Artist/Author: rosesofred
Title: Putnam Psychiatric Hospital
Fandom: Moon Knight, MCU, Original Work
Summary: Isaac is the youngest of three and the only one of his brothers diagnosed with schizophrenia. When things start getting bad again, his older brother David steps in to do what he thinks is best and takes him to Putnam Psychiatric Hospital.
Notes & Warnings: whump, needles, medical abuse, intubation, self harm, mentions of suicide
The next morning, Isaac sat at the cafeteria table staring at his untouched breakfast tray. Soggy scrambled eggs beside burnt toast with ice cold orange juice in a paper cup. His stomach churned, though whether from hunger or the lingering medication from yesterday, he couldn't tell.
"You gonna eat that?" Layla asked, pointing at his plate with a plastic spoon. Isaac shook his head and slid the tray across the table to her. Layla scraped the food off onto her own plate, pushing away the container.
Isaac's hands trembled slightly as he lifted the orange juice to his lips, managing only a small sip before setting it down. The taste made his empty stomach clench. Around him, other patients either shoveled food into their mouths or sat staring blankly at their trays, the dining hall filled with the scrape of plastic utensils and muffled conversations.
When breakfast was over, everyone lined up for medications. Layla stood behind him, waiting impatiently for her meds. "Like a squirrel," Isaac whispered under his breath.
The line moved forward slowly, one after another. He watched the nurse distribute pills into paper cups, wait, check, then move on. Three patients ahead of him. Then two. Then one.
"Isaac Mohammadi."
Isaac stepped forward, accepting the paper cup containing the same white and yellow pills. This time he positioned them carefully in his mouth, tucking them into the space between his cheek and lower molars where his wisdom teeth used to be. The bitter coating immediately began dissolving against his gums.
He drank the water down quickly while keeping the pills secure in their hiding spot. The chalky taste made him want to gag, but he forced his expression to remain neutral.
"Open."
Isaac opened his mouth, lifting his tongue as the nurse shone her penlight inside. The beam swept across his teeth and the visible surfaces, but the pills remained hidden in the shadowy recesses of his cheek.
"Good. Next."
Isaac closed his mouth and walked away, his heart hammering in his chest. He walked briskly down the hall to his room, almost running in to get to safety. The second the door shut, he took the pills out of his mouth and hid them under his mattress. He was too nervous to give them to Layla now, his hands trembling. Though he wasn’t sure if the trembling was a side effect of the medications or from his own nerves. Either way, he didn’t feel great.
A knock came on his door and Isaac nearly jumped out of his skin, spinning to sit down on the edge of his bed. The door opened and Dr. Harrow stepped in, closing it gently behind him. “Isaac, I wanted to talk to you.”
Isaac's stomach dropped as he noticed the small bottle in Dr. Harrow's hand. The small brown plastic container with its white label made his mouth go dry.
"I brought you something." Dr. Harrow held up the Ensure, shaking it gently. "Chocolate flavour. I thought we could start with something simple."
"I'm not drinking that."
"Isaac, you missed breakfast completely today and barely touched anything yesterday. Your body needs nutrients to function properly, especially while you're adjusting to your medications."
Isaac frowned. "I said no."
Dr. Harrow stepped closer, his voice taking on that patronizing doctor tone that made Isaac want to roll his eyes. He leaned on his cane, holding the ensure in his other hand. "This isn't a negotiation. You're severely underweight and your electrolyte levels are concerning. This is a medical necessity."
"You can't force me to drink anything."
"Actually, I can." Dr. Harrow set the bottle on the small bedside table. "If you refuse to maintain adequate nutrition voluntarily, we'll have to explore other options. A feeding tube, for instance. It's not pleasant, but it's effective."
Isaac's breath caught in his throat. "That's not legal. You can't just force feed me."
"When a patient is demonstrating clear signs of self-harm through starvation, we have both the legal authority and medical obligation to intervene. You are here on an involuntary hold. The procedure would only take about fifteen minutes but the tube would remain until you were back at a suitable weight." Dr. Harrow picked up the Ensure again, rotating it slowly in his hands. "This, on the other hand, takes thirty seconds and tastes like a chocolate milkshake. Much more pleasant, don't you think?"
