Page 12 of Wild
Noah opens one eye, slowly, then sits up enough to open the other.
"Don't be difficult," he says, annoyed. "You heard the nurse: for someone with symptoms like yours, they keep you in the ER overnight, and they gave you an actual room because of who you are — be grateful and don't ask for more than you need."
She frowns and kicks him again.
"I'm not being ungrateful, but this place is a drag. I want to go back to the hotel and sleep. That's not asking too much."
"I don't think they'll be long — they probably want to get rid of you as soon as possible. Besides, Jude must've left clear instructions," Noah guesses, rolling his eyes. "He had to put security in the hallway and at your door. That costs money, and you know how tight he is."
Mia laughs.
"Want me to run down to the cafeteria and grab you some breakfast?"
"Not hungry right now, maybe later," Mia says.
"Not even juice? You haven't eaten anything since before the show," he reminds her, worried.
"I've got this — I'll survive," she says, pointing to the IV line still in her arm.
Noah huffs and runs his hands through his hair to comb it.
"Maybe you should step into the bathroom and look in the mirror," Mia suggests with a lopsided smile.
Her friend hesitates, because the truth is he usually couldn't care less about the state of his hair — the messier it is, the better it goes over with guys and most girls — but he goes anyway to wash his face and use the bathroom.
When he closes the door, Mia turns toward the window, through which there isn't much to see — just an enormous building across the way with rows of identical windows that she finds even more boring than her own room. She picks up her phone to check her feeds and finds thousands of messages of support — along with others demanding the concert berescheduled and several asking for refunds — and sets it back down, thinking Jude must be doing twice the work trying to manage all of this.
The room door opens just as Noah steps out of the bathroom. Hassan comes in — the same doctor who treated her when she arrived — with a resident. Mia is about to ask him how long his shift runs, but she notices that under his white coat he's wearing a different suit than the night before and he looks fresh, so he probably left after his evening shift and is just starting the morning one now.
"Good morning," he says. "How did you sleep, Mia?"
"Pretty well."
"Come on, Mia," Noah cuts in, annoyed. "We're talking about your health, so don't lie to him."
She smooths her short hair and thinks she desperately needs a shower.
"Okay, fine — I didn't sleep much, but I wasn't feeling bad or anything. It's just this place. It creeps me out."
Hassan smiles, and so does the resident. Mia looks at her and decides she's cute — maybe she could've been a good candidate for the night after the concert, except she spent it here instead of having sex.
The doctor comes closer and checks her pulse, leaving a chart on the bed. Mia stays still, watching him and waiting.
"All right, let's go over your results," Hassan says.
He sits at the foot of the bed, turned toward Mia, while Noah fixes all his attention on him.
"Your bloodwork looks good — your electrolytes are a little low, but nothing alarming. EKG shows no irregularities, twenty-four-hour Holter monitor—"
"Doctor," Mia interrupts. "I don't want to be rude, but we're not following any of this. Can you skip that part and just get to the point?"
The man clears his throat and gives her a patient smile, because he gets it — she's not the first patient to ask him that.
"The diagnosis is what Dr. Dooley suspected from the start. Your tests and your clinical picture point to recurrent vasovagal syncope."
"What's that?" Noah asks.
"People who have it," the resident explains, stepping in for the first time after Hassan glances at her, "experience fainting episodes triggered by a sudden reaction in the body. The nervous system causes blood pressure and heart rate to drop, less blood reaches the brain for a few seconds, and the person loses consciousness."
