o.O.o

Razorblade Shine

Chapter 1: You'll Be Just Fine

Revised on August 5, 2008

o.O.o

If I could start again
A million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way.

--"Hurt" by Johnny Cash

o.O.o

As I sit here now, beginning this narrative/contest entry, I shall be completely and utterly honest with you.

This tale is not the stuff of legends and isn't one for the ages, that much I can guarantee. It isn't one of those stores that is so sincere and honest that it will have you bawling, on your mind for many years to come. This story isn't meant to motivate or inspire, it isn't meant to instruct or educate. You will not become enlightened by reading my sage words because, frankly, I don't have any.

My story will most certainly not drive helpless people to insanity, suicide, murder, or convince anyone to join a cult or drink the Kool-aid, not by a long shot. It shan't help you find the cure for cancer or the common cold, nor throw a perfect curveball, nor cook a perfect beef Wellington. There is not instructional value except, perhaps, don't do what I did.

You most certainly will not discover the meaning of life while/after reading my story, and if you do, it is by complete accident and has nothing whatsoever to do with my multi-chaptered rant on my life in and out of Oblivion Treatment Center.

And I most heartily assure you that I am no Holden Caulfield, though I'm not quite sure if that disappoints or relieves you (if it does disappoint you, then I recommend that you reread J.D. Salinger's masterpiece because my story will be nothing like that. But if you're relieved, then please, by all means, read on). The climax to my story will most certainly not be me wishing that I could make a career of catching little children as they jump in a giant field of rye, preventing them from falling off the cliff that just so happens to be in junction to a field. Not that there is anything wrong with that (I quite liked Catcher in the Rye when we read it last year in Honors English 11), I'm just merely stating that this will not be that kind of story. A forewarning, if you will.

The only thing this story is good for, besides wiping your ass with if you ever happen to run out of toilet paper and are desperate, is entertainment. Sure, it's cheap entertainment and it's all mostly at my expense, but it's worth it to lay my head on the chopping block if someone gets a couple of laughs out of it.

Besides, this is the best story I could come up with for the contest because I already lived the story, as both narrator and protagonist. I know first-hand who pulled their punches and who turned out to be a scum bag and who learned from their mistakes and who had their life changed forever.

But perhaps the biggest reason I chose to write a narrative on my life is because, not only does it help me relieve some of my stress, no one, not even myself, knows how for sure how it will end. I'm not dead yet.

o.O.o

This story began in late August, just before school was to start for my senior year of high school. I had just gotten out of the hospital after cutting myself a little too deeply. First and foremost, let's get out of the way one simple fact; yes, I was a cutter. It is not something I am proud of, but it is something that happened and is most certainly something I cannot change despite that fact that I would give almost anything to do so.

I had just gotten out of the hospital with stitches in my arm and multiple layers of gauze around my injury. That had kept me in the hospital for several days due to the fact that I had lost a lot of blood, requiring a blood transfusion. The extra days were just a precaution, just in case I had a bad reaction to the new blood coursing now through my veins.

I was in the car with my parents and my best friend/recently turned boyfriend Demyx. Dad was at the wheel, taking us from our home in peaceful little Twilight Town to the Oblivion Treatment Center in grand ole city of Oblivion. My things were packed securely in the trunk, ready to move into their new home in my room at the Treatment Center. The drive itself was a good three hours, most of which was filled with an almost deafening silence. Everyone was lost in their own thoughts, no doubt pertaining to me.

Truthfully, I was grateful that I was being sent away, not because I particularly wanted to get away, but because I wanted nothing more than to get myself better so I could move on with my life. I was only seventeen yet I had already known much pain and sorrow and wanted to move past all that.

I was, however, a little apprehensive about going to a place called Oblivion, thinking that it would mentally do me more harm than good, but my dad explained that it was actually located in the town of Oblivion (I could only imagine in horror the people who lived in such a town). I'd never even heard of the place, but not too many had. It was the doctor at Twilight Town Memorial that had recommended it, stating that Oblivion was the best treatment center around and also most likely the least expensive.

Not only was the drive long, but stifling, only the occasional sobs to be heard from my mom sitting directly in front of Demyx. She repeatedly made statements that roughly consisted of everything being all her fault that I hurt myself because she didn't catch it before it was too late, before I'd seriously hurt myself.