Isaac stared at the bottle, his heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. The room felt smaller somehow, the walls pressing in around him.
"I'll give you a moment to think about it." Dr. Harrow placed the Ensure back on the table. "But Isaac, understand this. You will be getting proper nutrition, one way or another. The method is entirely up to you."
Dr. Harrow opened the door again, leaving Isaac with the Ensure. The second the doctor was gone, Isaac shot up and grabbed the Ensure, rushing to the bathroom. He opened the cap, pouring out the contents into the toilet. With one flush, all his problems disappeared. He returned the bottle to his bedside table, screwing the cap back on to make it look like he’d drank the whole thing.
Twenty minutes later, Dr. Harrow returned. His eyes went immediately to the empty bottle on the bedside table, and a satisfied smile crossed his face.
"Excellent, Isaac. How was it?"
"Fine." Isaac said, keeping his eyes down.
"Good. We'll continue with one of these after each meal to help you regain some weight." Dr. Harrow picked up the bottle, examining it. “You know, I’m proud of you, Isaac. You’re making progress and participating in your treatment. Most patients are a little hesitant to comply when they first get here.”
Isaac nodded his head absently, feeling a little guilty that the doctor was praising him when he was lying to his face. But he didn’t care, not really. All he cared about was getting back home where it was safe and the demons couldn’t get him.
Dr. Harrow tucked the empty bottle under his arm and headed toward the door. "I'll check on you later this afternoon. Try to rest."
The door clicked shut behind him.
Isaac exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging as the tension drained from his body. That had been too close. His hands still shook slightly as he glanced at the toilet, imagining the brown liquid swirling down the drain.
He sat back on his bed, pulling his knees up to his chest. The mattress shifted slightly beneath him, and he remembered the pills hidden underneath. Two successful deceptions in one morning. The thought should have made him feel clever, victorious even.
Instead, his stomach twisted with something that felt uncomfortably like shame.
No. He pushed the feeling away. Dr. Harrow didn't understand. None of them did. They wanted to fill him up, make him weak and slow. The demons fed on that weakness, he knew it. Staying empty kept him sharp and it kept him safe.
Feeling that the coast was clear, he grabbed the pills from under his mattress and opened the door to go find Layla.
Isaac walked down the hallway toward the rec room, the pills clutched in his sweaty palm. His heart still raced from the close call with Dr. Harrow, but he'd managed to pull it off anyway. When he entered the rec room he found it sparsely scattered with a few patients doing activities.
A group of people sat around the television watching some daytime talk show, while others worked on puzzles or read magazines with half the pages missing. Isaac spotted Layla in the corner, hunched over a piece of paper at one of the small tables.
She held a bendy pen between her fingers, the kind with the flexible rubber shaft that couldn't be broken into sharp pieces. The pen moved across the paper in quick, erratic strokes as she sketched what looked like a bird in flight.
Isaac approached slowly, glancing around to make sure none of the staff were watching. The orderly stationed near the door was absorbed in his phone, and the nurse at the medication cart faced away from them.
"What are you drawing?"
Layla looked up, her eyes bright. "A scarab." She held up the drawing, showing the detailed wings she'd managed to draw with the clumsy pen. "Like me."
Isaac sat down across from her, keeping his voice low. "I have those things we talked about."
Layla's hand stilled on the paper. She glanced around the room, then back at Isaac. "All of them?"
"Yeah." Isaac opened his palm slightly under the table, showing her the white and yellow pills. "From this morning. Sertraline and Latuda."
Layla nodded, setting her pen down carefully. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a plastic knife. "Found it in the kitchen yesterday during cleanup duty when nobody was paying attention. Slipped it in my pants.” She slid it across the table, covering it with her drawing. "It's not much, but it's sharp enough if you press hard."
Isaac palmed the plastic knife, feeling its weight. Light, but solid enough. He transferred the pills to Layla under the cover of reaching for a crayon from the shared container.
"Thank you."
