The courtroom was loud with people talking and arguing, but it was silent for once. My head wasn't pounding anymore. This was a good sign. It wasn't going to act up, everyone was safe. For now.

I looked around the room, glancing at the straitlaced Judge, the plaintiff, the Baylor shifting his weight from foot to foot, and then to the jury. My lawyer stood before them, spouting sentences I didn't care to hear. I could feel stares on my person, trying to peer into me, trying to depict if I was a murderer or just a victim. I cast my gaze down at the table. There was no need for this trial. I already knew what would happen.

I wanted to close my eyes, the florescent lighting bothering them, but I restrained myself. The risk was too high, even if it was quiet now. My eyes itched and burned. I moved to wipe them. Eyes followed me. Screw them! Screw their damn eyes! My eyes itch! Nosy bastards. I'm not suddenly going to go ape-shit-insane. I'm classier than that.

I looked back over at the jury where a man was standing up. He was pudgy and balding with a toothbrush mustache. Who the hell has those anyway? They look like a wannabe Hitler. How do they wake up and look in the mirror to that facial hair glowering at them? Hell, how do their wives even kiss them? Che, the bastards probably don't have wives, they'd have to shave the lip hair then. Shit! It was like a caterpillar! Any moment now and it would crawl off his face. Could you imagine that? The woman sitting next to him would probably shriek if it landed on her, jumping up and trying to flick it off.

I couldn't help but laugh which was a bad idea, because now their all looking at me, staring at me. Fuck! I must look like a lunatic, laughing for no reason. Che, they already think I am. I could tell because the bailiff had placed a hand on him baton, just in case. Ha! I'm not going to lie, but the way I am right now all you would need to stop me is a sigh in my direction. I'm tired, worn, and there's of course the fact that my wrist is broken. Yeah, it was broken in a small accident before all of this shit went down and was going to finish healing within another few weeks. I doubted that I would see that day though.

I once had a cat. It was a really long time ago, and I guess it wasn't really my cat since it was a stray, but it followed me and I gave it food so it was like I owned it. Anyway, I always talked to it. Which isn't weird! Other people would blab to my social worker and then I would have had to undergone more "How do you feel" talks, in which they only focused on anything negative I had to say. The cat would always be there when I had a problem and didn't mind if I spilled out my secrets to it. At that time, even if I didn't act like it, I was terrified and lonely. I was being shifted from family to family, and I was always angry. One secret that I confided was that I was afraid of dying, of never reuniting with my family, who may have been dead or alive. I didn't know. I never knew what happened to that cat either after I moved again. I hope it lived.

The pudgy man started talking. I nearly groaned. His mustache matched his voice. It was high-pitched, but not in that gay way. It was raspy as hell and made me want to shove cotton in my ears. I glowered at the man and he unintentionally met my gaze and faltered for half a syllable. His shirt showed his nervousness, the perspiration bleeding under his armpits and cascading down his sides. It was gross. It probably smelled too, if the girl trying to lean away from him was any indication, but he finished what he had to say. The words froze me on the spot.

I used to attend church every Sunday, no matter if it was always a different one. I would kneel in the pew and praise the Lord with the others, would sing with the choir, and sometimes I'd take the offerings up. I prayed insistently for a sign, for any indication that my family would come to get me, that I would have a home, and that the troubles would subside. Every song nearly had me in tears, reminding me of the past. There came a time when all I did was rely on God, even though he never answered me. It wasn't until a year ago that I had stopped going to church and forsake God. I regretted it. I had just been tired of attending new churches, of introducing myself over and over to people I would never see again, and I was tired of the memories. It was only a few days ago that I had prayed on a fearful whim. I was afraid to die. I believed that I would be condemned today.

Now, imagine my surprise when the words that were spouting out of the pudgy man's mouth were not my death, but a one way ticket to another hell. I was relieved but panicked at the same time. I had learned about older mental hospitals in school, and the patients were usually used as test subjects and tortured. Once you were submitted, you never got out. Of course, that probably wouldn't fly in society today.

