NOAH

Ch. 7

Chapter 7

The bar of soap slips between my jittery fingers as if I'm hoping it will wash away the trepidation that has crept into my person. I peek into the room as the nurses set up station around a rigid Dr. Marsh. The rubber soles of my converse scrape against each other. The squeak of the sole is more felt than heard.

Noah shakes his head in my peripheral, causing me to turn in his direction. His eyes are trained on the doctor the entire time we finish scrubbing in. I feel as if we're on the same uneasy page.

For every step I take closer to the man lying before me, my eyes widen a fraction. Thick caked on blood rests at the base of the shard, wine tinted veins painted underneath the nauseatingly deep incision. Blood bubbles from underneath the glass, revoking a bubbling feeling of my own deep in my gut. My head throbs alongside the beep of his heart monitor, fingers tremble with the rapid beat of my own.

How did you end up with a shard of glass in your throat? Was someone cruel enough to try and take your life and your voice? Made sure you couldn't call for help. Tried to make you disappear.

I let out a breath of air as the unwelcome thoughts of my faceless mother being slashed and discarded like trash fill my darkening mind. Left to die on her own, leaving behind a young child to navigate life without her. Never to hear her advice, see her light, or feel her love.

I clamp my teeth down on my bottom lip, hoping the sting will erase every bad thought from my brain. My attention focuses on the man in front of me as he raises his trembling hands to one of the nurses.

"Scalpel."

Her weary gaze assures my worry as she slowly hands him the blade and casts her eyes to the floor. My eyes bounce from the shard to the scalpel, trying to come up with a reason he would need it. Why is he cutting into a man with a window practically lodged in his vocal chords?

Noah must share the same confusion as he clears his throat. "Uh, sir? Why do you have a scalpel?"

The pulse of my heartbeat, turbulent in my ears, grows rough like a plane bobbing in a thunderstorm. The world around me moves in a slower pace as if I were watching from outside my body. Then, all of a sudden, everything except the beep of the monitor stops.

Dr. Marsh leans far to his right, scalpel raised in hand, almost colliding with the other nurse. She jumps away, frightened by the tip of the blade almost giving her a free nose job. He staggers as he tries to stand up straight and shakes his head, placing the scalpel back on the tray.

"Forgot."

As if the near fall wasn't enough to prompt a freak-out, that one word has me breaking my silence. "Is everything alright, Dr.?"

Beads of sweat roll down his face despite the smug look he dons. "Watch and learn, sunshine."

As Noah goes to speak, Dr. Marsh yanks the shard of glass from the mans neck, causing the nurses to scream. Like a bad horror movie effect, overflowing amounts of blood spray over everyone. The constant shower like a sprinkler on a hot summer day, only the only thing hot was the dark, mahogany colored, blood of a man I don't know.

The fluid splatters close to my lips, earning a gag in response. "Not again!"

The pangs in my head increase as the beeps on the heart monitor escalate with fury. The beeps fade into a constant ring of terror. It was frozen on death, like we were frozen in place. Standing rigid as we hover over this once living, breathing, man, who's now nothing more than a rain of fatality.

Noah's hands rub together, his gloves ripping at the intense amount of friction. "What do we do next? How do we save him?"

Before anyone can answer, Dr. Marsh's hand grasps the table of surgical tools before ripping them to the floor as he crashes down with them. His back lands with a smack, springing us to life as we rush over to him, not wanting another casualty.

But as we reach him, a pungent odor strikes the air around us. We raise our heads, slowly turning to meet each other's gaze. Noah's bright green irises swim with an emotion I can only register as pure horror.

Dr. Marsh is oozing liquor.

We take a few slow steps back, my eyes gazing at the stunned nurses before meeting Noah's once more. As if our brains were connected, we bolt from the O.R., synchronized in step. Once we reach the scrubbing area, I rip my mask and gloves off, turning the sink on as Noah does the same.

I grab the antibacterial soap and scrub it against my skin, grabbing paper towels when I need abrasion. The more I scrub the bloodier I feel as I watch the reddening water slip down the drain. My arms start to sting as my scrubs harshen, causing Noah to point out the red tint to my arm. If I don't stop now, the skin will likely tear from my arms.

He sighs, chewing his nails in silence. We don't speak, only watch as the nurses cover the mans body with a sheet, unplugging his monitor afterwards. Dr. Marsh snores on the ground, his patient probably long forgotten. Both males sleep peacefully in the O.R. as we watch from a glass on the other side of the room.

My eyes land on a lone spray of blood, situated directly on my reflection. Bloodshot eyes stare back at me before fading into the two sleeping humans once again. And I realize something terrible.

Both relax in a such a peaceful slumber, for only one to return.

Noah's expression mirrors mine as his face reflects off the glass. "Fuck."

"Fuck indeed."