Layla picked up her pen again, adding another line to the scarab's wing. "Just don’t make it obvious like your wrists or something. Use your legs or stomach.”
Isaac slipped the plastic knife into his scrub pants, using the waist band to keep it in place. He stood up from the table, nodding at Layla.
"Thanks for the art lesson," he said loudly enough for anyone listening to hear.
Layla didn't look up from her drawing.
Isaac walked back through the rec room, past the group still watching television and the woman working on a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces. The orderly by the door glanced up from his phone as Isaac passed, but showed no interest in following him. He could feel the plastic knife jostling around in his pants as he walked, just barely being kept in place by the waistband. He pressed his hand against it, trying to keep it still as he walked.
Once he reached his door and pushed it open, he stepped inside the small prison and sat down.
Isaac closed the door behind him and pulled the plastic knife from his pocket. Under the harsh overhead light, it looked even more pathetic than it had in the rec room. The serrated edge was barely visible, just rough enough to cut through toast if he wanted. But Layla was right. If he pressed hard enough, it would work.
He slid the knife under his mattress, sitting on his bed for a while as he thought. He didn’t know how long he’d been here or how long he had left but he felt like he was getting closer to escape. The more he played along, the more likely the doctor was to release him. He just had to act like he was all better.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Isaac saw a tall dark form dart across the room, barreling towards him. He let out a scream as the demon raced for him and he threw himself back, hitting his head against the wall. Within seconds two orderlies shot into his room, throwing the door open to check what had happened. A nurse followed them, a worried expression on his face.
Isaac blinked as he rubbed his head, looking around. The demon had gone but it had scared the absolute piss out of him.
"Isaac, what happened?" The nurse stepped forward, his eyes scanning the small room for any signs of disturbance.
Isaac took a deep breath, trying to calm down. "There was something in here. It- it came at me."
The larger orderly moved to the left side of the room, checking behind the door and under the small desk by the window. The second orderly remained by the entrance, blocking any potential exit.
"What did you see, Isaac?" The nurse was surprisingly calm considering a demon had just tried to attack him.
"A demon. It moved fast." Isaac's eyes darted around the room, searching the corners where the fluorescent light didn't quite reach. "It was tall."
The nurse exchanged a glance with the first orderly, who shook his head slightly. Nothing there.
"I'm going to get you something to help you relax," the nurse said. Then he turned to the bigger orderly. “Damien, go tell the med passer we need a PRN for agitation.”
Damien nodded his head, leaving quickly to get the sedative.
"No." Isaac scooted back on his bed, pressing himself against the wall. He was starting to feel like a cornered animal. "I don't need anything. I'm fine now."
"Isaac, you're clearly experiencing some distress. This will help calm you down." The nurse said, his voice taking on that same patronizing tone Dr. Harrow had used earlier.
"The demon's gone. I don't need medication." Isaac's fingers gripped the thin blanket beneath him. He could feel himself panicking again.
The other orderly stood in front of the door, guarding it until his coworker came back with the PRN. Isaac didn’t actually know what a PRN was but he sure as hell knew he didn’t want one.
Damien returned carrying a small plastic cup with a syringe inside. The nurse took it from him, examining the clear liquid through the plastic barrel.
"This is just Ativan, Isaac. It'll help with the anxiety and hallucinations." The nurse held up the syringe like a weapon. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way, but either way, you're getting this medication."
Isaac pressed himself further against the wall, the color draining from his face. "I said no. You can't force me."
"Actually, we can." Damien stepped closer to the bed, his bulk filling Isaac's peripheral vision. "Doctor's orders for agitation and psychosis. You can take it in your arm, or we can hold you down and give it to you another way."
The nurse pulled the cap off the needle. "Isaac, this doesn't have to be difficult. Just lay on your side and we'll be done in thirty seconds.
Isaac's eyes darted between the three men, calculating his options. The orderly by the door hadn't moved, still blocking his only exit. Damien loomed over him, arms crossed. The nurse waited patiently, syringe in hand.
"What happens if I refuse?"
"Then Damien and Marcus here will restrain you while I administer the injection. It's going to happen regardless, Isaac. The only question is whether you want to make it traumatic or not."
