This is...difficult. Drake does not like being fixed.

Also, be prepared to hate me by the end of this chapter. :)

Chapter Eight

The doctor sat in his chair deep in thought, leaning back in his chair with his eyes shut and brow furrowed. The patient on his mind at the moment was one that he'd been thinking about for a while: Drake Merwin. It was clear the boy was willing to try to remedy his sadistic mentality, but that didn't necessarily mean everything would go well. Sadism, by nature, wasn't easy to treat and just because something worked for one person didn't mean it would work for another. Not only that, but Drake had portrayed possible traits of other psychological problems, and considering sadism's comorbidity, it wasn't an unlikely thought to think that there might be more than one issue that needed to be approached here.

His only real break was that Drake was still in his teens and his body was still undergoing the chemical changes that puberty caused; it was possible it wasn't too late for him to at least learn to control the desires so that he could be reintroduced into society. He just needed to decide if Drake might also be suffering from something else, as well as what that something else would be, and also what the plausible causes for his behavior was. More than likely it had its roots in his childhood, but he'd have to learn more to truly be able to pinpoint how Drake came to associate hurting others with pleasure and control.

Even more than all this, however, was the greatest problem: how to proceed from here. He liked to avoid giving his patients regular medicines, as that meant they'd have to rely on that medicine for the rest of their lives. If something could be fixed just be talking it out and learning some coping methods, then why have someone constantly ingest such chemically altering pills?

The doctor sighed, leaning forward and running a hand through his hair, eyes looking over the notes scattered across his desk. Drake was reluctant to share with others, that was sure, so group therapy was out, at least for now. He could continue their one-on-one sessions, but he wasn't sure if that was enough. Just talking about something didn't guarantee that Drake would be learning anything, not to mention if he never interacted with others he'd never have a chance to reenter society. But he couldn't just suddenly thrust him back into involvement with others; no doubt he'd just regress.

First thing's first, he thought, collecting the notes into a manila file. Try to determine if sadism is the only thing affecting Drake's mind. Then, try to pinpoint the outer stimuli that cause his outbursts and teach him to recognize these situations and how to control himself. After that, look into possibly introducing him into a group therapy session.

-Break-

"Drake," the doctor greeted, sitting across from the boy. Drake grunted, looking sort of pitiful with his only arm still held immobile in its sling. "So I'm going to get right to the point. I'm looking into having you sit in on one of the group therapy sessions I have every Thursday."

Drake raised a brow, leaning back in his seat and looking overall very petulant. "Why would I want to go to a group therapy session?"

"Well, sometimes it's good for people to speak things out with others like them and realize that they aren't alone," the doctor told him, watching the boy's reactions. "However, before we do that, I want to try and understand more of your situation."

"My situation," Drake repeated, deadpan.

"Yes, your situation," the doctor repeated, smiling kindly.

Drake scoffed at the sugary method of addressing the issue at hand but decided to not to push it. "So what do you want me to do?" he questioned straightforwardly instead, not looking at the doctor.

"I just want to know more about you. What were your parents like, for example? What about any friends you had in elementary school? Any pets? Any happy memories you have of when you were growing up?" the doctor asked.

"I barely saw my parents. I didn't have friends. I killed the dog my mom gave me, and I don't really have any 'happy' memories," he answered curtly.

"Drake, if you want me to help you get better, you're going to have to talk to me," the doctor instructed him.

Drake sighed, looking towards the doctor from under his long bangs. He just stared at the doctor for a long while, seemingly weighing something in his mind. Finally, he grumbled something under his breath before shifting in his seat and leaning back once more.

"My mom hates me," he spoke neutrally. The doctor was surprised by that.

"Why do you think that?" he asked.

"Because she does. She's never had time for me, always off at her job. She either can't stand me or my dad, I don't know, probably both. I heard them arguing one time and she said I was a mistake." The fact that he'd said all this in a very calm, very controlled voice told the doctor that this was probably a touchy subject.

