A/N: Hello everyone! It's been a long time since this story was posted, and I've since decided to rewrite the existing chapter and continue on with what I had planned for it. I'll post a more in-depth update shortly!

"Men have called me mad, but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence – whether much that is glorious – whether all that is profound – does not spring from disease of thought – from moods of mind exalted at the expense of general intellect. Those who dream by day are cognisant of many things which escape those who dream only by night." –Edgar Allen Poe

People always ask what it's like to live in a psychiatric ward. Not to visit for a week or two, but to truly live with every prediction of permanence and no hope for discharge. Given, since I do, my only company tends to be other patients, so the question is hardly as common as I make it sound, but I imagine that it would be were the circumstances different. As for my answer, it's one I've spent far too long considering: it's like living in a toybox of broken toys. Most of us worked fine at one point in time - we started okay, just like the rest - but eventually, one way or another, we were played with just a little too much, a little too roughly. And we stopped working right. So, true to any natural order, we were tossed aside, segregated from the other toys, where we knew, at the base of it all, that we would never be played with again. And sometimes, that was a very comforting thought. I mean, the fun in Toy Story never happened when Andy was around, did it?

But were I to be wholly honest with myself, that makes it sound a great deal more exciting than it is, in all actuality. Sometimes, you need to romanticize and exaggerate your reality in order to make it liveable and maintain motivation to keep living in it at all - this was no exception, in more ways than just that one. If someone asked me what it was really like, I'd have to admit to a much less appealing answer: it's really nothing special. Like any other place, really - just with fewer privileges, forced isolation, and slightly more eccentric company.

It was with the crack of joints and the crinkling of sheets that I stood from the nest of blankets on my bed, grabbing a book and shooting the room a final glance before leaving it. It was a perfect example of that, really. Once you saw past the glaring white of the walls, floor, and furniture, it really was quite a normal room, like anyone else's. Like my own, before I'd arrived. To an extent, I had made it my own, brought a few of my own blankets and a great deal of books, and scattered a significant number of origami cranes of varying sizes and paper types. If unfolded, one would realize that they were forms and papers I should never have had in my possession to begin with, but I knew well that it was an unspoken rule not to tamper with the one healthy coping skill of a deranged youth, and I used that. They contained no information I needed or even wanted, but it was something that I could control: a way to rebel despite the confines I was stuck in for the foreseeable future.

And that, inherently, is the only real thing that sets this life apart from the one I led before. Control. In every imaginable way, the nurses and the doctors made it their job to take it away from all of us. For the sake of recovery, they would say, but my glaring lack of that was a testament to what they really wanted. To keep us in line for their own convenience and get rid of us as quickly as possible. It was a business, not a treatment, and in that way, I really couldn't blame them. I just wished above all else that they would do it better and get rid of me, too.

For such an interesting question, it sure had a shitty answer.

The door shut with a heavy thunk as I left it and that thought behind, a sigh leaving my lips and a renewed coldness in my eyes as I regarded the attention the noise had drawn. Several patients looked my direction with an array of different reactions, though the eye contact I denied them kept me from seeing much of it. A nurse offered a friendly wave and smile, a gesture I returned with about as much sincerity as had been given. They knew I didn't want to be out here. They knew I hated every second I had to spend out of the peace and quiet of my room, and they knew that I had some very heated thoughts about them denying me that right. The wave may as well have been saying "Hey, thanks for not making this a lot harder than it had to be", which was a sentiment I could respect after seeing past the resentment. I turned away from her, averting my gaze and walking past - I didn't want her feeling too invited to bother me.

Plopping tiredly down on the chair I'd so frequently claimed as my own, I opened the novel and released another sigh as I found my place. Unfortunately, I couldn't find my concentration, the unwelcome noise of the people around me, patients and nurses alike, stealing my focus for their own.

This particular unit of the hospital was home to both short-term and long-term patients. Of course, the longest-term 'long-term' that meant was a few weeks, occasionally a few months - unlike me, the three year anomaly. Normally, someone in my position would have long since been transferred to a larger facility, but no such thing existed in the Ikebukuro area, and any move outside of it was something no one was willing to pay for. And so this had become my home, as unwelcome of a thought as that was to me. My eyes flickered across the small area, a conflicted fondness in them as I observed it.

