Subdue-X

A Withdrawal's Sadness

I shot up in bed, heart racing, the room dimly lit by sterile, artificial light that flickered overhead. My chest heaved as the monitors around me erupted into loud beeping sounds, their sharp cries jarring me out of my fog. The cold air felt like needles against my skin, and the taste of copper lingered in my mouth. The room was too bright, too cold, and I couldn’t make sense of anything around me.

Faces I couldn’t place blurred in and out of my vision as people swarmed into the room, barking orders I couldn’t follow. Panic set in as my head swam, the throbbing ache behind my eyes pulsing harder. And then—there were two faces I knew. Pin’s eyes were sharp, focused, while Christian—Christian was breaking.

He stumbled toward me, his arms suddenly wrapping around my shoulders, pulling me close. His chest heaved with sobs, his breath hot against the top of my head as he stroked my hair. His body trembled, and I felt the weight of his grief through every shake, every tear that soaked into my scalp, “you weren't waking up…”

I blinked, trying to make sense of the world. His sudden collapse into tears sent a sharp, agonizing blade through my chest. This isn’t right. Christian—he never breaks. Not like this. Not in front of me. I wasn’t sure whether to comfort him or run from the pain it inflicted. There was a part of me that wanted to shove him away, tell him to get it together. But the larger part of me felt guilty—like his pain was my fault.

Pin appeared at my side, pressing a stethoscope against my back. The freezing metal snapped me out of my spiraling thoughts, the sharp sensation a violent reminder of reality. Christian’s head was wrapped in white bandages, his cuts barely concealed, as if patched together carelessly just to get him through this moment. He shouldn’t be here—he should be in a bed, recovering. Yet, here he was. For me.

Pin ushered me to lie back down. He grabbed the ultrasound machine, his hand trembling as he turned it on. The soft hum of the machine filled the room, grounding me, pulling me back into the present. But Pin’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and the sight of his uncertainty made a deep dread settle into my bones.

"I should’ve asked you earlier," Pin muttered, his voice distant, as if he wasn’t fully present. "But did Sterling ever tell you the name of the drug?"

"Neuro..." I strained to think, the word elusive, buried somewhere in the fog. I closed my eyes, trying to sift through the chaos in my mind. "NeuroModulon," I finally muttered, the word tasting bitter in my mouth.

Pin’s face darkened. His disappointment was almost palpable as he murmured the name under his breath. He set the ultrasound down, too gently, like it would shatter if he moved too quickly. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths as if the truth had finally caught up with him.

Pin stepped back, his eyes momentarily flickering toward Christian, who still clung to me as if letting go would mean losing me forever. I could feel his desperation in the way his fingers gripped my shoulders, the way his body trembled against mine. I was always his constant. If I left now, I wasn’t sure what would happen to him.

"I need you to-" Pin said, though his voice seemed far away, “-rest." He and Christian exchanged a glance—one I couldn’t read. Was it fear? They didn't want me to sleep, but what else could I do?

Christian didn’t say anything. He pulled back slowly, his chest still shuddering with the effort to keep himself composed. Without another word, they both left the room, and the others—the nameless, faceless people—began taking notes, their eyes never meeting mine. They scribbled numbers on the vital screen as if that would hold all the answers, and then, one by one, they vanished too, sinking away into the background like shadows.

I glanced around, feeling the emptiness crash down around me. Everyone was here. Now everyone is gone. I slammed my back into the bed, frustration surging up inside me, igniting every muscle. The constant shifting of faces, the comings and goings, the uncertainty of what they wanted from me—it was suffocating. Can we make up our mind?