"My dad, on the other hand, would cave to whatever she wanted and was always trying to please her. He did the same thing to me. I think he's scared we'll hate him, so he does whatever we want. But it didn't work. I do hate him. I hate him and his spineless pathetic groveling, always begging mom to come home more or spend time with me."

The doctor nodded. "So you don't want to have yourself be like your father, is that it? So instead of 'groveling' or 'caving into others' as you see him doing, essentially allowing others to control him, you have decided to be the controller, to impose your own will upon others?"

"I'd never be like my father," Drake spat vehemently, eyes flashing.

The doctor nodded again. "Alright. And it's these same character traits that you observed in Caine Soren, which is why you also do not like him, correct?"

Drake paused, anger dissipating at the unexpected question as he thought over what the doctor had just pointed out. "I hate Caine because he would try to control me…but I guess he was also pathetic because he always caved into whatever Ladris' wanted."

The doctor hummed in thought. "So. You loathe any loss of control and any actions of concession or giving in to another, particularly females."

Drake didn't really like having the doctor sum him up in one convenient little sentence but decided to bite his tongue and instead watch the doctor, waiting to see what other grand epiphany the man would have.

"Drake, I'm going to ask you a serious question," he began, hands folding in front of his mouth as he stared directly into the boy's eyes. "How do you see yourself?"

Drake's head tilted to the side without his wanting it to as he blinked once in confusion. "What?" he asked, not understanding the question.

"How do you see yourself?" the doctor repeated. "Are you happy with yourself? Or are there things about yourself you'd change, if you could?"

Drake's mouth twist into a sort of scowl. "Isn't that the whole idea, Doc? I want to be fixed so I can leave, so obviously I want to change," he spat.

The doctor shook his head slightly. "I'm not asking about what you want to do on the basis of societal views. If you could walk out of the doors, right now, as you are, would you be happy doing so?"

"What kind of question is that?" Drake near accused. "Of course I'd want to leave."

"But knowing that you wouldn't be able to make any lasting connections with anyone, knowing that you'd have to be alone except for your victims, could you honestly say you'd be happy with that lifestyle? You said you don't have any happy memories, so does that mean hurting others actually doesn't make you happy?" the doctor questioned.

Drake was still scowling. "So what?"

"So, answer the question, Drake. How do you see yourself?" he repeated again.

Drake glowered, sitting sullenly in his chair. "I guess…I'm not happy," he relented in a grumble.

"And how would you describe yourself?" the doctor added.

"I don't know," Drake groused.

"Just try, Drake," the doctor entreated.

"How does this help anything?" the boy growled under his breath before shifting in his seat again and looking down and to the side, not meeting the doctor's eyes anymore. "I'm a guy," he began. "I…dammit, is this necessary?" he asked again, sounding annoyed as his eyes flickered back to that doctor.

"Trust me," the doctor told him, motioning for him to continue. Drake looked back to wherever he'd been staring.

"I…I like sports," he settled on. "I…I don't know," he said. "I like playing video games. I like scary movies. I don't like other people, unless I can hurt them. I like controlling people," he was shaking now, though his voice was once again even and steady. The doctor frowned minimally at that observation.

"I hate my parents. I hate Coates Academy. I hate Caine Soren. I hate…I hate a lot of things," he summed up. "I like…I like D…" he was hesitating, his tongue locked behind his teeth. "I like hurting Diana Ladris," he spoke the clearly modified sentence slowly, darkly.

The doctor eyed the boy in front of him for a moment. There was, no doubt, more to many of those statements, along with a multitude of other descriptions that could be applied to the boy. Still, he didn't think Drake was quite getting the point of the exercise.

"Do you define yourself based on other people?" the doctor questioned. Drake paused, looking back up at the doctor in question. "Most of those descriptions were in terms of other people. I'm not asking what other people think of you or what you think of other people, Drake. I want to know what you think about yourself."

