could I think sitting by and ignoring Arden’s poor eating habits was helping? Just because he didn’t want to talk about it didn’t make it okay. Observing and monitoring his behaviors wasn’t helping either. Neither was his family. Everyone seemed to pass off the issue as something else, and they avoided the real problem or refused to see it.
But what was the real problem? And why did it feel like it was right under my nose and I didn't see it?
Did Arden still see a therapist? Phoenix had mentioned a counselor. What was the root cause of this anorexic behavior—if that was truly what it was? I saved my concerns and questions as Dr. Singhal stood and peered down at Arden’s slumped frame.
“You’ll have a room tonight and an IV. Tomorrow, we will run tests. I’ll take a closer look at the results and those of your bloodwork when I get them back. Then, we will chat again to plan a course of action. You’re staying this time, yes?”
It wasn’t really a question. Dr. Singhal was daring Arden to disagree.
Arden swallowed and nodded but refused to meet the doctor’s eyes.
“He’ll stay,” I said, squeezing Arden’s hand for reassurance. Because I’d be damned if I let him walk out of the hospital this time.
“Excellent.”
Dr. Singhal went off to deal with other patients, and Arden and I were left alone for the first time since he’d passed out earlier.
He’d withdrawn over the course of the evening and wouldn’t meet my eyes as he stared into space with a heavy sadness filling his face. His fingers twisted together in his lap and he gnawed his lip.
“Arden?”
“I’m really embarrassed right now, and I don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbled.
“Embarrassed? Why?”
His gaze flashed to mine, and he scowled. “How sexy am I? Fainting in the middle of a fucking orgasm. Do you have any idea how mortifying that is?
“Do you honestly think I care?”
“You should.”
I moved so I was sitting on the edge of his bed where the doctor had been earlier. Not allowing Arden to turn away, I cradled his cheek and held him facing me. “I’m more concerned about your health than a botched sexual encounter, believe me. We can have plenty more to make up for that one, but not if you aren’t well.” I paused and assessed the situation before asking, “What’s really going on?”
He tensed and shuffled around on the bed. “What do you mean?”
“What’s the deal with food?”
He shrugged and his gaze slipped sideways. “Just like everyone says. I guess I’m anorexic. Food makes people fat, and who needs that? I don’t want to be fat, so I don’t eat a lot. Whatever. It’s my choice. Everyone needs to leave it be and stop worrying so much about it. Stop telling me what to do. I’m in control.”
You’re not.
Every word held a razor’s edge, but it wasn’t anger at me, it was self-loathing. Hatred. I could see it plain as day. His biting words were meant to hurt, but I saw them for what they really were.
“Why are you lying to me?”
“It’s my choice,” he said again, his vacant eyes locking on mine. “I’m in control. I am, and no one is going to stop me doing what I want to do.”
Those words…
They were robotic and empty of meaning. Who was he trying to convince? I was guessing me because, if I had to wager a guess, he certainly didn’t believe them. It was like he was programmed to say them. Something really wasn’t right, and Arden was waving a warning flag right under my nose. I needed to get to the bottom of this before he drove himself into the ground.
“We’ve got a room all ready for you, Arden. Are you ready to go?”
He flopped back on his bed, and I watched as he erected a visible wall of indifference, barely stopping himself from rolling his eyes. “Sure. Whatever.”
While they transferred him, I took my time wandering the hallway to his room, turning the information I had around and around in my head. It was after two in the morning. Considering I wasn’t planning on leaving any time soon, I called work and left a message, stating I wouldn’t be able to come in. I’d hear from Mickey in the morning, no doubt.
It was another half an hour before the nurses cleared out of Arden’s room and allowed me to join him—despite it being outside visiting hours. I knew it was only because most of the nurses knew me and they were purposefully turning a blind eye.
Arden’s room was semi-private, but the bed on the other side was vacant. I pulled up a seat and scanned him. They’d made him put on hospital scrubs and had hooked him up to an IV and oxygen. He picked at the tape holding the IV line secure to his arm.
At least I knew an IV would provide him with the much-needed fluids and nutrition he was sorely lacking. It wasn’t an answer, but it was relieving nonetheless.
“Can we not talk about it?” Arden asked, peeking up from his constant picking.
I moved to his bed and sat beside him. He was semi-reclined, the blankets covering him to his waist. Taking his uncompromised hand, I stroked small circles over the surface. “For now, but I’m not willing to ignore this. You scared me tonight.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“I hope so. I want to have a lot longer with you than a few weeks. We’re just getting started.”
My comment earned me an almost smile before he tempered it. He adjusted his nasal cannula with a frown, re-hooking it over his ear when it fell. “Is this stupid thing really necessary?”
“Yes. It means your oxygen saturation levels are too low. It will help you feel less faint and dizzy, believe me.”