Isaac felt trapped, the walls of the small room closing in around him. His breathing quickened as panic set in.
Isaac's muscles tensed as adrenaline flooded his system. The syringe gleamed under the fluorescent light, and something primal snapped inside him.
"No!"
He launched himself off the bed, aiming for the gap between Damien and the nurse. His shoulder connected with the nurse's chest, sending the man stumbling backward. The syringe clattered to the floor.
Marcus lunged from the doorway, but Isaac spun away, his grippy socks catching on the linoleum. He grabbed the plastic chair by his desk and swung it wildly, the legs catching Damien across the forearm.
"Get off me!"
Damien grunted, shaking off the impact like it was nothing. His big hands reached for Isaac as he ducked and scrambled toward the door, dropping the chair. Marcus blocked his path, arms spread wide.
Isaac dropped low and drove his shoulder into Marcus's midsection, catching the orderly off guard. The orderly doubled over with a sharp exhale, and Isaac squeezed past him into the hallway. He’d never been a fighter before in his life, never won a fight, but here he was beating up some orderlies to get away. Who knew if the demon was coming back, he didn’t want to chance it.
The corridor stretched in both directions, lined with identical doors. Other patients had emerged from their rooms, drawn by the commotion. Isaac sprinted toward the exit sign at the far end, his grippy socks sticking to the floor with every step.
"Code grey, room twelve!" Marcus's voice boomed behind him.
He couldn’t believe he just beat up some orderlies. Adrenaline pumped through his veins hard and fast, keeping his legs going. He’d never been dangerous before, ever. But he didn’t have a choice. They were keeping him here against his will while he was trying to get back to safety. Demons were after him, he had to get away.
Heavy footsteps thundered behind him as more staff responded to the code. Isaac's lungs burned as he reached the end of the hallway, only to find a locked door marked "Authorized Personnel Only." His fingers fumbled with the handle, yanking uselessly against the electronic lock.
A hand grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around. Damien's face was flushed from exertion.
"Get down!"
Isaac twisted away, but two more orderlies had appeared from the opposite direction. They moved quick, cutting off his escape routes. His back pressed against the cold metal door as they closed in.
"I just want to go home," Isaac gasped, his voice cracking. "I don't belong here."
"Nobody wants to hurt you," Marcus said, breathing heavy. "But you can't hit staff. You know that."
The nurse from his room appeared, syringe in hand again. The orderlies forced him onto his knees as he struggled, then his stomach. A hand grabbed at his scrub pants, tugging them down to just below his butt cheek. Then a sharp poke in his ass made him wince, every muscle tensing as he tried to fight it.
The medication hit Isaac's bloodstream in a wave of warmth. Within seconds, the sharp edges of panic began to soften, his frantic heartbeat slowing to a more manageable rhythm. The orderlies' grips on his arms felt less threatening, more like steadying hands than restraints.
"There we go," the nurse said, pulling Isaac's scrub pants back up. "Much better."
Isaac's legs wobbled as they helped him to his feet. The hallway seemed longer than before, the fluorescent lights above creating gentle halos instead of harsh glares. His fear ebbed away, leaving behind only a heavy drowsiness that made his eyelids feel weighted.
"I want to lie down," he mumbled, the words thick on his tongue.
Damien and Marcus dragged him back toward his room, their hands holding him up by his underarms. Isaac's feet shuffled against the linoleum, each step requiring more concentration than it should. People started looking away as he was dragged back, the excitement all over.
"Why won't you let me go home?" His voice came out smaller than he intended, the fight completely drained from him.
"Because you're not ready yet," Marcus said. "But you will be. This process takes time."
They reached his room and Isaac collapsed onto his bed with no resistance. The thin mattress felt like clouds beneath his exhausted body.
Isaac lay motionless on his bed, staring at the ceiling tiles through heavy-lidded eyes. The Ativan had settled deep into his bones, making everything feel distant and muffled. His limbs felt like they were filled with wet sand, too heavy to lift. The fluorescent light above flickered occasionally, casting brief shadows across the white ceiling.