For such a tiny space, it had been used very efficiently. The main room had been split between a living area and a kitchen, both for patient use, separated by a small divider of sorts. The nurse's station sat at the far left of this area, and beyond it were a variety of rooms to which we had only very limited access. The largest was the school area, an amenity for which I was infinitely grateful even now: despite my situation, I'd been allowed and encouraged to complete my high school education in our unit. Unfortunately for me, no number of high marks I managed to achieve could get me into my dream college now - but there was no point dwelling on that, not now. Beyond that were several offices meant for psychiatric staff, and several meeting rooms for patients' families.

I had had no experience with the latter, not for bad behavior but simply for lack of visitors. The unfortunate turn of events that had landed me here to begin with was also the reason for that - I could think of no circumstance that would ever bring my family to see me again, and I couldn't blame them. My sister was the only occasional exception, the only one not to blame me and stay in contact, but she had to sneak away from home just to manage to see me, so visits in person were few and far between. Mostly, though, I pushed those lamentations and thoughts away: this was not the place to let things like depression and self-pity get to you. With so little else to focus on, they just fester and grow and burn and destroy and- ...And they won't stop until something forces them to. Really, what I wanted most from these visitation rooms was to confirm the rumors: it had been said that they not only had TVs and comfy couches, but also a mini-fridge full of God's gift to the crazies, soda. The fact that this was the most scandalous and exciting thing happening in my life right now was pitiful, really, but one had to take what they could get in a place like this.

Absentmindedly, I returned my attention to the book in my hands, hoping to regain enough focus to retain the words I read. As was all but the standard here, I managed to get only several pages in before the grating voices of the two patients who just could not take a hint. Here to greet me were Ayaka and Hiroshi, eleven and thirteen, respectively: and despite the fact that I had literally broken three of the former's fingers, they clung to me like baby animals to their mother.

"Hey! Do you ever stop reading?" the young boy demanded, throwing himself into the seat next to mine and leaning far too close for comfort. The irritated and loud noise of my hands slamming the book shut prompted a satisfying flinch, and I was grateful to see that he'd moved back to his own space.

"More often than I'd like to, thanks to you," I quipped dryly, offering a cold glare that did absolutely nothing to deter his enthusiasm. Wherever he'd found the source of his endless energy to be a pest, I often wanted to know. I could market it, given that it could power all of Ikebukuro for months. So could putting him on a hamster wheel, though, and that seemed like it would be significantly more satisfying.

"Too bad, we wanna talk!" the child in question responded with no shortage of eagerness and zeal, hopping right back out of the chair and standing in front of me. When Ayaka followed suit and did the same, leaving me cornered in my chair, I felt increasingly like I was being mugged by two tiny thugs. Which would've been cute, were they not the antithesis of the word.

"What do you want to talk about?" I prompted, sighing once more as I wondered why I humored them time and time again. I supposed that no matter how loud and obnoxious chirping baby birds were, they were still baby birds.

"Oh! I heard my parents talking today! They thought I wasn't listening, but I know how you like gossip!" Hiroshi exclaimed with unbridled excitement, and I considered how easily I could form some kind of preteen information ring. Maybe I already had. God.

"Yeah, yeah, there's a new-" Ayaka began, animated in her own gusto, before Hiroshi shot her a cold glare and interrupted.

"Shut up, it's my story! Let me tell it!" She quieted, though annoyance was clear on her face as he continued. "There's a new color gang!"

"Oh?" I quirked an eyebrow immediately, finally giving him the undivided attention he had clearly been working very hard to get. "Please, gimme some of that quality insider knowledge, kiddos."

"They're called the Dollars! They're-"

"Not a color gang," I finished sharply without thinking, leaving both kids confused and relatively taken aback. "They're not a color gang," I reiterated more calmly, "They're barely even a gang. ...Sorry, go on."

"Uh, well," he replied, clearly still recovering from his surprise, though it didn't take him long to get right back at it. "No one knows much about 'em yet! Parents are all worried their kids're gonna get involved, 'cause they're an invisible color gang online, so there's no way for them to know-"

"Do you not see how 'invisible' and 'color gang' are mutually exclusive? They can't be both, and I told you, they're not a color gang-" My frustration was clear in my voice, more bothered by his ignorance than the principle itself, but we were both cut off by the cutting and harsh glare of the nearest nurse at their station. Of course. What an unsavoury topic for patients to talk about, so of course we wouldn't be allowed to at all. I shot a colder glare back, my eye twitching with irritation that threatened to overflow into something so much worse - there was something so inherently wrong to me about censoring kids that were already so cut off from the world - about censoring anyone, really. There was nothing I hated more, at times like this, than how our society turned a blind eye on anything they didn't want to see. It was a culture of ignorance and outright refusal to acknowledge the less than pleasant things, and it was infuriating. Why couldn't we just talk without worrying about redundant things like 'image' and social standing? When did 'interesting' turn into 'inappropriate'?

