"Good morning, Aizawa-san. I'm so glad you're on time for your appointment for a change. Your attitude toward therapy must be improving. I told you it would."
You wish, bitch. What choice did he have? The nurse had wheeled him in here immediately following breakfast without his consent. There was one small consolation. The psychiatrist always offered him cigarettes as a bribe, or as a token gesture of trust, or as a reward for continuing psychoanalysis—he didn't know which, or care. All that mattered was to coat his lungs with another layer of carbon and indifference, and drag himself a few steps closer to death. Heh. This is a death camp. What was it they used to say about the death camps in Poland during the war? The only way out was through the chimney. He'd love to leave through the chimney right now. Anything to escape.
"What are you thinking, Aizawa-san? You look lost in thought." The doctor pulled a pack of Camels from her desk drawer, then cast around for an ashtray and lighter.
"You sure you want to know?" Taki eyed the Camels the way some men gaze at gold ingots, then inched his wheelchair slightly closer to the desk under the guise of getting more comfortable.
"Of course. After all our time together, I don't think there's much you could say that would shock me. Ah, there they are. I really should clean up this desk, but organization's not my strong suit." She lifted some papers, uncovering the elusive ashtray and lighter, then scooted them over to her patient.
"I was just thinking this place is like a death camp." Taki tapped a Camel out of the pack and lit it, sucking in a huge breath of smoke and carcinogens. Yeah, that was better. If only it were marijuana or opium—if he was going to smoke, he might as well get something meaningful from it. Like oblivion.
"Death camp? You mean like Nanasanichi Butai?"
"Erm...something like that."
"That's interesting. Do you believe we're conducting human experiments here?"
"I don't know what the hell you do here. I only know you don't help me here."
"You're not giving us enough credit, Aizawa-san. I think we've made progress tackling your disease, but there's still a long way to go. So let's proceed, shall we? In our last session, I believe you told me your worst enemy is a young singer named...er...let me check my notes. Ah yes, Shuichi Shindo. Lead vocalist for a band called Bad Luck."
My disease? "I didn't say he was my worst enemy." No, his worst enemy was someone infinitely more insidious. "I said I hate him, and he caused my downfall, but he's not my worst enemy." Not by a long shot.
"Well, let's explore that. Just who would you say is your worst enemy, then?"
What was the point of answering when she didn't listen anyway? Then again, if he didn't respond, she'd keep prodding and poking until he spilled it. "The bastard who put me here."
"I thought this Shuichi person caused your downfall and put you here...? If not, then who exactly is this 'bastard' you just mentioned? Clarity is crucial, Aizawa-san."
Clarity, my ass. How much more time did he have to waste until the damn session was over? There was no point in looking around; she deliberately allowed no clocks in the room. Denied even the simple power of knowing the time, he resorted to what was fast becoming a stereotypy of late—hugging himself and rocking back and forth in his chair, like a captive animal expressing despair through repetitive, maladaptive behavior.
"Aizawa-san?"
Burning, always burning,
Your love finally took its toll
When you play with matches,
The devil gets your soul.
Had it really been so long since that song was a hit? Since he was a sensation? The next big thing; NG's rising star and golden boy, barreling toward immortality, soon to become a legend in his own time?
Where Shuichi is right now.
"Aizawa-san?"
Shuichi.
"Aizawa-san? Can you hear me?"
What was there to look forward to from here on out? It was all downhill from here. Kicked out of the band, kicked out of the business. An invalid. A loser. A mental case.
"Aizawa-san? I'm going to have the nurse take you back to your room now and give you a sedative, but we'll talk again tomorrow."
She rose from her seat and removed the dwindling cigarette from his hand, then pressed the wall buzzer for assistance. An orderly soon arrived and returned Taki to his room upstairs.
No, I can't hear you, Doctor. The dead cannot hear.
Did she really want to know his worst enemy? He'd have to make a list.
Ma
Ken
Tohma
Shuichi
Yuki Eiri
Suguru
An LPN eventually brought him a glass of water and a small cup containing a pill, and Taki gladly sucked it down. Who wanted to stay lucid in this place? Or any place. The next day would only be more of the same: ice water sheets, psychoanalysis, sedatives, anti-depressants, physical restraints, hospital food. A life spent in a wheelchair; no more of a stage than this. Performance art confined to drooling on his gown as he grew more despondent and stir-crazy day by day.
And he had Tohma to thank for all this.
"Excuse me, Aizawa-san?"
His closest buds betraying him was nothing compared to what the cocksucker Seguchi had done to him.
"Aizawa-san? I know the nurse has already given you a sedative, but there's someone here to see you. Ordinarily I would suggest he return another day, but in your current state of mind I thought it might do you good to have outside stimulation for a change."
The doctor was back? No, wait. He was in his room now. The doctor never came up here; Taki always had to go down to her office. Yet here she was, standing before him, in his own room, babbling something about stimulation. "Huh?"
"I said, you have a visitor, Aizawa-san. Shall I send him in? He was rather adamant to see you, but of course, it's entirely up to you."
Taki nodded, too shocked to adequately process the request. Someone wanted to see him? He hadn't had a visitor since...hm...he couldn't remember. Probably not since Suguru came to demand he return a slip of paper...that...what was that again? Some piece of paper; a note or something. He'd clasped the thought a second ago, but now it had slipped through one of those little holes in his memory. Rabbit holes. Keyholes. Bullet holes. Assholes.
"Aizawa-san?"
"Yes, Doctor?" Taki let her move his chair around so that he faced the newcomer, then stared helplessly as she stepped aside so Satan could enter the room.
"I'll leave you two alone and give you some privacy with your guest, Aizawa-san, but I'll return later. Very nice to have met you, Seguchi-san."
"Very nice to meet you too, Doctor. Do you mind if I sit down, Aizawa-san?"
A mistake. He'd made a horrifying mistake.
"I've just returned from New York. I'll only stay a minute."
In all the days, weeks, months or centuries he'd been in therapy, Taki had never once told the doctor about Satan. Mostly it was all rambling about Shuichi.
"Your doctor seems very nice. Is she helping you at all?"
And now here was the bastard in person, to take Taki to the third Hell.
"You're very quiet, Aizawa-san. It must be quite a surprise to see me here."
The first was when Tohma pushed him in front of a car. The second was when Ma kicked him out of the band. And the third...
"Aizawa-san?"
The third was happening right now. As he sat frozen in place, staring blankly at Seguchi in powerless immobility, he could feel himself burning.