His breathing had slowed to a steady rhythm, chest rising and falling. Time moved differently now. Minutes could have been hours, or hours could have been minutes. Whatever they’d given him last time was nothing compared to this. This was too strong.
A soft knock interrupted the medicated quiet. Dr. Harrow stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a gentle click. He carried his usual clipboard in one hand, walking with his cane in the other.
"How are you feeling, Isaac?"
Isaac turned his head slowly toward the doctor, the movement requiring actual effort. "Tired."
"I imagine so. Ativan tends to have that effect." Dr. Harrow pulled the plastic chair closer to the bed and sat down. "I heard there was an incident earlier with the nursing staff and orderlies."
Isaac's memory of the fight felt foggy, like recalling a dream. He remembered running, remembered the sharp sting of the injection, but the details blurred together.
"They were forcing drugs on me."
"They were administering medication that I prescribed for your safety." Dr. Harrow leaned forward slightly. "Isaac, hitting staff members is completely unacceptable. I'm disappointed, honestly. I thought we were making progress."
"I didn't want it."
"Your behaviour indicated you were experiencing active psychosis. The hallucination, the panic, and the agitation are all symptoms that require immediate intervention." Dr. Harrow made a note on his clipboard. "Violence toward staff puts everyone at risk, including yourself."
Isaac closed his eyes, the conversation requiring more energy than he possessed. "Can I sleep now?"
"Actually, I thought we might have our session here today. You're clearly not in any condition to walk to my office." Dr. Harrow settled back in his chair. "Let's talk about what happened. What did you see in this room that frightened you?"
Isaac bit his lip. "A demon."
"Describe it to me."
Isaac's voice came out flat, emotionless. “Tall…. Dark… Fast."
"Has this happened before? Seeing things that others can't see?"
The silence was heavy. He didn’t want to answer that question. Dr. Harrow already knew the answer anyways, it was in his diagnosis. “Yes.”
"When did these episodes first begin?" Dr. Harrow's pen hovered over his clipboard, ready to capture every detail.
Isaac's eyelids felt heavy but he forced them to stay open. The medication made everything feel like he was underwater, sounds distorted and movements sluggish.
"About a year ago. Maybe longer." The words came out slurred, his tongue thick in his mouth.
"What was happening in your life around that time? Any major changes or stressors?"
Isaac blinked his eyes open, his gaze drifting toward the small window. Outside, grey clouds hung low in the sky, threatening rain. He couldn't remember what season it was supposed to be. “Brother died. Work got busy. School was stressful.”
"Tell me about your brother." Dr. Harrow's voice softened slightly, the clinical edge giving way to something that might have been genuine concern.
Isaac's fingers curled into the scratchy hospital blanket. Even through the fog, mentioning Samuel brought a familiar ache to his chest. "Overdose. Found him when I came back home."
"That must have been devastating."
"He was spose' to come to my graduation. Had the whole weekend planned out…” Isaac's words came slower now, each one requiring effort. “Never… got to see me walk across the stage in my kef… ffiyeh."
Dr. Harrow scribbled notes on his clipboard. "Grief can manifest in many ways, Isaac. Sometimes our minds create coping mechanisms that aren't healthy."
"The demons aren't grief." Isaac turned his head away from the doctor, focusing on the blank wall. “They’re r-“he swallowed hard, "real."
"What do they want?"
Isaac was quiet for a long moment, his breathing the only sound in the small room. He felt like a sloth trying to have a complex thought. "To hurt me. To drag me somewhere dark." His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "They follow me everywhere. Waiting."
Dr. Harrow leaned forward in his chair. "Isaac, I want you to consider something. What if these demons represent the pain you've been carrying? The guilt about your brother, the pressure from school, and the overwhelming nature of everything that's happened?"
"You don't understand." Isaac's eyes closed again, exhaustion pulling at him. "They were there before David died. Just... quieter then."
"When exactly did they first appear?"
Isaac's brow furrowed as he struggled to remember. “When I was a teenager they started talking to me at night. I told my mom and she took me to the doctor but…” He swallowed, his throat feeling tight. “They said it was migraines. Nobody took me seriously.”