It was with fists I couldn't recall clenching that I rose from my seat, shooting one last unwavering glance in her direction before turning my back and crossing the room. Distantly, I heard Hiroshi and Ayaka's very vocal protests, but I simply offered a dismissive wave of my hand as my attention shifted. There was a ringing in my ears that warned me to hold my anger back, a shaking in my hands that reminded me what would happen if I didn't. Immediately, I heard a quiet voice echo back at the thought: "Do you even care?" It rang in my ears as if on repeat, like an unwelcome mantra forcing itself not to be forgotten.

I didn't, though. I didn't care about a single one of these people. If I lost myself to anger and psychosis and managed to kill one or two, I wouldn't have even one regret. Their lives meant so little to me that they held no weight at all, and my mind knew that - and it knew that that fact was just fodder to the impulses and voices it thrust upon me so often. But I didn't want to stay here forever, and those actions would promise a future of nothing else.

Through the haze of my scattered thoughts, I grasped at what the nurses had been teaching me, coping skills that I, under any other circumstance, would've dismissed as redundant. Principles and opinions always seemed to fade, though, when this little issue reared its uninvited head, and I found myself walking to the kitchen table in search of a distraction.

Claiming the nearest empty chair, I set down my book and looked over my new company. Daichi, first and foremost, was in clear control of the table: obviously that was a position of power that didn't really exist to begin with, but it was generally respected amongst long-term patients that whoever got there first held power over it until they left. In this case, he had covered the entire surface with a puzzle, pieces organized into clear piles beside the larger frame of it. He did not raise his eyes to greet me nor did he speak, but acknowledged my presence by gently passing me the box of unsorted pieces and returning to work. His calmness alone was enough to steady my breathing, and the friendly familiarity our relationship offered was a comfort in and of itself. I placed several pieces delicately in their corresponding piles, appreciative that he trusted me to do so to his meticulously high standards; and within several minutes, my hands began steadily moving on their own. The only other participant at the table was Minami, and I expected no intrusion from the mute teen: it was easy to feel at home with people like this.

The welcome and peaceful monotony of the puzzle had taken all of us over, which was more therapeutic than any professional help I'd ever received here. It was only when the unit's visitor buzzer rang loudly that the spell was broken, and my head snapped up in tandem with Minami's. Daichi seemed unaffected, though, with a dedication to the task at hand that I had to respect: visitors held very little of my interest as I indefinitely had none, a circumstance he and I had in common - so it wasn't particularly surprising. Nonetheless, what did grab my attention was the look of pure, unadulterated shock that graced the nurse's features when she answered the phone to speak to whoever was trying to enter the ward, and the way she so quickly hid it when she realized I was watching her. That alone kept my eyes locked with hers, waiting for some indication of what was happening, until she raised a hand to wave me over.

I was gonna McFreakin' lose it if she was getting angry with me for watching her.

"Maiko," she spoke, in a respectfully hushed tone so as to deter attention from the other patients, "Your brother is here to visit you."

I didn't doubt that my face now mirrored what hers had been only moments earlier. Everyone here knew what I'd done that left me here, at least the nursing staff; and that left them with a very clear idea of why my brother would never, never be coming to visit.

It couldn't be him. It had to be someone else. But my mind ran a blank on who that could possibly be, as I'd been left with so few connections that the idea seemed unbelievable to me - nonetheless, I was more than self-aware enough to know to regain my composure. I couldn't find out who it was if I stood there shell-shocked and drew more suspicion to myself.

"Okay," I replied flatly, expression calmed and hopefully unreadable, "Where is he? Does this mean I can use a family room?"

"No, all three are in use right now-"

"For what?"

"That's none of your business, Miss Kaneko. They're unavailable. However, as he is an authorized family member-" What? How? "You're allowed to go off-unit with him, supervised, for half an hour."

I didn't bother to hide my excitement in response. I had long since earned off-unit privileges, but unfortunately, only with supervision - despite how incredibly hard I'd been trying to earn even fifteen minutes alone. Nonetheless, I had no family member to come supervise, which left me stuck on the unit altogether with the weekly exception of group walks.

So naturally, this was a god damn holiday, and she couldn't blame me for expressing it.

