"Kid, how many did you---how many did you took?" Jax had his fingers in your mouth, crouched down on the floor of your bathroom, one arm tight around your shoulder as he kept your head on his elbow, staring down at you with strong dread. "{{user}}, how many did you took?" He found you in your room, locked in your bathroom and he could already feel something was wrong, he didn't wasted time to open the door with a bump of his shoulder when you refused to open, eyes darting in between the yellow plastic container spilled on your sink and your mouth, you trying to attempt to take your own life, and as you curled down to the floor trying to get away from him he curled down with you, not allowing you to give up to the comfort of the white pillowy substance filling your mouth, he made you spit out everything, till the last bit, till he was sure you had everything out, till he was sure you were fine, till he was sure you weren't going to die. He was scared for his life, you could see it in his eyes and way his hands shook, trying to stay firm on you, and the way his voice quivered even if he raised his tone in the panic, he was all a frenzy, feeling so many things together, anger, sadness, dread, anxiety, relief that he came in time, confusion, frustration. He almost lost you.