I nearly cried myself when she said she couldn't bear to lose another son.

I didn't understand why everyone felt the need to blame themselves over what I did to myself. I'm the one who couldn't figure out how to grieve properly, I made the poor choice of starting to cut myself, I'm the one who let it get out of control.

I knew that it was human nature to take blame upon oneself, but in this situation, I failed to see how they could. Demyx had blamed himself from the moment he found me on the floor, laying in a pool of my own blood. My mom blamed herself as she burst into tears the first time she saw me after I'd woken up, bandaged and lying in a hospital bed. My dad, however, remained steadfastly silent, but I knew that inside, he was raging. He perhaps might have blamed himself the most of all but it was hard to tell because my father rarely said anything when nothing needed said.

Demyx had insisted on going with us up to Oblivion Treatment Center even though I'd made him promise not to come visit me while I was away so I would be encouraged to get better all the more with the thought that the sooner I get better, the sooner I get to see him again. And I had promised him a date.

He'd countered, saying that I wasn't yet a patient, therefore he wasn't technically visiting me. Secretly, I was glad he was right; the drive to Oblivion Treatment Center was probably the scariest thing I've ever gone through. I was terrified of being left alone there in a place where I knew absolutely no one, where everyone I loved was hours away. I was terrified of having to actually face myself and my problems head-on.

I don't think Demyx took his eyes off me during the entire ride up there, not even once. I do think, perhaps, that he thought I might try something stupid like trying to jump out of the moving car while going highway speeds.

I wasn't that stupid, but figured that maybe, just maybe, he was just as scared as I was.

At one point, say a good twenty minutes into the ride, he reached across the plush, blue-fabriced back seat, pulled my hand from off my lap, and placed it inside his own. He didn't let go for the rest of the ride up to the Treatment Center. If my parents noticed, which I'm sure they did because my dad kept looking in the rearview mirror at us, eyes lingering wearily on me, they didn't say anything directly pertaining to it.

"I'm so glad my baby has such a good friend," Mom said to Demyx later on, turning around to smile at him. I could see that her eyes were swollen and red and there were tear stains running down her cheeks. "It will make it so much easier on him. On everyone."

"I'm glad too," I said, looking at Demyx. His beautiful cerulean eyes met mine and I gave his hand an appreciative squeeze. He simply smiled back at me sadly.

The town itself wasn't all that big, roughly a fraction of the size of Twilight Town. It was easily considered one of those 'ya blink ya miss it' kind of towns where everyone knows each other and no one bothered to lock their door at night.

From my place in the back for the car, I could see a grocery store, a bank, a school, a bar, a town square, and a gas station before we finally came upon Oblivion Treatment Center. It was by far the biggest building in town, probably the same size as every non-house building put together. For some reason, the thought of a 'treatment center' being the biggest building in town didn't bode with me, making me wonder if this was just a small town full of crazies, where every resident had spent some time in the place at one point or another in their lives.

But so far, it was hard to tell just what sort of people lived here. The ones I could see from my window looked normal enough, but hell, I looked normal enough if I wore long sleeves to cover my many scars.

Dad pulled our navy Honda into the parking lot, taking a spot near the door. Collectively, the four of us got out of the car, doors all slamming shut almost simultaneously. Dad grabbed my suitcase and bag and the four of us entered the glass doors of the building.

The building itself was two stories, but sprawled out across the grounds. My guess was that if the building was any taller, a patient could easily sneak out onto the roof and jump. At two stories, they would only break a leg or twist an ankle unless they somehow managed to land on their neck. The building was made from a sort of off-white brick, the words Oblivion Treatment Center splayed across the front in big black letters, relishing in the sharp contrast to the pale brick.

We walked into a lobby of sorts, complete with reception desk and several navy and cream striped couches. The pale walls were adorned with paintings, all of them either flowers or animals, but, thankfully, not the overtly cutesy ones that often induced headache, fatigue, and nausea. Potted plants embellished the front of the room, all leafy things in big, terracotta-colored planters. An end table was placed at the end of each couch, small gold desk lamps sitting atop. On the far wall, there was even a magazine rack that housed everything from Life to Seventeen to National Geographic to Popular Mechanics.

