Page 16 of Rat Park
Dominic gave the address, standing over Prince helplessly.
“Okay. Someone is on their way. Is your friend still breathing?”
“I don’t—wait a sec.” Dominic ran to the kitchen, yanking drawers open until he found a clean spoon and rushed back to the living room. He placed the spoon under Prince’s nose and almost crumpled in relief when the metal fogged over slightly.
“Yeah. Yeah, he’s breathing.”
“Okay, sir. Do you know what he took?”
“Heroin.”
“Okay. Is there anything obstructing his airway?”
“No, he’s on his side.”
“Good. Don’t worry, someone is on their way,” she repeated.
Dominic clutched the phone as he waited, keeping the spoon under Prince’s nose with a shaking hand to monitor his breathing.
“Fuck. Fuck. You knew I was coming over, you fucking idiot,” Dominic muttered, staring at Prince’s ashen face.
It felt like both an age and just a few minutes before the paramedics arrived.
“In here!” Dominic shouted as he heard them at the door, stepping back belatedly as they approached. He watched numbly as they moved him to the floor, moving efficiently around Prince’s body. They talked calmly to both Prince and Dominic, but Dominic couldn’t answer any of their questions.
“I don’t know how long he’s been like that, I only got here a minute before calling,” he said. The paramedics just nodded their head.
Dominic watched as they took a Naloxone bottle out, its orange top still familiar. One of them popped the lid off, drawing the liquid out with a long needle as the other cleaned a spot on Prince’s bicep before injecting the drug into the muscle.
They only had to wait a minute before Prince was stirring blearily.
“Fuck,” Dominic said, running a hand through his hair. “He’s all right?”
“Your friend is going to be fine. He’ll need to be monitored for the next few hours to make sure the overdose doesn’t reoccur after the Naloxone wears off.”
“All right. I—all right.” That was the last thing Dominic wanted to do, but they’d charge Prince for admission into a hospital, and Dominic had no idea if he was covered. He was going to guess not.
Dominic turned his head as he heard the front door open again, freezing as he saw a policewoman step into the living room. She was short and slight, middle-aged with light-brown skin and curly hair tied back. Her brown eyes were sharp and assessing as she took in the scene.
“Everything okay in here?”
“Hey, Officer Romero. Yeah, just an overdose,” one of the EMTs said, sounding almost bored. Reviving junkies was probably routine in their town.
“Kid all right?” she asked.
“Yep,” the EMT said, the other one asking Prince questions which he was slurring but responding to.
“Good.” She looked at Dominic. “What about you? You okay?”
“Yeah,” Dominic managed. He wanted to get out of there. Officer Romero looked at him carefully.
“He a friend of yours?”
“Used to be. I don’t—I just got here. This is the first time I’ve seen him in years, I swear—”
“Calm down. I’m not here to report you. You on parole?”
Dominic didn’t wonder how she had known. She could probably spot his type from a mile away. He didn’t respond to her question, but his silence was answer enough.