Drake's teeth clenched. "Well what does that even mean? You said describe myself! I did!"

"No, you described what you like and don't like. I'm not asking your preferences. I'm asking: who are you?" he enunciated.

Drake glared at the doctor for a moment. "Well why don't you show me what you want, Doc?" he seethed.

"Fine. I'm quiet, observant, and educated. I tend to be a perfectionist when paperwork is involved, and I'm very patient-oriented," he rattled easily. "Now you," he instructed.

Drake was still glaring at him, but the teen still huffed to himself. "I'm loud, blunt, and not a very good liar. I'm pretty observant and I hate messy things. I like order…I mean, I'm clean and well-organized…usually," he hissed. Clearly, something was bothering him about his current living situation, though that would have to be addressed at a later time.

"I…I'm in control. I'm angry a lot and violent, I guess. I'm mean, I suppose. I'm not a people-person," he added in a growl, still surly.

The doctor sighed, patient. "Drake, simply put, do you like who you are?" Drake's mouth opened, but the doctor held up a hand to stop him. "I'm not asking if you're happy, nor am I asking in terms of whether you want to be 'fixed', as you said, and placed back into society. I'm asking if you truly likely yourself."

Drake scowled. "Duh," he said simply.

The doctor raised a brow. "Really?" he asked, sounding skeptical.

Drake watched him sullenly. Dammit. If he was asking again that only meant he had some stupid epiphany he wanted to share about how Drake secretly always wanted to be a Disney princess or something. The boy twitched, fighting the urge to spit in the doctor's face. Who was this guy to think he knew him? Who was he to presume to know whether Drake liked himself or not?

"Yes, doc, really," he answered, teeth clenched in anger.

"So you like being alone?" the doctor asked, raising a brow but not giving any other inflection. Drake felt as if he'd just been sucker punched, but refused to let the doctor see that that particular question might have hit home. "So you like frightening away the people you like being around? You like making others afraid of you and hate you, so that they want nothing to do with you? Do you like that, Drake?"

"I don't like defining myself based on other people," Drake answered spitefully, glaring at the doctor. The man raised a brow but didn't rise to the boy's taunts.

"But as a human, you need social interaction. Do you really enjoy having that only interaction come from causing others pain?"

"If I didn't, don't you think I would have switched some things up a while ago?" Drake drawled sarcastically back.

"Sadism isn't easy for anyone to control, especially the person suffering from it. You might have wanted to but simply weren't able."

"I'm in control of myself, doc," Drake growled warningly. "No one else is controlling me."

The doctor paused, silently watching the boy for a moment. He weighed the pros and cons of the statement he was about to make: it would either make the boy blow up in anger or it would make him relapse into deep personal thought. Either way, their session would be over.

"Are you really though, Drake? Are you in control of yourself or is your sickness?"

At first, the doctor was quite sure the boy was going to react with the latter. His eyes widened and his mind seemed to be working to try and understand the implications, to try and gather what exactly had just been said. Counting this session as over, the doctor began to stand. Only, he probably shouldn't have assumed things would just go that easily. Drake suddenly let out a growl, jumping from his chair and at him. The doctor jumped back in surprise, nearly tripping over his chair as the sadist snapped his teeth in anger, eyes burning with hatred, as his entire frame shook.

"I'm in control of myself!" Drake spat, as the guards rushed to restrain him. "Nothing and no one controls me! I do this! I hurt people! I'm in control!"

The doctor nodded at the look a guard gave, signaling for the boy to be given a dosage of sedative. After he'd fallen limp in the guards' hold, the doctor sighed, brushing himself off and straightening.

"Take him back to his room," he instructed wearily.

"Yes, sir," one guard answered as they began to carry the boy out of the room.

"Don't know why he tries so hard; it's clear this boy is just a menace," the other guard added under his breath, earning a glare from the doctor as both of the guards sneered down at the unconscious teen. "Too bad they made that law against just putting down the ones who aren't fit for society," the first added hatefully.