I once knew a girl, a pretty one, which had a brother that was committed to a ward for severe depression and suicide attempts. She told me that they had him on medication and that he had told her about the living conditions. He was watched while taking showers, he had a roommate that was always screaming, and they used sporks. Sporks. Who the fuck uses sporks? I wasn't positive if all wards would be like this or if he was just that suicidal. Now, if what she told me was true, then how would they watch me, the insane convicted murderer?

I must have looked jumpy, because my lawyer was placing a hesitant hand on my shoulder. Che, he was afraid of me. The only reason he took this case was because he hated the plaintiff. He didn't give a damn about me. He had won the case. His reputation was inflated.

My eyes hurt. Stupid fucking lights making my eyes burn. I started to blink, but each time I tried to reopen my eyes I had to close them again. It burned. The lights were frying my eyes. The stupid bastard was still touching me. He needed to let go. He had to let go. I squinted. The courtroom was a blur of colors. It was spinning, or was I turning my head? It was too bright. I placed my hands over my eyes, staring at the specks that appeared. Someone was touching me. They needed to let go. I hadn't noticed, but I was beginning to yell for the man to let go. I don't know what's wrong with me. The back of my eyes burned and my nerves were humming in pain. There was something running down the sides of my face. I did not know what. My skin was itchy and it was too hot. Why was this happening? Why? Why?

It felt like hours had passed before my nerves screamed one last time. My eyes blearily opened and, though fuzzy, I could make out people peering over me. They were in white or maybe it was black. The lamps were aiding in blinding me. There were voices, but I couldn't make them out. Something was moving through my system, and I was feeling sleepy.

It's okay. Just sleep.

I wasn't able to question the voice, my eyelids were too heavy, and I was tired. The voice wasn't like it and that was enough. The voice was soothing and warm, like how my mother's was. I didn't know, but I started crying then. Don't judge me! They probably drugged me! You do weird things when you're loopy! I just happened to cry over my mother. That doesn't make me any less of a man. Ok?

Sleep.

~~Time Skip Activate~~

I really hate hospitals. It's not really the smells that bother me since staid bleach and whatever cliché hospital smells will never rival up to the smell of decaying corpses. People are just too fucking picky and always want to smell 'good' things, so when they visit a hospital their nose takes in the unfamiliar scents and deems it disgusting. No, I hate hospitals because if I'm not visiting someone then I'm the one in the bed. I also don't like needles. Sure, a few in the arm every so many years is nothing, but I despise the feeling of whatever their injecting slowly moving throughout my body like some type of thick syrup. I groaned, trying to turn my head away from the light streaming into the window. They should invest in darker blinds! One day a patient is just going to wake up and die from the shock that the sunlight will give their eyes.

I tried to grab the blanket to pull over me, but found that both my hands were cuffed to the side of the bed. Someone just fucking insert a perverted comment here, I dare you! Che, this really pisses me off! I mean, it's not much of a surprise, but this is not how anyone should have to wake up. I pouted. What else could I fucking do? I was chained to a bed! Damn, I can hear the perverted comments. Well, might as well wake up. "Hey, nurse!" I yelled and winced as my voice cracked. Stupid handcuffs. Stupid water pitcher that I couldn't reach.

Finally a nurse came in, and it was some guy in his fifties. He glared at me. Oh, a challenge? Che, I was the motherfucking champ at glaring!

"What do you want?" He finally gritted out. Well, wasn't he just a goddamn ray of sunshine. I decided to have some fun. "I have to take a leak." His brow twitched at my language and I smirked in triumph. He begrudgingly picked up a key from the tray and walked over, trying to hide his quivering hands as he unbound one of my hands, which just so happened to be the one with a broken wrist. I mean, my hand is nearly crippled and he's near pissing himself! I almost felt bad for him. The key word being almost.

