So, chapter four. This one's really short, sorry. I got a bigger notebook to write this in, and figured it'd be longer. Of course, it's not college-ruled like I wanted. *lesigh* Oh well. I managed to finish this one just before I got out of school. Isn't that great~ Adds to the insanity, methinks. ;D Oh, and if you ever get confused by anything, let me know; I'll gladly explain. I know that this isn't the clearest at times, but that's what you get; it's how my mind works, and it's from a crazy person's point of view. I can't explain everything as I'd like, 'specially with it being first-person. Not quite used to it yet. P: Well, enough of my jibber-jabber; enjoy chapter four! :D Oh, and five too. hates me, so I have to upload this again, and I was about to upload five so I figured 'why not?'.

Listening to: My classmates

I own nothing aside from the storyline, in case you thought otherwise. Perhaps you should be locked up? ;P

Doctor Heximal says he's taking me out today for an assessment. He's the man who took me into his office yesterday. I think his name is stupid; Heximal? Really?

I'm putting on a pair of stark white shoes to accompany my uniform. Don't want to tear up my feet on the filthy ground, now, do I? At least they match, I suppose. Zexion – the doctor wants me to call him that; says it'll help me relax around him – opens the door and I stand, still looking up at him. I hate being short.

"Ready to go?" I give a wary nod, and he returns it more bluntly. He holds the door open for me. He turns as I exit and leads the way out. Just before the exit to the lobby, he locks my right wrist to his left in a pair of long-chained handcuffs.

My heart pounds almost painfully against my ribs as we head for the outdoors. I begin to shake nervously as I feel the wind on my scalp, blowing through my limply spiked hair. We begin walking, and I can feel eyes other than Zexion's peering at me.

People don't like it here - they act like insanity is some sort of disease. Well, I guess it is, but it's not some sort of super-contagious plague. Due to this fact, this side of the street is barely populated, but there are still plenty of pedestrians on the other side of the street to watch us. I want to curl up on myself, but I can't. I can't let them think they're better than me. I won't let those stupid bees walk all over me. Metaphorically speaking, of course; bees never walk.

I tug on the vine as an unfortunate bee passes too close. I feel a vicious snarl (roar?) rip its way out of my chest. It feels good. The bee quickly flies away as I feel that pleasant rumble in my chest, the comforting scratch in my throat, and that feeling of power and freedom.

"Roxas?" I hear the bee's high-pitched buzz. I snap at it. Snap snap snap. I claw at it too, but it moves out of the way too fast. I spot the vine glistening as it moves. It hurts my mouth, and I snarl again.

I decide to start snapping at the bee again. If I can get the vine off the bee, Ill be free. I can't catch it. I'd ram it, but the vine's too short for me to gather any speed. I see it grab something black and square. What's square again? As it buzzes into the black thing, I eye where else the vine attaches. I taste cherries. The bee's buzzing becomes more desperate (?), and the itching, burning, pain gets worse. I feel something touch my head. I feel my neck crack as I snarl at my foe. The bee. It hit me. Stupid freaking bee.

I growl as I approach it. It backs away. I bare my teeth and tense I lu-

"Roxas!" I snarl and whimper at the loud sound. As my vision blurs and refocuses, I see vivid red and bright green.

"Roxas…" The feline approaches me, and I back away. It looks hurt. Does it? We move step for step, but the cat has longer strides than I do. I don't realize that the stinging in my eyes was accompanied by wet coming from them until the cat pulls me close and I feel the salty wetness soak its fur. Hm, how did I not notice that saturation? The sting's been there this whole time.

My body shakes violently, and a new, strangled sound works its way out, and, my goodness, it hurts! My wrist burns and aches. I hiss as a set of limber appendages move from gripping my back to gingerly holding me near my wound. I clutch the feline's fur with an iron grip and let out a low, agonized whine (groan?) as something touches my wrist. The paw on my back rubs soothingly as I bury my face deeper, and more complaints escape me. I breathe deeply, inhaling and absorbing that comforting, and distantly familiar, scent of smoked cinnamon. I feel the cat's muzzle bury into my hair, then return to attacking my wrist. My complaints increase in intensity, volume, and frequency as I feel warm, moist wind burn into my abused joint.

"It's okay, Angel. It's okay." I let out an oddly contented whine, burying my fangs into the tough fur before me.

"I'm here, Angel. Kitty's here. It's okay." I feel the stinging in my wrist ease, and my whine turns into a sigh. I feel sleepy.

"'Love you, Kitty." The words barely tumble from my lips.

"I love you too, Angel." The whisper ghosts soothingly through my hair. I feel something soft and warm on my lips. I lazily half-open my eyes to see the brilliant green of Kitty's eyes, with an extra glisten to them. Something in the back of my mind causes me to respond with a similar action. I barely register the warmth moving from my mouth to my forehead as everything fades to black.

Except for that vivid, throbbing, bright red glow.