"He's waiting for you by the doors; don't keep him waiting. Be careful, Maiko. If this goes well, we could talk about unsupervised off-units." Hot damn, today was my fucking day, huh? I offered her a wave and a quick thank you before all but running down the hall, with a grin on my lips and no shred of apprehension as I looked over the man I found waiting there for me.

He was taller than me, with black hair, a fur-lined jacket, and an aura of something I couldn't place. It was undeniably something dangerous. That would've occupied more of my attention had I not been so focused on the black sunglasses he wore, looking strangely out-of-place on his face.

The fact that he was wearing them at all meant he had more information than I could have possibly anticipated, more than I could understand how he could've had. Our family refused to have it publicized, no charges were pressed, it wasn't in the news-

"Like a deer in headlights, aren't you?" he questioned lightly, breaking my silence with a tone so cheery I almost didn't hear the malice beneath it. "And here I thought you wanted to get out of here, 'run some red lights in the redlight'. But, if you'd rather stay here-" The smirk on his face and the sing-song hint in his voice made it clear that he knew damn well what my answer would be. And that phrase - I'd said that, hadn't I? Who was I even talking to when I did? I couldn't think, but I could do that later. I wasn't going to miss this opportunity.

"No, let's go." I interrupted quickly but politely, waving a hand high to the nurses and waiting for the resulting buzz of the doors unlocking. When it came, I was out of them as quickly as I could be, outstretching a hand to hold the door for the questionable man as I did so. Placebo effect or not, the air felt cleaner, and I felt lighter - in that moment, there were no concerns about anything, it was just freedom. I could feel his eyes on me, and the low chuckle that followed did not go unheard, but I simply gave him a grin and a laugh as he followed through the doors and let them fall shut behind.

"Maybe a bit more like a pig in shit now, hm?" The grin he offered me was cold but light, and there was a cutting edge to even normal words that would put most on edge, but my own grin didn't falter when I looked back up at him.

"Absolutely. I assume you're here for the tour, right?" I asked, clearly joking, but overflowing with newfound energy that I couldn't help but let out - I spun around, arms outstretched and welcoming before spinning back to face him again. "I know all the best places to hide contraband in plant soil. They want you to think they're real for the 'healing', but the whole garden's basically plastic."

"You're shockingly nonchalant for someone who's ultimately at the mercy of a stranger, don't you think?" the man asked with obvious amusement, pulling the sunglasses from his face and folding them, before dangling them in the air and tossing them to me with uncomfortably good aim. "I hate sunglasses. Here, they're yours."

"Honestly, if you're here to kidnap me, my biggest complaint is that you didn't do it sooner." I wanted to keep it lighthearted for now, hold the questions for later; this close to the unit, and he could just force me back in if I pissed him off. Instead, I caught the sunglasses, slapped 'em on, and walked forward to the elevators. And the vending machines by the elevators. When the sound of footsteps followed me, I shot him back a hopeful smile.

"Do you have any money on you?"

"You don't ask who I am, but you ask for cash."

"I'm getting there, but I haven't had real food for so long, and my priorities are set in stone."

"I don't know if I'd call chips and soda 'real food'." Nonetheless, he passed me 1,000 yen from a pocket inside his jacket, and I shot him my best winning smile as I pulled out 5,000 of my own and started picking my choices.

"Charming, my dear. Clever. Why, exactly, are you carrying around cash in a psych ward, anyway?"

"I don't know. Vending machines, usually, but I like to know that at any given moment, I can afford dinner and a cab ride at any given time. Y'know, in case. In case of this, maybe." I leaned down, methodically removing my hoodie and filling it with the variety of goodies I'd purchased. Tying it all together in a bundle, I stood and pressed the 'down' button on the elevator, hoping not to be stopped from taking it.

"Don't get too carried away now, Maiko-chan. I intend to bring you back there and drop you off in half an hour, as planned. I'm just here to talk." He shoved his hands into his pocket, looking unsettlingly nonchalant, and leered down at me with what I could only have interpreted as a challenging smirk. Like he wanted to reassure me that he was in control of what I did. Just like everyone here. My eye twitched and we both knew he could see the spark of anger that was prompted, but the ding of the elevator did the much-needed 'distraction' method for me. He stepped in first, placing a hand over the elevator door despite it being nowhere near closing, and shot me a knowing look - he knew my fears, and maybe what they came from. Red light, red light, red light-

"Okay, let's talk, then," I replied, brow furrowing slightly in thought as I pressed the button marked '2' and watched the doors close. "Why are you here?"