"Hi!" a flamboyant voice greeted us, my sharp eyes snapping to the source. A body popped up from behind the reception desk, quickly striding, almost bounding, towards us. "You must be Zexion! It's so nice to meet you! I'm Yuffie! I just know you'll find your stay here very comfortable! Everyone here is really nice and welcoming! You're going to make so many friends! Are you Zexion?" she said in one breath, looking at me expectantly.

I wasn't sure how she immediately knew that I was the newest resident of the nut house when Demyx was the exact same age as me, but she had, her dark eyes immediately landing on me as we'd walked inside. Yuffie was short, not quite five feet tall, with short black hair and wide, mischievous eyes.

"I am," I murmured. For good measure and to hopefully appease her, I added, "It's nice to meet you too, Yuffie."

"Oh, thank you so much!" she said, heading for a door on the far side of the room, between the magazine rack and her desk. "If you'll just follow me, I'll show you to your room and then you can say good-bye to your family. You have a meeting with Dr. Leonhart in approximately half an hour from now," Yuffie said, glancing at her watch quickly. She grabbed a small cardboard box from under her desk with my name written on a navy and white Hello, my name is… sticker, and led the way to my room.

We followed Yuffie up the single flight of stairs and halfway down a hall until we reached room number twenty-three. She opened the door with her free hand and motioned for us to follow her inside.

Glancing around, I saw that it was a fair sized room with two beds, two dressers, two desks, a night stand between the two beds, and a small trash can. Half the room was completely bare, the left half, while the right was full of someone's slightly cluttered things.

"You will be having a roommate, his name is Axel and you'll meet him soon enough I'm sure.

"Now," she said, eyes trained on me, "I need to go through you stuff because there are certain things that are banned from all the rooms here at Oblivion. Your parents can either take these things home now or we'll store them until you're ready to leave and give them back then. It's up to you."

She took the suitcase and duffel bag from Dad and proceeded to unhook the strap, tossing it in the no longer empty box. She gestured for me to take off my studded belt, tossing it in the box, too, after I'd handed it over. All the strings from my hoodies were pulled out and placed inside, along with my shaving kit. "There's supervised shaving here," she explained.

I was glad of it; I didn't want to be tempted.

My shoelaces were also taken, which left my Velcro Vans as my only wearable shoes. I was just really glad I'd packed them because she informed me that if I didn't have any shoes I could wear, then they would provide a pair and I could only imagine what those would look like.

Throughout the process, my parents and Demyx looked nothing short of shell-shocked, taking everything in without a word. As horrible as it might sound, I could tell that my mom was more than relieved to had these dangerous items far from my reach, out of close contact so I couldn't just get the urge to, say hang myself with a hoodie sting or, on a whim, feel the need to hack vulgarities into my arms and legs, and perhaps my forehead. Although if I did carve the word bitch or dick or eat shit into my head, I'd be smart enough not to use a mirror lest I carve it in backwards and nobody could read it. That, my friend, would be wasting a golden opportunity right there, carving curse words into one's skin backwards. Truly a shame it'd be.

Finally, Yuffie finished her sorting, folding the flaps of the box down before sealing it with a long strip of packing tape. "Mr. and Mrs. Schemer, would you like to take the box with you or leave it here until your son's departure?" Yuffie asked.

Before my father even had the chance to open his mouth, my mother stuttered, "We'll take it with us so it will be waiting in his room when he comes home." Yep, she didn't even what the dangerous objects in the same building as me, let alone the same town. Nothing short of three hours away by car would do.

I knew that I probably shouldn't have felt so resentful of her in that moment, but I honestly could not help it. For as much as I knew that I needed to be there to heal myself, I couldn't completely repress the feelings that I was being left behind, abandoned and left for dead. These were all gross inaccuracies, terrible misconceptions, but I felt them anyway, just as an eight year old feels resentful after his parents threatened him with no T.V. if he didn't eat all his green vegetables. The kid's mom told the boy that they were they were good for him, proved it by taking a big bite herself, chocking down as grimace, but that didn't make him want to eat them anymore that he had in the first place.

I sighed, knowing that Oblivion Treatment Center would be my green vegetables that I would forced to endure if I ever wanted to grow big and strong.

"Alright then," Yuffie said, handing the box over to my father, "I'll just be waiting outside in the hall to give you guys a chance to say your good-byes."