Dr. Harrow's pen paused over his clipboard. "How old were you when this started?"
“Sixteen." Isaac's voice grew quieter, his words slurring together. "They whispered things. Told me the end was coming…. That Jesus was coming back."
"Did you tell anyone else? Besides your mother?"
Isaac shook his head slowly against the pillow. "Tried to tell my dad once. He said I was being dramatic. Attention seeking.” He huffed a laugh. "Samuel believed me though. He'd sit with me when they got loud."
Dr. Harrow made another note. "Your brother was supportive."
"He had his own problems. The drugs started because he couldn’t handle life either. His voices were internal. But angrier. Louder…. In the end he couldn’t take it.”
The room fell silent except for the steady hum of the ventilation system. Dr. Harrow set his pen down on the clipboard, his expression shifting from clinical interest to something more serious.
"Isaac, you mentioned that Samuel had voices too. Did he ever receive treatment for them?"
Isaac closed his eyes, deciding it was too much effort to keep them open. "Mom took him to therapy. Different doctors, different medications. Nothing helped." His voice grew softer. "He said the pills made him feel like a zombie. Stopped taking them."
"And that's when he turned to other substances?"
"It started with um… pills from friends. He said it was the only thing that made the voices quiet down." Isaac's fingers twitched against the blanket. "I watched him get worse and worse… But I was battling with my own demons. Literally.”
Dr. Harrow picked up his pen again. "Mental illness can run in families, Isaac. What you and your brother experienced might have a genetic component."
"But his voices were internal, not external like mine.”
"I see. What about other family members? Your parents, for instance. Have they ever mentioned hearing voices or experiencing similar symptoms? Any relatives?"
"My mom hears the voice of God. That's different though, right? She’s… religious."
Dr. Harrow's pen stilled against his clipboard. "Tell me more about that."
"She gets messages.." Isaac's words came out slower now. "That's why… we all have biblical names. Isaac, Samuel, David… God told her what to call us when we were born."
"How often does your mother receive these messages?"
Isaac shifted slightly on the bed, feeling like he was on the verge of sleep. "Daily. God told her that… um. The end was near.”
Dr. Harrow studied Isaac's face as the young man seemed to be drifting off to sleep. The Ativan had done its job, pulling him down into a medicated drowsiness that made coherent conversation increasingly difficult. Isaac's breathing had deepened, his body sinking further into the thin mattress.
"We'll continue this conversation later," Dr. Harrow said softly, writing something on his clipboard. "Get some rest."
Isaac didn't respond, already nearly asleep. Dr. Harrow stood quietly, pushing the plastic chair back against the wall without making a sound. He paused at the door, watching Isaac's chest rise and fall in the steady rhythm of medicated sleep, then slipped out into the hallway.
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as Dr. Harrow walked toward the nurses' station. He made a note in Isaac's chart about the family history of auditory hallucinations, underlining the mother's religious experiences. Genetic predisposition combined with trauma and stress. The pieces were falling into place.
Hours passed in medicated silence. Isaac's dreams swirled with dark figures and whispered voices, fragments of memories about Samuel mixing with pharmaceutical fog. The demons stayed away for once while the Ativan coursed through his system.
A firm hand on his shoulder jolted Isaac awake. His eyes opened slowly, the room swimming into focus as he blinked. Dr. Harrow stood beside his bed, that familiar concerned expression etched across his face.
"Time for lunch, Isaac."
Isaac's mouth felt thick and cottony, his tongue heavy against his teeth. "What time is it?"
"Nearly one o'clock. You've been sleeping for about three hours." Dr. Harrow stepped back as Isaac struggled to sit up, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. "The medication should be wearing off soon."
Isaac's legs felt unsteady as he swung them over the edge of the bed. The room tilted slightly, forcing him to grip the mattress until the sensation passed. His head pounded with a dull ache that stretched from his temples to the base of his skull.
"Do I have to go to the cafeteria?"
"Yes. And you need to eat something substantial this time." Dr. Harrow watched as Isaac struggled to his feet. "No more games with your food, Isaac. I meant what I said about the feeding tube."