He adjusted the cuffs onto my wrists, allowing them to be bound before me. How kind of him. He even waited outside of the bathroom for me to finish, nearly jumping out of his skin when I remerged. What a gentleman (Note the sarcasm). He returned me to my designated room for the rest of my stay, and was relieved to see three guys there. Hell, he barely held back in flinging me at one of them! Bastardo! I should find the hospital manager and give them a piece of my damn mind! Or I could write a letter. That way I don't run the risk of getting sedated or man handled.

Angry messages aside, I looked up at the guy that I was thrown into. He was probably around thirty, and had short slicked back hair. I faintly wondered if his hair gel was flammable, but hurriedly dismissed it. He stared down at me, frowning with stoic grey eyes. I moved my stair to one of the others guys, and found this one easier to look at. He had dark skin, short well kept brown hair, and matching eyes. Interestingly enough he had a red dot in the middle of his forehead. Now I don't know for sure, but he looks like a stereotypical Indian or Hindi man to me.

The former man caught by attention as he smiled, and it wasn't some reassuring smile or even a half smile. The asshole was amused with something, and it was probably me. Che, it's not like I wanted to have bed head and be decorated in bandages right then. At this point, I just really wanted to punch this asshole.

"Well, you must be the new addition. I'm the director, Dr. Crowley, and this is Dr. Amra." He indicated to the Hindi guy with a simple gesture. Dr. Amra made eye contact with me and gave a small smile, and let me tell you something, his smile was enough to let me know that he felt bad that this creep was even talking to me. I wanted to smile back, but already some guy that had been in the back was injecting something into my arm. Fucking great, I just shouldn't even bother to wake up anymore. It'll save them the time and money on having to inject me every ten fucking minutes. Sheesh!

I was signed out and led to a car, but I don't really remember that too well, ya know, because of the drugs. It was around an hour later when I became aware of my surrounding, and I was not a happy camper! For one the cuffs were beginning to cut into my wrists and my scalp was sore. The bandages on my face were starting to bother me, like an annoying buzzing sound, only on my face. I glared out the window. Apparently, I had flipped out yesterday at the trial and clawed at the sides of my face, ripping out some hair in the process. It wasn't too serious and there shouldn't be any permanent scarring, but I would have to endure a tender scalp and face for awhile. I glared down at my traitorous hands, noticing the dried blood under my fingernails.

I sighed, looking back out the window at the scenery. Nothing but open fields and a few chain stores for travelers. I really hated sitting here. That asshate was in the passenger seat up front with some other guy driving. In front of me was Dr. Arma and another stupid worker, and then of course they couldn't leave me alone. I had a fucking worker sitting right next to me, butting into my personal space, causing me to feel like a canned sardine, only I was the sardine smooshed into the side of the freaking can. I could feel his fucking breath on my elbow!

There was an incident that I witnessed at one of the schools that I had briefly attended. Some bully was bothering this really small, scrawny guy by towering over him. Well, the smaller of the two was known for being really nice and the type that wouldn't hurt anyone. So my jaw had damn near dropped when he popped the taller kid in the jaw and then pushed him into a wall. Granted that the kid felt a little bad, but when asked why he finally fought back, the kid told us that he couldn't stand people with foul smelling breath. I understand now as to what he meant. I wanted to punch the worker next to me too until he moved over, or until I was sedated, which wouldn't be fair. No one ever got sedated for fighting in middle school.

A small town passed by and I grew restless. I strained to look up front where the gas thermometer was located, but I didn't have my glasses. Not like I needed them or anything! I can see just fine, if not near perfect. I just can't read really small print from this far back, which sucks because I could sit in the back of the classroom and see the board perfectly. I haven't worn my glasses in forever and I refuse to. It has nothing to do with that time some kid said I looked stupid! Not at all! Gah! I hoped this car would hurry up and stop by a gas station. I really need to stretch.

