Page 54 of Terms of Exposure
His eyelids fluttered. Just a sliver—a crack of white beneath dark lashes.
My phone clattered to the floor.
"Sebastian. Can you hear me?"
Another flutter. His brow furrowed. Then his eyes opened.
Not all the way—just enough. Glazed. Unfocused. Darting around the room like he was trying to piece together where he was, what had happened, why everything hurt.
They landed on me.
His mouth moved. Lips parting around the tube, trying to formwords that wouldn't come. Just a horrible, muffled sound—wet and strangled and wrong.
His eyes widened. Confusion turning to panic.
He tried again. Harder this time. His jaw working, throat straining, nothing but that awful gurgling noise escaping around the plastic.
"It's okay—" I reached for him. "It's helping you breathe, you're in the hospital, you're—"
But he wasn't listening. Couldn't hear me over his own terror.
His hand flew to his throat.
To the tube.
Oh god.
His fingers clawed at the intubation, eyes going wide with animal panic. His chest heaved as he fought against the machine breathing for him, gagging, choking, every instinct screaming at him to rip out the thing blocking his airway.
"No—no, no, no—" I lunged forward, grabbing his wrist. "Stop! Sebastian, stop!"
He didn't hear me. Didn't see me anymore. Just kept pulling, his body convulsing against the restraints of wires and tubes.
"NURSE!" The scream ripped free. "SOMEBODY HELP!"
I tried to hold his arm down, but he was stronger than he looked—stronger than a man who'd been in a coma had any right to be. His other hand joined the first, both of them tearing at the tube like he was drowning and it was the thing killing him.
"HELP! PLEASE!"
Footsteps thundered down the hall.
The door burst open—Toni first, then another nurse I didn't recognize, then a doctor in blue scrubs already barking orders.
"He's trying to extubate—hold him down—"
Hands everywhere. Voices overlapping. Someone shoved me aside and I stumbled back, back hitting the wall as I watched them swarm the bed.
"Sebastian,you're in the hospital. You need to calm down—"
He wasn't calming down. His eyes were wild, rolling, tears streaming down his temples as he choked around the tube.
"Get me 2 of Ativan, now—"
"He's fighting—I can't hold—"
"Sebastian!" The doctor's voice cut through, firm and loud. "You're safe. You're in the ICU. We're going to take the tube out, but you need to stop fighting. Do you understand? Blink if you understand."
A horrible, suspended moment.
