Author's Note: It's been quite some time since I've written, so bear with me. I do not own ffxii or its characters. Please enjoy and review. This fic is rated M for cursing, drug use, sexual themes, etc. MalexMale content.
Dear Agony
Saint Thomas Hospital: Locked Psychiatric Ward: Third Floor: Room #146
There is something about hospital fluorescent lighting that makes Balthier's head pound like there is an animal trying to claw its way out of his skull. As if that isn't bad enough his throat is sore and dry, and his bones ache so badly that just moving is an excruciating experience. He blinks a few times in an unsuccessful attempt to let his eyes adjust to the light and coughs painfully.
Pulling himself into a sitting position, he notices his shirt and pants make a slight crinkling sound as he moves. He touches a finger to his sleeve. Paper, just as he'd thought. Can't hang yourself or choke someone with your clothing if it's so thin it rips under pressure. He frowns as he looks around at his surroundings. The room is a basic eggshell white, no chaotic or bright colors, nothing to upset someone who is already unbalanced. Besides the bed there is one toilet and one sink. Both are made from solid pieces of stainless steel. No sharp edges and no parts that can be ripped off and used as a weapon. The bed too is made from one solid piece of metal; the mattress is lumpy and plastic. No sheets, you can hang yourself with those too. There are no windows, save for the small 8x10 portal on the door, but it won't be made of glass, Balthier already knows. There's no way you can break it to hurt yourself or anyone else. The door looks thick and strong, and the pirate knows it is pointless to try and open it.
He curses under his breath. This isn't the first time he's woken up in a room like this one, and he knows exactly what it means.
He tries to think, tries to remember how he'd gotten here, but his head is filled with a painfully loud static that refuses to quiet itself. He wants nothing more than to lie back down, curl up and try his best to fall asleep until the pain in his head subsides, but whatever sedative they'd given him to knock him out has worn off and as long as the static screams inside his head he knows there will be no sleep to be had.
His eyes snap up as the door opens. The man who enters is polite yet distant. It isn't a coincidence that he is big enough to break Balthier in half, nor that his scrubs are a calming, muted green. He wears no jewelry, and Balthier already knows from past experience that he will have no keys in his pocket. Can't let the crazies have any access to jagged metal.
The tray that the man carries holds a sandwich, most likely bologna and mayonnaise (for some reason government institutions always serve bologna), an apple, and a paper glass of water. Like everything else in this place the meal is no coincidence. It is specifically designed to be cheap yet filling, you will never find yourself served something that needs to be hot (you can burn yourself or others with warm food) and never anything that will require the use of a spoon or fork, after all, those are just weapons in disguise.
Balthier doesn't want the food, but he picks up the sandwich anyway as the larger man watches carefully.
You see the terrifying thing about finding yourself in a mental institution is that you have no control over when…or if…you get out. Cut off from the outside world completely, not even allowed the most basic of possessions, and everywhere you look the doors are locked and the staff politely disinterested in your concerns. Everything you do, everything you say, can and will go against you.
Balthier already knows that rule number one is to stay calm. Get agitated and they'll put a needle in your neck and you'll hit the floor before you know what's happened. Don't refuse the food and definitely don't refuse the meds, that draws attention. Makes you seem paranoid and self-destructive. At the same time, whatever you do don't actually take the meds. Once they get you sedated it's a fog they won't let you out of, and your chances of freedom become slim to none.
He wonders where Vaan was. He knows well enough that the boy was probably trying his best to see him, but once you find yourself behind these locked doors they don't have to let anyone in…or let you out.
He tries in vain to block out the noise in his head. Don't ever tell them you hear things…don't ever do that. The nurse (guard really) pretends not to watch, but Balthier knows every move he makes is being observed. The sandwich is stale, and tastes vaguely like glue, but the pirate chokes it down one bite at a time.
Unknowing to Balthier, there were more eyes watching him than he thought…
To be Continued…