He was always vaguely surprised to wake up in his hospital bed. He wasn't sure why... after such a long time, he figured he'd have gotten used to it. But most mornings, or afternoons, or whenever he happened to awaken, there was often a moment of shock when the bedroom that usually appeared in his dreams was replaced by stark, white walls, devoid of any kind of decoration, save the smears of blood he'd often leave on them after tearing his skin open with his teeth, just so he'd have something to look at when he was strapped to the bed.

The cleaning crew usually washed the blood off the walls within a few hours anyway, after Richard had been thoroughly strapped down, but at least it gave him a temporary respite from the buzzing sound the blank walls seemed to emit.

After these "episodes" his therapist would often come to his room, once the sedatives they forced into his body had taken effect, and he'd stopped screaming. Today was no different, and as usual he ignored her as she made herself comfortable in the chair beside his bed.

"I thought the point of a mental hospital was to make its patients better and send them on their way," he drawled, addressing the ceiling.

"It is," she said mildly.

"I would think, if nothing else, that a patient showing symptoms of schizophrenia and bi-polar disorder would be on medication, for starters."

"I've told you before, Richard, this isn't that kind of hospital."

"Right, of course," he said.

He had his doubts that this was actually a hospital at all. He'd never been allowed out of his room, and had yet to see or hear any signs that there were other patients in the building. Ever since the day he'd woken up there, with no recollection of who he really was, the only visitors he ever received were doctors and men who seemed to work for the government in some capacity, all of whom called him "Jim" and asked him odd questions about his pre-bullet career (employees, bank accounts, et cetera, none of which he remembered), and a few rape-happy "security" guards. And of course the people and creatures he hallucinated.

"And then, of course, there's the physical abuse, which nobody ever bothers to stop."

"That's just a hallucination," his therapist said, "It's all in your head."

It was a lie, and they both knew it.

"Yes, I suppose I hallucinate the blood on the sheets in the morning too, then? And the pain?"

"Why did you draw a tiger on your wall?" she asked him, changing the subject.

"Oh," he said, glancing at it, enjoying the way his blood ran from its sharp teeth, "I don't know. I like tigers, I guess. I do have a large tattoo of one done on my ribcage, so wouldn't you say that's a fair assumption to make? As a psychiatrist, what do you think it says about a man when he has a large tattoo of something?"

She shrugged at him.

"Maybe you just thought it made you look tough," she said, apparently not interested in rehashing the tired old subject.

He laughed at that, because the impression he'd received from the government men who'd visited him had been that "looking tough" had never been a problem for him, small though he was. With the exception of one tall man who carried an umbrella, they had all seemed intimidated by him, despite the fact that he was always strapped to the bed when they came by.

"That is very insightful," he said, "I can see why you became a therapist in the first place, with your astonishing critical thinking skills."

She glared at him for a moment, and then fumbled with her pen when he stared her down.

"And have you had any more hallucinations, or recurring dreams?" she continued.

"No," he said crossly, still glaring at her, though he had, actually. There was currently some kind of colorful beast floating through the air, but he could tell it wasn't real, and the men he often dreamed about had both been in to "visit" him today. He knew the security camera in the corner of the room had captured his conversations with these phantoms, so he didn't understand why the woman even bothered to ask.

"I can't help you if you keep lying to me," she said, pulling his attention from the flying whatever it was.

"I sincerely doubt you're interested in helping me at all," he hissed at her, "I've been here for God knows how long... years, I guess, and the more they keep me strapped down to this bed, with nothing to do even when I'm granted the 'freedom' of being let up, the more I can feel my sanity slipping away. If you cared half as much as you pretend to, you'd find a way to help me, rather than just coming in here and asking me questions to which you already have an answer."

"The point of therapy is for me to ask you questions, to make you think about the answers," she said, her face flushing with anger.

"All I ever do is think," he snapped at her, "That's all I can do, being strapped to this fucking bed for most of the day! The longer I'm here, the worse I get, and if you had any idea what you were doing you might actually come up with a way to make me better! You come in here several times a week, we have the same conversation, and it leads nowhere. You're no different than those government men, except you come in with a concerned look on your face and pretend to be looking out for my best interests, instead of simply trying to beat the answers out of me. "

"Why don't you stop playing around and just admit that you remember who you are!" she shouted at him, and he stared at her, surprised. In the hundreds of conversations they'd had, she'd never once hinted that she didn't believe him.

"Well, my dear, I'm sorry to say that I really don't remember a thing, but if anything occurs to me I certainly won't be confiding in you."

She huffed at him, and stormed from the room, slamming the door dramatically behind her as she went.

And he was left alone with his hallucinations once more.

X

The first few times he hallucinated Sebastian, he thought he'd really come to rescue him. He didn't remember the man, not really, but he'd had some amazing dreams about him that had made his therapist blush when he described them, and he knew that whoever the man was, they'd been close, once. It was only after begging the man to let him up, to touch him, anything, that he realized he was just a hallucination. Sebastian would only shake his head sadly, and reach out to touch Richard, only to have his fingers go right through his skin.

After a while he came to accept that Sebastian either wasn't real, or wasn't coming for him. Still, it was nice to have someone to talk to who didn't shout at him or try to hurt him, even if they were just in his head. Sebastian was smart, and calm, and always seemed happy to see Richard, who he called Jim, just like the government men. He assumed that his was his real name, even though it didn't feel right to him.

"I drew a tiger today," he told Sebastian, as he sat down at the edge of the bed, just out of Richard's reach.

"I saw that," Sebastian replied, staring at him sadly.

"They washed it off the wall, but it made me happy. I'd like to see a real tiger some day. When I get out of here."

"Do you know why you have that tattoo, Jim?"

"To look tough?" he asked, arching an eyebrow playfully.

Sebastian laughed quietly.

"No, because I like tigers. You got it for me, for our anniversary a few years ago."

"I got a tattoo because you wanted me to?" he asked, surprised, because the impression that he'd gotten about their relationship was that he was the one running the show, not Sebastian.

"No," Sebastian replied, grinning, "You got it as a surprise for me. I came home that afternoon, and you were laying on the bed, naked, with this gorgeous beast tattooed across your ribs. And then, of course, you wouldn't have sex with me because you didn't want me to accidentally scratch it or something and mess it up. You were such a little bitch sometimes."

"Still am, I expect," Richard replied, smiling.

Someone was at his door, fumbling to unlock it. From the sound he could tell it was the security guard who liked to take advantage of him late at night. The man was always rough with him, and usually left him bleeding in his bed.

"You have to get me out of here, Sebastian," he said, his heart slamming in his chest.

"I will," he said, fading into nothingness, "As soon as I can."

Richard believed him, though he wasn't sure why.