These Demons

Chapter Thirteen

"I am not sick." My tongue feels numb and the words taste weird, but I sound stronger than I feel.
"I am not sick," I repeat myself when the doctor shakes her head.
"I understand how hard this must be for you," she tries, but I cut her off.
"You don't understand shit. I told you, I'm not sick!"
Once again, I'm yelling, but if I didn't, nobody would listen.
"Then how do you explain your behavior?" Zoe now begins to convince me too and I shoot her an angry look. "What behavior?!" I hiss at her, but she doesn't react to that.
"You know what I'm talking about."
"I'm dieting."
"You're starving."
"Bullshit."

I press my lips together to restrain myself from exploding and appearing more like an insane person than they believe I already do.
How dare they say such things about me?
How dare they judge me like this and act like they know me better than I do?
The only one who knows what's going on with me is me. The fact that this lady studied medicine changes nothing about that; it only proves that people like her always think they're somehow better and smarter.

"It's okay for you to not be ready to talk about it just yet," she tells me and her pretended compassion fuels my rage inside.
"But I can't let you go home like this. You have cardiac arrhythmias which means that you're endangered to suffer from a heart attack, and looking at your circulation problems and delusional thinking, I am certain that this will worsen if I let you go. As a doctor, I can't take that risk, Mr. Biersack," she lets me know with the annoying serious look on her stupid face.

"So what? You're really going to lock me up if I don't play along?" I want to know, venom lacing my words.
"This isn't about locking you up." She says it in a way that makes it clear that I must be a total idiot, but I know I'm not. "This is about protecting you from yourself because you are currently a very serious danger to your own body."
I scoff at that and cross my arms in front of my chest, not letting her words get to me.
None of the things she says matter to me because I know none of this is true.
"Do you want to die from organ failure?"
"What?" That takes me by surprise. "Of course not!"
I mean, I don't want to die. Not that I will, but I don't want to either. It's just... If something did kill me, I don't think I would mind. I know I won't die, though. She's exaggerating by making up stories to freak me out and make me believe her, but I see through her lies.

"Then agree with the observation program for 72 hours. You will be safe and receive a legit diagnosis through several sessions of counseling with the best professionals our psychiatric ward offers. If it turns out that I'm wrong, you will be free to go."
"And if not?" I perk an eyebrow at her, sounding as sarcastic as possible, but she ignores that.
"We have ties to the best therapy programs in this country, many of them in or close to Los Angeles, both inpatient and outpatient. We will get you to the right place so you can recover."
"I don't need that. Besides, I have better things to do than that shit," I inform her, arrogance in my voice because I am more than done with this.
I should have never let Zoe come near me.
That way, none of this would have ever happened. This is just beyond ridiculous.
All I'm doing is get rid of all that fat on my body so I can be skinny again, and this is my reward?

"Are you sure about that?"
I don't even bother to say something.
"A 5150 it is then," she concludes, but I have absolutely no idea what that's supposed to mean.
"A what?"
"Involuntary psychiatric hold," she explains, but that doesn't really explain it. "It's not a criminal arrest," she quickly adds. "You're just being protected this way. I will write a form about your current mental state that I consider very critical and point out that you refuse treatment despite being in desperate need of it and you will spend 72 hours here."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" My jaw drops. I was certain she was just making threats to scare me, but now it all seems to be very real. "You're not actually doing this, are you? I'm a fucking adult! You can't do that! Besides, I'm not fucking crazy!"
"Nobody says that," she assures me, but that doesn't mean shit.
"You do," I insist, almost screaming.
"No," she calmly responds. "I am simply protecting you."
"I don't need protection!" I now scream for real and jump from my chair, ignoring the dizziness in my head. "You can't do this!"

"The law in California says otherwise," Zoe mumbles and I turn to face her. "Shut up already," I scold. "This is your fault!"
She stands up and attempts to hide the hurt in her eyes, but I see it regardless.
"Leave," I order and feel the urge to slap her, but I would never hurt a girl physically.
"Andy, I only want...," she starts, but I don't let her finish her lie.
"Leave!" I shout, stepping so close that I could snap her neck within a split second.
"You brought me here! It's your fault! I don't ever want to see your goddamn face again!"

It looks like she wants to say something, but I'm glad that she changes her mind and storms off instead, slamming the door shut behind her without saying anything.
I couldn't care less about her feelings right now considering she's responsible for the situation I'm stuck in right now. I should have gotten rid of her a lot earlier because then I'd be home and working out right now which I desperately need.
In the meantime, the doctor whose name I still don't know (not that I care, though) pulls out one of those weird old school looking phones medical staff at hospitals always has to communicate with each other and send out alarms and all that.
She quickly dials a short number and puts the phone to her ear, waiting for a response on the other end of the line which she quickly receives. "Yeah, hey," she casually says while flipping through a folder in her lap. "I have a male 5150 here that needs to be picked up... Yeah, bring him too... That would be great... Thanks." After she's hung up, she turns to me.

"Someone will be here shortly to get you and until then, I'll finish your file and you receive a copy."
"Why would I need that?"
"An involuntary commitment needs to be legally filed and written notice given to the patient of legal age in this state," she drones in the worst possible monotone way.
"Aha," is all I respond because I don't care, still not meeting her lying eyes.
"If you freak out, we will definitely give you medication once we've informed you about the side effects. You know that, right?"
"A straitjacket too?" I sarcastically counter, but yet again she doesn't let me ruin her horrible calmness.
"If these were the 1960s, then sure. But just to make this clear: For your own sake, don't do any freaky things. It won't end well for you."
"You're making a mistake," I mumble angrily.
"I won't throw a tantrum," I then promise, "But only because nobody would give a shit or change something anyways. This is all bullshit. I'm not fucking crazy."

"Sickness isn't insanity," she states and I just shake my head at her crap whispering insults about the stupid bitch she is, knowing that she hears me, but she's as emotional as a damn rock.