He sees the blue jackets, and somehow, the perceived threat brings clarity. He focuses against the pressure of exhaustion, the screaming haze in his head, and the rush of adrenaline filling his veins.
He considers his options. He can bolt: there are plenty of good hiding places on campus where no one will look for him or notice him. Or, his car keys are by his bed. He could swipe them and go on the lam. He can fight… physically. He's strong, although he strongly suspects David and Jeff are both members of the fight club. And, the male paramedic looks hefty, too. He dismisses they both, quickly. Neither will solve his problem.
He has one option left to escape. He feels like the storybook hero who has been beaten and injured, only to go off to face another battle armed only with his whit, charm, and a few plucky sidekicks and an arsenal of awesome magical spells. Except that his sidekicks have betrayed him and he has no awesome magical arsenal. He will have to rely on his charm, instead.
He zips up his pants and washes his hands before plastering a magnanimous smile across his face. He cannot control his eyes, though. They belong to a caged animal. He is single minded in his determination to get rid of these people.
"Hello," he greets the EMTs, his voice steady despite his pounding chest and the secret shaking in his feet and knees. "How can I help you?"
The emergency personal look baffled for a minute. "We got a call that there was a diabetic emergency," the male EMT says. His short, curly dark hair sticks out wildly from underneath his baseball cap.
He shoots a look of pure venom at Nick. "Everything here is fine," he says, emulating his father with every fiber of his being. It's almost like a Jedi mind trick. This is not the diabetic you're looking for.
"Why don't we examine you, anyway?" The woman asks. She's in charge completely, even though she can't be much more that 22. She has a round face and long hair drawn back in a pony tail. "I'm Lara," she offers. "And this is my partner, Bryan. What's your name?"
"Sebastian," he offers. "And that's Nick, David, Trent, and Jeff is eating the Popsicle." Each of the boys acknowledges the pair in dark jackets. Jeff salutes them with his frozen treat, which promptly falls off the stick. Nick glares as the lurid blue ball of ice falls on his rug.
"Are you diabetic, Sebastian?" Bryan asks. He nods in acknowledgement.
"Would you mind testing your blood sugar for us?"
He smiles. What would his father do? "Of course," he says graciously. Anything to get free. He moves through the motions quickly, noting Jeff's wince at the sight of his blood. The meter promptly responds: 82.
He smiles and shows them the number. "Everything is fine," he says. He waits for them to leave, so he can sink onto his bed. He feels his leg trembling, and perhaps more concerning, he feels the fog of a panic attack floating in like dark storm clouds on the horizon. When it gets here, he needs to be alone.
He's not loosing the vestiges of control he has over his life.