This seemed to amuse him, as his smirk only grew when he looked back at me.

"You seem to have a knack for asking the wrong questions, don't you?"

"No, I don't think so. I could ask who you are, but that's not as important as what you want from me. You could be my best friend and it wouldn't matter, if you were here to kill me. You could be a stranger and here to help me. So don't you think who you are is secondary?"

"But you could easily answer both at once if who I was explained why I was here."

"There's no one I would trust enough to be confident in their intentions just by recognizing them."

"It's naive to make such absolute statements, you know. Especially when you don't have all the information."

"Probably, yeah. But you're still not answering my question."

The elevator doors slid open, and he exited ahead of me and began walking down the large walkway. Curious as to where he was going and how he knew his way around, I simply followed, waiting for him to reply.

"I'm just here to talk, like I said. I know it's been quite hard on you in there, like a bird in a cage with her wings clipped."

What a descriptive way to put it. The exact way I had put it, several weeks prior, in a letter to my closest online friends. Red light, red light-

"We're here," he exclaimed, sing-song tone emphasized again as he spun around to face me, one hand outstretched towards a sign and a door. The entrance to the garden, my favorite place in the hospital. RED LIGHT-

"Kanra. You're Kanra. It's the only explanation. It's the only way you could know all this." My words were not light and carefree as they had been before the gradual decline that had followed actually talking to him. They were heavy and flat, unflinching and hard. I was beginning to feel like a cyber safety ad on television, and I didn't like it.

"How perceptive of you, Maiko-chan. I'm impressed. Usually, the denial lasts much longer. No one wants to believe they've been deceived. They'll even go out of their way to ignore the truth just to avoid accepting it." He spoke matter-of-factly but cheerfully as he led me into the gardens, and I noted with interest that he spoke with experience. This wasn't the first time he'd done this. Oddly enough, that was a comforting thought - I wasn't the only one to fall for it, and he obviously hadn't singled me out altogether. So I followed him, sitting down on the farthest bench as he leaned against the mock-lamppost they'd placed alongside it.

"Okay. Y'know, this is almost anticlimactic. I was hoping for a girl, with big knockers or a cute face or something." I started, earning an eyebrow raise and a brief snort of laughter. "Why, then? We've been talking for years. That seems like a little too much dedication for your typical Internet predator. Not to mention meeting me in a supervised building with high security."

"No sense of betrayal, anger, anything? Barely a reaction at all! I'm almost disappointed. But I suppose this is even more interesting, in its own way." He spoke more to himself than to me, and it was my turn to return an amused smile. "You're correct, Maiko-chan. I'm no Internet predator, at least not by the usual definition. Just an Internet observer, if you will. You see, I've been keeping tabs on you for quite some time now."

"Why? We were talking long before I ended up here and became a 'Girl Interrupted' rip-off with a more dynamic backstory, so what was the appeal?"

"Say, Maiko -" he answered almost smugly, leaning in too close for comfort as his next words revealed the reason for his confidence. "What do you know about the Dollars?"

Those words were enough to spark just the slightest of unease within me. I hadn't told him - told Kanra - anything about that part of my past. However he knew, it wasn't through me. I didn't have it in me to properly panic about how he did come by that information.

In my second year of high school, a group of online friends and I had started a group - the Dollars. When time passed and shit hit the fan, most of us jumped ship and erased any connection to what was quickly becoming a gang, growing faster and more uncontrollably than any of us could have anticipated. Myself and a few others remained, but my inclusion in it ended there. My mother had found out through a concerned classmate and friend that I'd been spending 'obsessive' amounts of time on my computer, and the chat logs she found when she checked it in my absence were incriminating. I was given an ultimatum to either move out or quit, and as a reasonable, jobless 15-year old, I reluctantly opted for the latter. From that point on, I had nothing further to do with the Dollars, though I'd had every intention to go back and explain myself as soon as it was safe to. Unfortunately, that was when the shit really hit the fan for me, and I had never gotten the chance before my admittance to the unit.

And there was no way for him to know that.

"Sounds like you already know exactly what I know about the Dollars," I answered with unyielding confidence, a challenging undertone to both my voice and my mind as I looked up at him. I leaned closer to match his own intimidating gesture, and I saw him notice the wild grin on my lips before I did. "Who are you?"

He offered another sharp laugh, its underlying malice tainting its light-hearted merriment. "My name is Izaya Orihara." And he knew that was all he had to say.