"You two," the doctor spoke up, earning both of their attention. "Once you've placed my patient back in his room, I'd like to have a discussion with you both in my office," he stated, frowning. The guards nodded, having the good sense to look cowed, and hurried to finish their task. This time, quietly.

"This is going to be a long process," the doctor muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair before sighing and finally leaving the room himself.

-Break-

Diana glared at her ceiling, just lying flat on her back and procrastinating in her homework. This was the third Friday in a row that she hadn't gone to see Drake, and honestly, after having it become such a routine, she felt kind of guilty. But then she'd remember what a total asshole he was and she'd feel better.

Still…he was locked up without a single familiar face. She'd always known he was a sadistic jerk; it wasn't like she hadn't expected him to lash out and try to hurt her. And she hadn't really helped, yelling those accusations. Plus, if she remembered correctly, he'd been trying to hold his tongue before she started going off on him, so maybe he really was trying to change, trying to learn to control himself.

She sighed, rolling over onto her stomach and burying her face in her arms, blocking off all light from her eyes as she laid there.

It's not like I miss him, she told herself. I just feel sorry for him.

Don't pity me, Ladris, Drake's voice growled in her mind.

She grumbled something under her breath, annoyed, before finally sitting up. What was she going to do? Go and see him? Was she really going to cave like that?

She huffed, snatching a pillow and pressing it in front of her face, screaming into it. She didn't feel sorry for that monster. She wasn't going to cave. He was nothing to her. He'd done this to himself.

I'm just wondering…how much longer you'll visit me…

Dammit.

She frowned, fingers clutched in the pillow in her lap before she threw it across the room. Why'd he have to sound so…so lonely then? It wasn't like the Drake she knew at all. For whatever reason, after a year of being in that asylum, he was different, more open. And he'd chosen to let her in, let her see that maybe the great Drake Merwin wasn't as indestructible as he tried to make people think. He'd shared things with her, had really opened up. She sighed. And he'd only lashed out at her when she'd judged him, condemned him. She knew what he was like, she shouldn't have been surprised. And she wasn't really all that surprised he'd brought up…brought up what he had. He knew without a doubt that it was one of the few things she just couldn't get over, just like Drake would always be sensitive when his lost arm was brought up. It was really sad how well they understood each other.

"Damn you, Drake Merwin," she hissed under her breath, checking the clock. Why the hell was she caving? Why was she going back to see him? Was she secretly masochistic? What was wrong with her that she'd voluntarily want to be in the presence of Drake Merwin?

It's four-thirty. Visiting hours end at six, I think. It's only about twenty-five minutes away; I can make it and have plenty of time. Plenty of time for what, she didn't want to think about.

Just then, her cell phone rang. She paused in getting her purse, looking at the screen of the device and scowling. Regardless of her feelings on the matter, however, she still picked it up, answering it on her way out the door. If she was going to give one narcissistic jerk a second chance, she'd be a hypocrite if she didn't extend the offer to the other one.

"Hello," she sighed, suddenly very tired as she walked down the stairs to the front door.

"Diana," Caine responded, sounding breathless. "Why haven't you been answering my calls? I've been trying to reach you for three weeks."

"I didn't want to talk," she answered simply.

"Did I do something?" he asked. Yes, you've done a lot of things, like put me in a situation where I had to eat…eat another...person to survive.

"I just had some things I had to work out," she stated curtly.

"Are you okay, Diana? You sound tired," he spoke softly, caringly. Diana bite her lip to keep from scoffing at the idea—yeah, like Caine's going to care for anyone other than himself—but then paused, her steps hesitating at the door.

Why was she so doubtful of Caine's feelings—someone who'd saved her on multiple occasions—and yet accepted Drake's so naturally? Why did she doubt Caine could change and ignore and fight him as he tried to prove his love for her, and yet she rushed to an insane asylum to see a sadist who'd shown no real interest in changing and who had hurt her on multiple occasions?

