Free Because He Possesses Me by Hannah Ford Page B

anything bad to happen to her. Not that I cared about her, but it was just basic human decency.
    “Hello?” I called. “Rose? Is everything okay?”
    No answer.
    I walked back into the apartment and knocked on the bathroom door.
    “Rose? I’m leaving now.”
    Still no answer.
    I was about to say screw it again and head for the door. There was a limit to how much humiliation I could take, and breaking into the bathroom to try to make sure Callum’s girlfriend or call girl or hook up or whatever the hell she was, was okay was past the limit of what I deemed reasonable.
    I’d turned on my heel (I couldn’t even imagine what I was going to look like on the subway, going home in high heels and a pair of sweatpants) and was halfway back to the door when I heard it.
    A strangled moaning sound.
    I stopped and paused, but only for half a second, wanting to convince myself that she was okay, that I didn’t have to go back, that maybe I’d just imagined whatever it was I thought I’d just heard.
    But a second later, the sound came again, louder this time, more insistent.
    Crap.
    I walked back to the bathroom and rapped on the door. Harder this time.
    I was pissed now. I was going to have to get stern with this girl.
    “Rose!” I yelled. “If you don’t answer the door, I’m going to have to come in.” I jiggled the doorknob in warning. It turned easily, letting me know she hadn’t bothered to lock the door.
    There was still no answer, and a second later, another sound came through the door, a choking gurgling sound, followed by another moan, this time more strangled and insistent.
    Trepidation slid down my spine, leaving an icy cold feeling in its wake. Suddenly, I didn’t want to open the door, afraid of what I might find on the other side.
    I gripped my phone tightly in my hand, and considered just calling Callum. But what if Rose was fine in there, and I called him telling him something was wrong? Talk about adding insult to humiliation.
    Stop being a baby, Adriana , I told myself. Grow a freakin’ backbone and open the door.
    I did.
    And then I gasped.
    Rose lay on the floor on her back, her jeaned legs all askew, a needle hanging out of a vein in her arm.
    The water in the sink was running, the basin full. It overflowed onto the floor, soaking the throw rug and pooling around Rose’s feet.
    “Oh, my God,” I breathed. I rushed into the bathroom and knelt beside her, soaking the knees of Callum’s sweatpants. “Rose,” I called. “Rose, are you okay?” Her eyes were open, but just barely, and they had a glazed, sort of dead look to them. The needle had fallen out of her arm and onto the floor, saving me from the horrible decision of whether or not to remove it.
    I dialed 911 as I stood back up, turning off the water and unstopping the sink.
    “911, what’s your emergency?” the operator on the other end of the line asked. Her voice was brisk and professional, ready to leap into action, the kind of voice that was used to dealing with emergencies, not like me, who had no idea what to do and was about one second away from a panic attack.
    “Yes, hi, I think my friend might have overdosed on heroin,” I said. “Or some kind of drug, I’m not sure what she took.”
    “Okay, ma’am, what’s your location?”
    Shit. I had no idea where I was or what my location was.
    I ran to the window in the living room and looked outside. I gave her the cross streets. “It’s the brick building, fourth floor,” I said. “Please hurry.”
    The operator stayed on the phone with me, mostly just trying to keep me calm. Rose was breathing, a sick, sort of syrupy sound, but she was breathing. She didn’t need CPR. The operator instructed me to roll her over onto her side, in case she vomited, so she wouldn’t aspirate.
    I did as I was told, surprised at how delicate Rose felt under my fingers, how fragile.
    When the paramedics came into the apartment, they lifted her onto a stretcher and started peppering me with