Yuffie smiled at us, no doubt having seen this exact same scene play out before her a thousand times before; the uncomfortable father by the door, the emotional mother who can't seem to let her little baby go, the sibling/boyfriend/girlfriend/best friend who hovers on the outskirts, unsure if they should just leave or if they, too, should lavish affection or if they should just patiently bide their time until it is time for their good-byes.

She closed the door softly behind her as she went. Almost simultaneously with the shutting of the door, my mom nearly attacked me, engulfing me in nothing short of a rib-crushing, bone-cracking hug, her arms around me tight and secure. I could do nothing but hug her back almost timidly because no one in our little family had shown this much emotion since Hayner's funeral. And by now, that was a long time ago, but it was never forgotten no matter how hard any of us tried. I could feel my long sleeve t-shirt soak up her tears as they fell on my chest due to my height. I was only five feet five inches (and will probably remain so for the rest of my life, unless I shrink as I get older), but I still had several inches on my mother. She stood on her tip toes, kissing my cheek and saying as she looked up at me, "Oh sweetheart, I love you so much!" As an afterthought, she added, "You get better as quickly as you can and come on home. We're all going to miss you so much!"

Without hesitation, my dad joined us in our group hug, Dad taller than all of us, holding us safely and securely his strong arms. Over my mom's shoulder, I glanced over at Demyx, seeing that he was staring at us and smiling almost sadly.

After a moment, Mom realized my attentions were elsewhere and pulled away, a small smile playing on her pretty face. "Come on, Mitch," she said, wrapping an arm around my dad's back and leading him to the door. "Let's give Zexion and Demyx a chance to say good-bye to each other without us in their faces." My silently dad nodded and, together, they stepped outside the room, the door quietly closing once again.

I turned to Demyx, watching him stare back at me intently, almost expectantly, for a moment before taking a few steps towards me. I honest-to-God didn't know what to say to him, endless apologies running through my mind. It was my fault that we would lose so much time together, my fault that for the majority of our senior year, I would be stranded in a Podunk town three hours away, out of sight but praying to God I wouldn't be out of mind.

I ignored my almost paralyzing feelings of guilt and concentrated on what I knew for sure, what I knew to be absolutely positive. I did know that the only thing I really wanted at that exact moment were his arms wrapped around me, holding me tight. But I didn't make a move.

"I have something for you," he said timidly, pulling a composition book from under his hoodie where it had been tucked into the waistband of his jeans. "There's only one thing you have to promise, and that is not to look at it until after I leave, okay?"

I gulped. "Okay, I promise Demyx." My voice was weak and weary as I took the notebook from him, setting it inside my duffel bag. Not really knowing where to begin, but knowing I had to begin somewhere, I said, "I'm going to miss you one whole helluva lot a lot."

"Then let me come visit," Demyx said quickly, his voice pleading just as his big blue eyes were.

I had to look away from him for fear my resolve wouldn't hold, shaking my head. "No," I said, trying to stay resolute, "I don't want you to see me until I'm better. I don't want to be like this anymore, and believe me, you're more than enough incentive for me to work my ass off."

He smiled slighting in such a way that told me that he didn't really believe me, but he wasn't about to contradict me. I just wished he saw himself the way I did, the wonderful person he was inside and out. To be honest, I had always hoarded Demyx all to myself, ever fearful that someone far more charming, intelligent, personable would try and steal him away from me. I was never more grateful of the fact that he seemed to genuinely want to be with me that I was for anything else in my life.

"Okay," he said, his voice resigned; he knew I meant what I said completely, even if he didn't really understand why.

Tentatively, he stepped closer to me once again, his hand reaching up to lightly touch the side of my face. My breath caught in my throat, my breathing becoming a bit uneven just as it did whenever I was in Demyx's presence. I pressed my face into his hand, nuzzling it a bit. He smiled, but it was a sad smile, nothing like his usual happy-go-lucky smile that I had come to love and determined that I couldn't live without. I was determined to make that smile reappear.

We both knew that this was going to be the last time we'd see each other for a very long time, and time always seems twice as long to young lovers as we were.

My arms snaked around his body, babying the injured one, and pulled him close to me. I winced slightly, knowing that I hadn't been careful enough of my bandaged arm, which was still quite tender. His arms correspondingly wrapped tightly around me, his fingers gently rubbing my back. I sighed, shutting everything else going on out completely, relishing in this sweet moment with Demyx.