Everyone knew that name. He was one of the most powerful and dangerous people in Ikebukuro, an information broker that was no less than a force to be reckoned with. I'd even remembered him from high school, Raira - he'd been in his last year when I was in my first, and even then, he'd had a reputation that even the freshmen knew about. I should've recognized him.

One of the most dangerous men in the city, and I'd been telling him all my secrets for years as a trusted friend. And yet, I didn't feel like I'd been betrayed, didn't feel a loss - I knew I should've been angry or afraid or upset, but all I could feel was excitement. Like it was an upgrade to what I had before, better than a friend. I was happy. Laughter bubbled up in my throat, and before I knew it, it was out of my mouth, and I was bent over with my head in my hands, howling like I'd heard the best joke of my life. When it finally subsided, I was left with a lopsided and giddy grin, looking up at him calmly and gleefully.

"God damn, man! What a ride."

He observed me like a kid whose science project just won a prize, a mix of impressed and surprised, returning another laugh of his own as he shook his head.

"You are quite the girl, Maiko-chan. Just full of surprises. This should be fun," he responded, and I began to see a pattern forming of him just talking right on to himself. "Wouldn't we have bypassed all of this, though, if you'd just asked my name?"

"Yeah, you were right," I admitted lightly, "I'll have to remember that." I leaned back, crossing my legs and shaking my head as I processed the sudden and immense influx of new information. "Then why is someone like you talking to someone like me?"

"Someone like you?" he questioned, eyebrow raised.

"I have no information you could want - I've been in here for years, and the best I can get is a few-month old newspaper every once in a while and a preteen gossip ring. I'm not a criminal, and I haven't been involved with the Dollars in years. So, what do you stand to gain?"

"So cold, Maiko-chan! Am I not allowed to be your friend?"

"I'm not objecting, but that sounds fake as hell and I really don't think you'd waste your own time like that."

"You sure aren't one for pretense, are you?" he asked rhetorically, looking upon me with amusement like was clearly his standard. "But I should know, you've been adamant about that for years. Anyway, you think right. At first, I wanted to find out exactly how close you were to the Dollars. Once I was satisfied, I kept tabs for a while to make sure your situation didn't change - and eventually, I simply continued because I found you particularly interesting."

My eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, though not out of anger; I deeply doubted that someone like him would be genuinely interested so easily, at least to the extent of maintaining weekly contact. But I kept quiet, focusing on the most urgent issue for the time being.

"So if what you're saying is that you don't need me for anything, then why are you here?" I asked, equally parts unconvinced and suspicious, and thrilled and delighted.

"Cutting to the chase again, so forward!" he noted, talking so animatedly and expressively for someone so infamously deceptive. "You see, there have been some exciting developments in Ikebukuro lately, some that I think you could play quite a role in, if you're interested."

Was this about the Dollars, what Hiroshi was saying? God damn, I should've spent more time listening than arguing.

"Like what?"

"Well-" he began, the upbeat ring of his cellphone interrupting him and our conversation immediately, breaking the otherwise silent atmosphere of the garden. He pulled it out and flipped it open, brief irritation flashing across his features - whether that be at the interruption or its content - only to snap it shut again the moment he'd read it. He stood with reluctant urgency and a sigh, looking back at me.

"It seems like our meeting's been cut short. I've got some business to take care of," he explained, turning to leave before speaking once more. "Ah, but before I go - what do you say? Are you interested, Maiko-chan?"

I blinked, surprised and disappointed by his sudden exit. With so much new information to consider, I had hoped to have more time to talk about it - not to mention more time to spend off-unit without nurses and other patients - but the question was more pressing than my concerns, and easy to answer.

"Yes. Very."

"Excellent. Then I'll see you next week." And with that, he was gone, slipping quietly and gracefully out of the garden like he'd never been there at all. For a moment, I wondered if he really had been. If I were to tell my therapist or psychiatrist about what had just happened, they'd probably consider it a new presentation of psychosis - but I was here, alone, and off-unit, and that was proof enough.

As I made my way back up, my mind was as scattered as it had been before, full of unsettled emotions and thoughts and questions without answers - but I was excited.

Maybe now, I wouldn't have to exaggerate what life was like here - now, I had every reason to be afraid, to be anxious. And I loved it.

"Nearly everything that was fun, of course, was also a little dangerous; riding roller coasters, skydiving, gambling, sex." – Dean Koontz, Dark Rivers of the Heart