My eyes started to itch, and from past events I've decided that this is never a good sign. My left eye began to twitch on its own accord and I rubbed it, cautious just in case an eyelash had landed itself in my eye fluid. Stupid long lashes. If anything I probably made it even worse, because now I couldn't stop rubbing them. I cursed under my breath, rubbing furiously until something appeared before my eyes. It was a bottle of eye drops and Dr. Arma was indicating for me to take it from him. I won't say that I'm stupid, but I just had a feeling that I could trust the doc, for now anyway.

If you know anything about using eye drops, then it's pretty much common knowledge. If not, then you are one lucky bastard. Eye drops require you to hold your eyelids open and squeeze the bottle until two drops fall into your eye. Repeat with the other eye. I hate the tiny shock that goes through my nerves when the drop enters my eye. No matter how many times I use the product it always shocks me. I handed the bottle back and waited. The itching subsided, but they still ached for some reason.

The rest of the ride was unpleasant. We never once stopped. The guy next to me never stopped breathing and-Fuck it! I'm lying! Some shit did go down, only it ended in me being sedated just five minutes from the freaking ward. In my defense the guy had it coming. He suddenly sagged onto me and I managed to push him up and off, but he fell again, and this time on my damn wrist, the broken one. It started bending at a strange angle, so I flipped out. I started cussing and punching the guy away from me, but apparently self defense is frowned on in that damn car! The worst part is that the stupid guy was the one who sedated me, and it fucking hurt! He rammed that damn needle into my neck like some horny elephant!

I heard later on that the guy had his paycheck cut because he nearly punctured something in my neck. Isn't that just grand? I'm spared the fucking death penalty only to nearly die by the thing that was supposed to be helping me. One day my body will just build a resistance to whatever they put in those needles, and then hell will break loose. I personally give myself twenty minutes of rampaging before they shoot me down, unless I escape, then I give myself a few weeks, but of course I would be injured during the escaping and meet someone that teaches me love or some cliché shit, promises to protect me and I vow to protect them, blah, blah, I probably die, there would be a lot of crying, and there's a chick flick. I won't charge this time, but I recommend waiting around if you're looking for a thriller or some other genre.

Who the hell am I talking to? Oh well, I fucking like to address nonexistent people! Fuck, I sound like I've lost my marbles. Great, now I'm using hackneyed similes! Who uses the word 'hackneyed'? I blame my eighth grade teacher; he always used big words that sounded like nonsense to say things, like withershins, which means counterclockwise. "Make sure you go withershins." Urgh and no one ever knew what he really meant. I was never so happy to leave a school as I was that year. I only had the teacher for a month, and I was failing his class.

Anyway, I spent my first night unconscious. Great. I probably looked like some whack-job. I bet I was wheeled in on a gurney and that people stared at me. Not that I freaking care…I umm just don't want to be sedated for using a spork. I really hate sporks. I can just hear those stupid workers, "Hey Jim (Yes, this fake character's name is Jim, problem?), who was that kid that was wheeled in?"

"Lovino Vargas? He's a psycho," –insert laugh here- "He nearly murdered Bob in the car. Be careful. He might spork you!"

The other worker will laugh, "Gee golly, he'll fit right in!" Then the two would laugh, and then a few years later they'll be poisoned and die in their bathrooms.

Don't laugh at me, it could happen! It sounds funny, and I'm probably over thinking this, but I can't help it! I tend to kill off characters I don't like. Yeah, morbid and cynical here, but you don't mind. It doesn't matter even if you did. Who am I addressing? Wait, I already had this internal monologue with myself. Shit!


AN: Well, wasn't this a grand chapter? I had to cut it short since it was getting a bit too long. Quick note, I'm trying to keep Lovi in character, but in my head cannon he's just afraid of getting too close to people because of his brother being the favorite. This time around I hope to incorporate my own meaning behind his tendencies to push others away, hopefully without slaying his character into tiny pieces. Of course I expect some OOC-ness, but I'm still getting the feel of his character.

P.S. Another of my headcanon is that Lovi has glasses somewhere, but doesn't usually wear them because he's self conscious.

New Character(s)

Dr. Amra-India.

I cannot disclose who Dr. Crowley is yet.