I don't know how long we stood there like that, tucked in each other's arms, before I felt his body tremble, huge sobs raking him. I hugged him, if possible, even closer.

"Shh," I whispered, trying my best to comfort him. Briefly, I thought it odd that I was the one comforting him when I was the one who was supposed to be fucked up in the head.

"C-Can't," he said between sobs, back shuddering as I tried to calm him. "I-It's all my fault! E-everything is all my fault, Zexion!"

"Don't say that!" I said quickly, harshly, frightening him a bit unintentionally. "I am the one who made the conscious decision to cut myself, Demyx. There was nothing you could have done for me." He trembled at my words as if they caused him physical pain which, knowing Demyx as I did, it probably, in fact, did.

"But- but I could have stopped! I'm supposed to be your best friend and I didn't even notice!" he whimpered into the junction of my neck and shoulder. "It was my responsibility, and I failed you!"

"Demyx," I said, pulling away just a little so I could look into his tear-filled cerulean eyes. "I tried my damnedest to hide it and you know what a stubborn fucker I am when I'm determined. My parents didn't even know and I live with them."

"That's because they're always thinking about..." he trailed off. He couldn't bring himself to say his name any more than I could. "I should have saved you!"

It seemed that no matter what I said, no matter how much I faced Demyx with the facts, he still wholly blamed himself for what I'd done. "Why do you think I'm here right now at Oblivion Treatment Center? It's because you intervened, Dem. You made me realize how God-awful what I was doing really was! You made me want to get better after I saw how much I hurt you. In truth, it is me that owes you!

"But let's not make our last few minutes together unpleasant. I want something good to remember and think of while I'm here."

He nodded through his tears, giving me a true, genuine-Demyx smile. I smiled in return, I couldn't help it, and leaned in to kiss him. Our kiss was sweet, but short as Yuffie interrupted us by knocking gently on the door, pulling it open. She didn't even seem fazed by seeing two guys kissing. "Sorry," she said apologetically, "but we really need to get you up to Dr. Leonhart's office for your apartment."

I nodded, kissing Demyx again quickly on the lips, grabbing his hand and following Yuffie out the door. I gave each of my parents one last hug, holding them tightly with tears in my eyes. My mom told me that everything would be alright, that we would get through this, and my dad said there would be a place at the table for me when I got home, attempting to joke around. To be truthful, however, my dad is horrible at making jokes and only ever tries to when he is upset about something. Fresh tears sprang to my mother's eyes as she swatted my dad playfully. Even he, Mr. So Serious, had to smile, as did I.

With a certain amount of finality, I turned back to Demyx one last time.

"I don't want to say good-bye to you," he whispered in my ear as he hugged me again.

"Then don't," I said, "Just say 'til later."

" 'Til later, then, Zexion," he said. I smiled.

"I'll miss you," he added shyly. I knew this cost him, saying something so bold and tell-tale in front of my parents and someone he'd just met, but he did it anyway. And I loved him for it.

"I'd be upset if you didn't."

o.O.o

"Leon!" Yuffie called as she led me into my doctor's office. "Our newest arrival is here!" She glanced around and didn't see him anywhere in the small room. "Leon? Leoooooon? Where are you?"

"Right here, Yuffie," a deep voice said from behind us. We both turned around to the sound of the voice. Standing there was a tall man with longish brown hair and grayish eyes. He was dressed in leather pants, a white shirt, and a fluffy kind of funky vest-thing. I thought that it was bit weird for a doctor to be wearing, but what did I know?

The man, Dr. Leonhart as Yuffie had called him, walked in carrying a steaming cup of coffee and a folder under his arm, no doubt all about me. "I'll see you later, Yuffie," he said with a small smile. Yuffie smiled back brightly and left the room. Turning to me, he added, "Why don't you take a seat? Unless you prefer standing that is."

"No," I said, sitting down in front of the slightly cluttered desk. He sat on the other side of it, setting his coffee mug down on what appeared to be a homemade coaster, like something a six or seven year old kid would pawn off on an unsuspecting aunt or uncle who found it impossible to say no. I glanced around the small office and saw several posters the walls, most of which had something to do with sword fighting or fencing.

Dr. Leonhart noticed my curious gaze and explained, "It's a hobby of mine, sword fighting. Been doing it since I was, God, five? Yep, I think that was when I was first enrolled."