"I…yeah, I'm fine," she murmured, voice on autopilot as her mind swirled. Why? What was different about Caine and Drake? What made her trust Drake more than she trusted Caine?

"Hey, Caine?" she asked suddenly, cutting off whatever he'd been saying. "Do you…trust me?"

Caine seemed to be momentarily thrown, though he recovered quickly. "Of course," he answered easily.

"And you…love me." She faltered over to word, the taste of it foreign on her lips, but still managed to get it out.

"Yes," he admitted immediately. Perhaps Diana was finally going to accept that he loved her? He smiled in anticipation, eagerly listening on his phone to see what she'd say next.

"Do you remember the first day we met?" she asked, now staring blankly at the door.

Caine chuckled a bit, happily. "Yes, I remember. I saw you from across the hall and worked up enough courage to go talk to you. Then you agreed to eat lunch with me." She could tell he was smiling, could hear it in his voice.

"Do you remember what you told me?" she asked.

"Hm?" he hummed in question, surprised. "Told you? I told you who I was and then invited you to eat with me."

"No, you didn't," Diana corrected. "You told me who you were, but then you told me your friend had asked you to invite me to eat lunch with you two."

Caine was silent now.

"You and Drake have known each other for a long time, Caine," she stated slowly. "Longer than either of you knew me. And you knew he liked me," she accused.

"Diana," Caine began, voice obviously not happy anymore. "Where are you getting this? Drake doesn't like anyone," he refuted.

"He liked me, Caine. Might still, I'm not sure. But you knew that and you used me to make him mad," she put together, mind suddenly connecting all of the dots.

"Diana, what are you talking about? I'm the one who loves you, not Drake. He's just some idiot sadist; you said so yourself," Caine corrected her.

"He's not an idiot, Caine, and it was you who made things escalate into what they did," she stated. "I was just some pawn for you to hold over him. You never loved me. You never even cared for me. You just wanted something to hold over your dear little sadist and I was the only thing he'd ever expressed interest in."

"Diana, you're talking crazy. What has he told you?" he asked, seriously.

"Nothing," she told him honestly. "He hasn't said anything about you. But I know that's the truth."

"And if I was just using you, why would I still feel the way I do? Do you not remember how many times I've saved you? How many times I've picked you over anything else? Diana, I. Love. You. It doesn't have anything to do with Drake."

"Proximity grows fondness," she told him. "More so than that, fear of being alone can make one do a lot more than just being in love can."

She paused, struck with the truth of what she'd said. Fear of being alone…Drake was afraid of being alone. That was why he'd opened up to her, even though it was very likely she'd do just as she had and judge him. He wanted so badly to open up and let someone in, to not be alone anymore, that he even risked having her hurt and leave him. And knowing him, he'd never admit it. But she knew now; she knew. She'd hurt him. That was why he'd lashed out so spitefully, why he'd thrown those accusations at her. Just a few weeks prior he'd been understanding of the same event, had helped her get just a bit past it.

"Diana," Caine drew her attention back to him, though she only gave him her ear as she rushed out the door and to her car. She had to see Drake. She had to apologize for what she'd said, for hurting him. She knew now; she couldn't let him lose that little bit of trust he'd held in her, that he'd held in humanity. Otherwise, he might never get better.

"Diana," Caine repeated, sounding annoyed. "Are you listening to me?"

"No, not really," she told him honestly, backing from her drive. "I know I'm right and you know I'm right. Why are you still arguing with me?"

"I wasn't using you," Caine stressed, sounding oddly desperate. "I love you."

"You know I don't believe that, Caine," she pointed out.

"And what if Drake said it? Would you believe him?" he spat. She was surprised by that. "You seem so suddenly sure in him. I don't know what's been going on with your little school project, but Drake will always be a sadist. If you think I can't love you, what makes you think he can?"

Why did she trust Drake so much? Why was she going to see him now, to apologize, to win his trust back? Why did any of this matter to her?

