Cogent

TWENTY-ONE

Heart pounding, head exploding, Noah felt the room closing in on him. He looked for a sharp object, or something heavy—anything he could use to scare them. Get them to back off. He spotted a tray attached to a large stand and a stool next to it. There was also the IV pole on the other side of the bed, but he couldn't reach that while staying out of arms-length of the nurses and that syringe. Lunging, Noah grabbed the metal seat and lifted it to his midsection, holding it in front of him like a shield. Aching body protesting, Noah sucked in a sharp breath and winced at the pain in his ribs and shoulders. His swollen knee gave out and he jerked back reflexively, dropping the stool to grab hold of the wall. It fell in front of him and he remained behind it, pulling the tray over to form a stronger barricade before any of them could get close enough to touch him.

"Sir, you need to calm down—"

"Don't tell me to calm down!" Noah shouted. His lungs were tightening again, forcing him to take smaller, halting breaths. "Just let me leave!"

"We can't do that, not until we know that you are in a condition that permits you to leave safely without injuring yourself or others," the doctor explained.

"If you get out of my way, I won't hurt anyone," the warning in his voice was clear.

"Sir, you are severely dehydrated and malnourished. Right now, you're at risk of respiratory failure, heart attack, and blood clots from the injuries you've sustained. You also have bruising that indicates broken ribs which could puncture your lungs or heart if not properly treated. You need to be on an IV and you need to eat—"

"You're not putting that tube back in me. I won't let you do that," Noah snapped, leaning forward with both hands on the tray. The room was starting to spin.

"We'd be more than happy to bring some food to you and explain the treatments available for your condition. But right now, you need to get back on the bed and cooperate—"

"I'm not getting back on that fucking bed!" Noah snarled.

"Then we have no choice but to restrain you." The doctor admitted reluctantly.

"You can't do that," Tess interjected, surprising everyone. "He's a patient, not a prisoner!"

"It's in the best interest of the patient and the hospital that he cooperates fully and allows treatment, but if he won't do so willingly, it is within our legal right to chemically restrain him." The doctor responded calmly.

Noah saw Tess looking at him with tears in her eyes. She wanted to say she was sorry, he could tell. But he didn't need to hear it. He didn't care. "I don't need treatment." He retorted. "I didn't ask anybody to bring me here. This wasn't my choice. So just let me leave, and you can treat people who are actually sick."

You are sick.

"You are sick." The doctor said.

Noah shook his head. "No," he swallowed, "I'm not..." a lie.

"Just let them help you, please," Tess entreated.

Noah glanced at her but said nothing. He was leaning heavily on the tray, rubbing his cheek against his shoulder. He surveyed them anxiously, eyes wide. Anger had faded into fear. The panic that had boosted his strength with adrenaline was gone now, replaced by dread. He tried to find their eyes, but blurry vision prevented any kind of visual contact. He wouldn't be able to manipulate any of them. Noah was completely at their mercy. Something inside of him broke, too weak to fight anymore.

"It's going to be okay," Tess told him. "Please, just-just let them help you?"

Noah turned on her with a piercing glare, his jaw clenched. "You brought me here," he said in a low, angry voice. "You did this."