"Really?" I asked curiously. In this day and age, sword fighting was a very rare hobby indeed, especially in this country.

"Mm-hmm. I'm a little obsessive about it," he admitted. Looking at him, I couldn't place him as any older than twenty-five, terribly young to be working in a mental hospital. "Anything you like to do?" he asked, leaning back comfortably in his chair.

"I like to write," I admitted. When I'd first entered the office, I was extremely nervous, but seeing the good doctor, not really all that much older than I was at the time, I felt at ease. He had a calming nature to him, Dr. Leonhart did.

"Ah, a writer. Honestly, I can hardly string two words together on a page. Isn't all that great when I have to write so many reports on the patients here. Makes the other doctors a bit angry really, having to decipher my chicken scratch."

I nodded vaguely in agreement.

He leaned foreword in his chair, his arms resting on the middle of the desk. His tone was by far more serious than it had been before, deeper sounding. "Do you know why you're here?" he asked.

"Of course," I said more sarcastically than intended. Adjusting my tone, I said, "I'm a self mutilator."

"I don't think you're just a self mutilator. When you hurt yourself, you hurt the people that love you too." It sounded as if he was trying to push me to add to my previous statement. I thought a moment before speaking again.

"I know that now," I said in agreement. "No, I'm really here because I want to get better. I don't want to be depressed or angry or hurting any more."

He smiled. "Exactly. You're exactly right. So, why don't you tell me a bit about yourself."

The sudden change in topic made me wonder if my doctor was just a tad bipolar. At this point, it seemed a strong possibility with the sudden change in topics and such. No one just goes from such a serious topic and such a light topic without having some kind of a problem. "I thought we were discussing why I was here," I said pointedly.

"We were. I just don't want to push you too much your first day here. We could continue talking about why you're here, but you've lead me to believe you know the exact reason. I just decided to change the subject to something different."

"Okay. What would you like to know?" I honestly had no idea where to begin. Talking about myself was never one of my strong points unlike it is for some. Like my cousin Riku for instance; he was more than arrogant enough for the both of us. In truth though, he was merely joking around ninety-nine percent of the time.

"What would you like to tell me?" He was really starting to frustrate me now, dancing around the subjects, forcing me to talking and the skimming right on over them to the next.

I kind of wanted a bit of revenge for him making me talk about myself. I knew it was necessary to get better but I still didn't like being put on the spot the way I had. Which is probably what led to me to say what I said. "I'm gay." My voice was even, devoid of all emotion.

He simply smiled at me. "So am I." Now that threw me for a loop; I really hadn't been expecting it.

"Oh," I said simply.

"Well, you were being honest so I thought I should be too. Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Yeah, actually now I kind of do. I guess cutting myself led to one good thing."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"My boyfriend was the one that found me after I, uh, went a bit overboard. I don't know, I guess it kind of spurred him so confess that he loved me. And now we're together. I promised to take him on our first date when I get out of here."

"It's funny the way life works. The rainbow after, or in your case, during, the thunderstorm storm."

"Yeah, we've been best friends since we were in diapers practically. If it weren't for him, I probably would have been a lot worse than I was after-"

I'd nearly said it. And that was something I definitely didn't want to talk about, not right now.

"Your brother's death, you mean." I don't know if he was testing me or not, but at that moment, I really hated him for saying it so bluntly, so carelessly, like it meant nothing when it cause me more pain than anything I'd ever experienced in all my life.

"Yes," I said sarcastically, "after my brother's death."

"Why didn't you say his name? It's strange that you didn't. Usually when people refer to a sibling to someone they hardly know, they use that person's name. You didn't."

"Do most people's brothers die at the age of sixteen!?" I screamed, standing up furiously. My fists were shaking so hard that they were beginning to ache from the strenuous jerking. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than slam my quaking fists into his nose as hard as I could. Sure, he could take me down in one fell swoop, but I had a feeling that he would let me. He would let me if I wanted it badly enough.

Take a deep breath, I jammed both my fists into my pockets, reclaiming my seat. There was no way in hell I was going to show some doctor that I'd just met so much emotion, let him see that he had gotten to me. Even if it was his job.

A strange smile crossed Dr. Leonhart's face then. "Yep," he said quietly, "it'll take a while, but I can guarantee that you're going to be just fine."

o.O.o