Because I know you, Drake's voice said in her mind, memories of the last few weeks erupting up through her mind.

And I know him too, she told really, that was enough for her.

"I never said I thought he could," Diana corrected Caine's earlier statement, on autopilot. "That's not what I want from him, anyways. But I do know him a lot better than I know you."

Caine sputtered in shock on the phone, his self-control flying out the window. "Know him?! What are you talking about? And how can you say that? You know me!"

"No, Caine, I really d—"

Diana cut off as she jerked the wheel to the side, the car having meandered off the road in her lapse of concentration, breath caught in her throat as she realized she'd gone too far. She tried to get back into her lane with only one hand, but the sound of a honking horn made her look up and freeze. She stared at the coming truck in shock. She twisted the wheel in the opposite direction, trying to get back into her lane. She could hear the honk of the truck, the squeal of tires as brakes were applied, and then her world was spinning. She could hear Caine yelling something, loud enough to be heard through the phone which she'd dropped in favor of holding the wheel with two hands, and then she felt a sudden pressure on her left side, followed by a suddenly force from her front.

Then all she saw was black.

-Break-

Drake laid on his bed, head hanging off the bed unhappily as he felt the blood all rush to his brain. Still though, he couldn't be bothered to move just yet.

Three weeks. It'd been three weeks since he'd seen Diana. He wasn't going to admit it to anyone, but he kind of…missed her.

He sighed, shuffling further on his bed so that his head no longer hung off the side. He shut his eyes at the dizzying feeling of his blood flow regulating, instead trying to keep his thoughts from turning melodramatic.

Like I need her, he thought with a frown. I don't need anyone.

So you like being alone? The doctor's voice echoed, his words mocking him.

Words don't scare me, he'd once said, a long long time ago.

Well if they don't, why'd you flip out when she called you a few names? It isn't like she's never done that before.

Drake scowled. He really wasn't in a mood to fight with himself. It seemed kind of counterproductive to the whole 'become sane' objective.

The sound of sirens drew him from his thoughts, making him open his eyes and look to the wall the sound seemed to be coming from. It wasn't like he had a window he could look out of. Idly, he wondered what was up, but ultimately shrugged, closing his eyes and deciding he might as well go to sleep. What were the chances it had anything to do with him anyways?

-Break-

Diana opened her eyes only to shut them tight again immediately, groaning as the white brightness around her blinded her.

"Oh, thank God," she heard her mother say, feeling someone clutching at her hand. Shifting with another groan, she tried to open her eyes again, this time more slowly, and managed to focus in on her mother's worried face. Moments later, her father walked into the room carrying a cup of coffee, and he also seemed relieved to see her awake.

"I'll go get the doctor," he told them, leaving once again.

"Oh, my baby," her mother cooed, eyes worriedly taking in every one of her daughter's injuries.

"What…" Diana trailed off at the sad excuse of a voice she was using to croak. She coughed to try and clear it and her mother offered her a cup of water. She drank greedily, apparently very thirsty, before trying again. "What happened?"

"You were in a car accident," her mother informed her. "Your car went into the other lane and then started flipping when you tried to get back over. The driver of the truck tried to stop but he still hit your car square on the driver's side door. Your car's totaled. Oh honey, the fireman said you were lucky to be alive," she added, eyes watery.

"I was on the phone," Diana admitted, looking down. "I guess I got distracted and loss control of the car."

"Yes, Caine already called to see what had happened. He said he'd get a plane ticket and be here soon," her mother consoled her.

"What?" Diana asked in shock, eyes wide, just before a coughing fit her. "What do you—cough—mean that he'll—cough—be here soon?!"

"He said he'd talk to his parents and get on a plane as soon as possible," her mother consoled, not understanding the problem. "Now hush darling, don't get so worked up. Just rest," she added, smiling both happily and sadly. For the second time in her life, she'd thought she'd lost her daughter forever, and she was just so relieved.

