Title: hallucinations
Rating: K+
Word count: 557
Summary: What are they talking about — him being murdered? He's still alive, isn't he? She had made sure of that (and now she was upset because of that stupid, stupid, question.)
A/N: Ehhh, I decided to expand this into a drabble series. Oh, and this is the rewritten ver. of hallucinations, because after reading Rolling-chan's review, I realised that I left a lot of things out; remembering what you're going to write is hard after a long, long, math worksheet.
She stares after him, wanting, but not having. It pains her to see him flocked by girls, and even more when he seems to be enjoying the attention, because he's supposed to be hers.
Hers and not anyone else.
He needs only her attention, so why is he seeking others? He needs only her touch, so why is he letting other girls flirt and touch his arm, his neck, his face, his beautiful, beautiful blonde hair? He needs only her lips, so why is he letting other girls kiss him?
She doesn't understand, really.
So she approaches him and asks. It's quite obvious that she will do that, because what does one do when in doubt? Ask, of course. So she asks with a forced smile on her face, when all she wants to do is slap him and kiss him and hug him and punch him all at the same time.
And he says that because he's not really there, even though he's hers.
She thinks she understands, but then she doesn't, too, and she finds herself chasing after an unraveling ball of strings that keeps rolling and rolling away. She's still thinking when the kind woman in a white dress asks for her and she's still thinking when she sits in front of a man who has a balding head and wiry glasses, fingers tapered together and a gold wedding band around his fourth finger.
How nice, she thinks mutely, that he's married. And yet here she is, pining for him. It's unfair, how their situations are completely reversed, and she thinks that she might have to do something about it, you know, because justice is fairness and fairness is justice and she isn't making sense so she stops thinking.
But first, she has to answer his questions even as she shifts in her seat, the comfortable padding underneath her not soothing her at all. It's a pain, how they're always the same, and she always gives the same answer anyway, so why does he bother?
Are you okay?
Yes.
Do you remember anything about it?
Yes.
Care to tell me?
No.
Okay, then...How are you coping with life after Kagamine-san has been murdered?
I'm fi-Wait, what do you mean?
...
What do you mean? He's still alive, isn't he? He is! I saw him just this morning, I-I even spoke to him! How can you say that a live person is dead? It doesn't make sense! I'll sue you for that!
And then around this time she gets sent out, and waits for another fifteen minutes. And it's always the same nurse that comes up and asks are you still having hallucinations? Some medicine for you, then.
Hallucinations? Of course she isn't having them. What would she hallucinate about, anyway?
Normally they send her away with a reminder, but this time, she goes back in and continues the interrogation, mind fumbled and frazzled and not quite herself, because what do they mean? He's still alive, isn't he? She talked to him this morning, didn't she? Not murdered, right? She's still fumbling when she enters the white, white room, and it shows on her face, she's sure.
Are you okay?
Yes.
Do you remember anything about it?
Yes.
So how did you kill Kagamine-san?
Oh, it was lovely, his screams were music to my ears when I lopped his head off. Simply lovely, because he belongs to me now — he said so himself this morning.