Isaac nodded weakly, running his hands through his disheveled and matted hair. He got up, following the doctor on wobbly legs to the cafeteria where everyone had already taken their seats and started eating. Layla waved him over after he grabbed a plate from the counter.
The cafeteria noise felt amplified today. Clattering trays, muffled conversations, the scrape of plastic chairs against linoleum. He set his tray down with trembling hands, nearly dropping it.
"You look like hell," Layla observed, stabbing at her mashed potatoes with a plastic spoon.
"I feel like it too." Isaac stared at his plate. Some kind of grey meat, overcooked green beans, and a dinner roll that looked hard as a rock. His stomach churned at the sight.
"Heard you took on half the staff earlier. Impressive for someone your size."
Isaac picked up a green bean with his fingers, examining it. "They drugged me."
"Welcome to the club. PRNs are their favourite threat around here." Layla leaned closer, lowering her voice. "You gotta be smarter about it though. Pick your battles."
Isaac dropped the green bean back onto his plate. Even the thought of eating made his stomach churn. "I can’t do this anymore."
"The food or the whole situation?"
"Everything." Isaac's voice came out flat. "They want to tube feed me if I don't start eating. Dr. Harrow made that pretty damn clear."
Layla glanced around the cafeteria, checking for nearby staff. The orderly stationed by the serving line was absorbed in conversation with one of the kitchen workers.
"Eat the roll at least. Carbs will help clear the fog faster." She tore off a piece of her own bread, chewing thoughtfully.
Isaac pushed his plate across the small table toward Layla. "Here. Take it."
"What are you doing?" Layla glanced toward the orderly by the serving line, who was still deep in conversation with the kitchen staff.
"I can't eat this." Isaac's hands shook slightly as he reached for his plastic cup of water. "If they want to shove a tube down my throat, let them."
Layla scraped Isaac's grey meat onto her own plate without hesitation. "You're being stupid. The feeding tube isn't a bluff."
"Maybe I don't care anymore."
"Bullshit." Layla wolfed down the overcooked green beans, barely chewing before swallowing. "You cared enough to fight three orderlies earlier.”
Isaac watched her eat with disinterest. "How long have you been here?"
"Six weeks. Started at ninety three pounds." Layla tapped her plastic spoon against the edge of his empty plate. "Now I'm at one oh seven and they're talking about discharge soon."
"Discharge?” Isaac said. "How?"
"I stopped fighting the system and started playing the game." Layla finished the last of Isaac's meat, wiping her mouth with a paper napkin. "Ate what they gave me, took my meds, participated in group therapy. Told them what they wanted to hear."
Isaac stared at his empty plate, processing this information. The cafeteria around them was loud and obnoxious as people ate and talked.
"What did you tell them?"
"That I understood food was fuel, not the enemy. That I wanted to get better and had insight into my illness." Layla's voice took on a mocking tone. "That I was ready to commit to outpatient treatment and follow up care."
"But you don't mean any of it."
Layla's eyes hardened. "Of course not. But they eat that recovery talk right up. Makes them feel like they're actually helping instead of just sucking us dry of insurance until it runs out."
The orderly by the serving line finally looked their way, his gaze sweeping across the tables to monitor the patients. Isaac quickly picked up his water cup, pretending to drink while Layla continued eating from both plates.
"So you just lie to them?"
"Yep. Works like a charm. You should try it. Sweet talk that doctor and he’ll let you go sooner than you think.” Layla grinned at him as she took a sip of water.
Isaac thought about it, seriously considering what his options were. He didn’t want to be here another second but if he just played along, maybe he could go back home sooner rather than later. It was worth a shot, at least.
He pulled his plate back as Layla gave a little “hey!” but she didn’t stop him.
Then Isaac started mimicking the motions of eating, lifting his fork up and pretending to chew. Layla giggled, cutting up some more grey meat.
“There you go, now you’ve got it.”
By the time lunch was over, it looked like he’d actually eaten some of it. Even Dr. Harrow made a comment to him before they went to group therapy, praising him for making an effort this time. He was still given an ensure but just like breakfast, he poured it down the toilet.