Caine was coming. Diana suddenly felt sick. She wasn't ready for any sort of interaction with him that didn't give her the option of just hanging up on him.

And Drake. Diana's eyes went wide, her heart beat speeding up even more. Her mother cooed at her side, trying to calm her down, but Diana couldn't really pay attention. Caine was no doubt going to want to see Drake while he was here, especially after that little conversation she'd have with him in the car. She had to see Drake now. She had to warn him.

"I need to go," Diana said, trying to get out of bed. Her mother's eyes widened in shock as she moved to stop her daughter.

"What are you talking about? You were just in a car accident! You've got a sprained ankle and—" Diana winced, as she'd just tried to move said injured ankle.

"—four bruised ribs," a masculine voice continued from the door, earning Diana's attention. A man with a white lab coat walked in with a kind smile as her dad followed him, leaning against the wall opposite her. "Along with a nasty bump on your head we want to keep an eye on. You're very lucky, Ms. Ladris; it could have been much worse. But still, you need to take it easy for a few weeks."

Of course, Diana knew he was right. But she also knew she could not let Caine meet Drake without the latter being prepared. The resulting blow up would be anything but productive as far as Drake's therapy went.

"When's the soonest I can leave?" she asked.

"Well, after a few more x-rays and maybe a CAT scan or two, I'd say you could go home in around three days."

Three days?!

"You don't understand," Diana began, "I have to meet with someone as soon as possible. It can't wait three days."

"Well I'm sorry, but that's the soonest you could be checked out safely," the doctor informed her. "You'll just have to reschedule. I'm sure that person will understand," he smiled kindly. "Or, if you can't do that," he added at the face she made, "you could always send someone else to meet with that person."

That was so not happening. She didn't need one of her friends or—worse—her parents meeting with Drake to give him this information.

Instead, she'd just have to hope that Caine wouldn't get to come for whatever reason. Maybe his parents were still terrified of California. Or maybe they wouldn't let him go alone but they couldn't get off work. Or maybe they'd have to wait a week or more. Or maybe his plane would crash in Kansas or something.

Diana frowned at that one, tuning out the medical lingo her parents were speaking with doctor about. When had she ever wished such violent things on anyone? Seriously, wanting a plane to crash just so she wouldn't have to see Caine?

She shook her head, instead leaning back and looking up at the white ceiling blankly. Looks like it was going to be a bit longer before she could apologize to Drake.

-Break-

Sunday found Diana hobbling on a pair of crutches, cursing under her breath at the pain in her chest as she tried to get from one end of the hall to the other while her mother and doctor watched supportively.

This is so stupid, she thought to herself, trying to move faster and steadier. She finally got the hang of it and was managing fairly well.

"Well, I would like to keep Diana here overnight to see if the physical activity has any negative effects, but she can leave tomorrow morning," the doctor was telling her mother.

"Oh great," her mom smiled, turning to Diana. "Isn't that great, dear?"

"Yeah yeah," she muttered, lying back on the bed and sighing her misfortune.

"Well I'm going to head home so you can get a good night's sleep," her mom told her, brushing her daughter's hair from her face. "I'll be here bright and early to pick you up," she told her, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "Sleep tight," she smiled before leaving the room, flicking the lights off after Diana's call of "Bye."

Diana sighed, taking in a deep breath and wincing as her ribs reminded her of their bruised status. She glowered up at the ceiling tiredly. One more day. She was going to make it. She could get her mom to swing by the asylum before they even went home. She smiled wearily. It was going to work out.

The next morning, Diana groaned at the feeling of something brushing across her forehead. Her hand came up lazily to swipe at the offending thing, a groan coming from her throat as her hand was caught and restrained, something twisting between her fingers as that ticklish pressure was applied to her hand.

"Diana," a quiet voice murmured, warm air wafting across the back of her hand. Diana stiffened.

He only had to say her name for her to know who it was.