CHAPTER NINE
Demyx's alarm went off with a bursting shrill the next morning, sunlight streaming through the blinds, lighting up motes of drifting dust like airborne glitter. Swathed in layers of sweaters, pants, socks and socks and socks, the blond jerked up from the smothering position on his stomach, finding his head covered in thick blankets. As the infernal device beeped incessantly on the nightstand, he fought to free himself from the airless prison his bed had become, emerging with a deep gulp of cold air and fumbling for the clock. After several agitating seconds, the piercing noise died sharply, silence breathing in its wake.
Blue eyes slipping shut, Demyx collapsed back to the pillow, able to feel the bags under his eyes. What he wouldn't have given for just a few more hours. Or days – days of sleep would have been acceptable.
"Stupid daylight," the blond groused, rubbing his face with one sock-covered hand, sighing groggily. Auron would be over in an hour, ready to accompany him to see Lucrecia on this typically frosty, sunny day. Groaning in wordless complaint, he rolled over onto one arm, shuffling and kicking his way to the edge of the bed, before sliding gracelessly to the wooden floorboards. They were, he could see, getting a little dusty. He'd need to vacuum when he got home.
Pushing up onto all fours, hands and feet pressing onto the rug, he clambered over towards the doorframe and pulled himself up, inch by inch, until he was hugging the wall. Brow creasing, trying to gather some energy, he pushed away and staggered out into the sitting room, where he then collapsed on the couch to wait for his second wind.
Everything had finally caught up with him. He wanted to melt, sink between the cracks in the floorboards and spend the rest of eternity being stepped over. Then again, he'd also be catching a lifetime of smoke from the bacon the people beneath were always cooking… better to find the apartment above a vegan household, then melt and sink.
Sticking it on the mental to-do list, Demyx struggled up from the couch, stomped slowly into the kitchen, and got the kettle boiling. Pulling out the coffee and sugar, he dumped teaspoons of each into a clean mug, caught the water moments before it boiled, and poured the steaming liquid in to become murky black. Adding milk until it became the colour of mud, he left everything out on the counter and stumbled back to the couch, nursing the hot drink reverently, hissing absently as it sloshed onto one sock, burning a patch of his hand.
Sitting hard, he closed his eyes and pursed his lips, blowing patiently into the cup. Fifty-five minutes til Auron arrived.
With light piercing the room only slightly through the slats of the blinds, the blond sipped gingerly at the caffeinated concoction, savouring the raw heat dropping down into his belly. Lucrecia hovered in his thoughts, his background supporter when he was out in the world, his pillar of determined strength when he was in the hospital, that gut-wrenching, haunting place. If he didn't know he'd be leaving again at the end of each session, Auron in tow, to catch the bus home, there'd be no way he could voluntarily return. They would have to drag him, kicking and screaming, sedated to within an inch of his life. Or, then again, maybe he'd just go quietly, and pray to whatever the hell kind of deity that might have an ounce of pity that it would be over soon.
Either way, that wasn't today's schedule.
Forty-five minutes til Auron arrived. Demyx gulped the last hot mouthful from the bottom of his mug and stood. More awake now, he slid on soft feet back into the kitchen, depositing the dirty cup in the sink, and returned to his bedroom, stumbling over the edge of the rug. Gathering the day's clothing, including the items Sora had gifted him with, the blond crossed into the bathroom and got a hot shower running. Peeling off his pajamas was a test of will, exposing each inch of his goose-pimply skin to the cruel air. Numb in an instant, shivering violently, he climbed hurriedly into the steam, lost himself under the water.
Less focused on burning the bad away this morning, he washed leisurely, extending his stay in the preciously hot environment for as long as he dared without ending up with Auron pounding on the door shouting that they were late. Shutting it off, though, felt suspiciously like a terrible crime.
Struggling to maintain the beautiful warmth that had taken residence under his skin, he wasted no time in hopping out, drying off, and slipping into his clothing, wrapping the lime-green scarf tightly around his throat. As water trickled under its hairiness, an itch started up, but Demyx ignored it in favour of the insulation it provided. He scrubbed at his hair until it was wild and only slightly damp, before carefully combing it out.
For once, he didn't bother with his hairstyle, instead just pulling Sora's bright hat straight over it, knowing there was no way he was taking it off if he could help it. Sora had been right about the negative temperatures. Already, the chill was brutal, and he hadn't even stepped into the wind.
Auron was coming in twelve minutes. Keeping the socks on his hands until the last second, the blond huffed at the chill and hurried to the kitchen, discovering, with dismay, that all his cereal had been disinfected the day before, and was now no doubt in the communal dumpster behind the building, amongst bacon rinds and rotting orange peelings. Cursing softly, scowling, he went to the fridge, despair turning to delight as he realised Auron had left the Wutaian leftovers behind for him. He inhaled as much of the rich food as he could before he heard those familiarly heavy steps stumping down the hallway, a knock sounding moments later.
Coughing on some sticky rice, Demyx shook the socks off his hands and went to open the door, Auron waiting patiently.
"You ready?" he rumbled, arm tucked into the front of his robe for warmth. Demyx nodded, a slightly anxious grin in place as he performed a quick mental check.
"Sure – wait, I just have to grab my bag."
"Be quick about it," the man mumbled. Demyx darted off, hooked his bag up from the floor in his bedroom, making sure his cell phone was in place, then hurried to meet Auron back at the door, the man massaging the bridge of his nose.
"You okay?" he asked curiously. Auron grunted.
"Headache."
"You know," Demyx informed him, stepping out into the hall, Auron pulling the door shut behind him so that he could turn and lock it, "coffee makes it all better. The caffeine helps."
"I don't drink your coffee if I can help it," the guardian replied dryly. "Come on."
Huffing indignantly, not sure whether it was his coffee-making skills or the coffee itself that had been brought into question, Demyx followed him down the stairs, out into the sunlight, the bizarre clash of colour focused around his head and neck combined with the his tattoos attracting endless stares as they headed for the bus station. It was refreshing to be heading in a different direction for once, at a slightly later hour – Dem's phone told him it was a quarter to nine, the sun just that little bit higher, capable of warming him the slightest amount while he walked. It was a relief to not be going to school for the first time all week – however, considering that it was instead the hospital that was his destination, he wasn't exactly about to throw a one-person party over the fact.
Heading into the heart of the third plate of Midgar, traffic both human and vehicular thickened steadily. For a while, people stopped noticing Demyx; they were too intent on getting where they needed to be, too focused on ignoring the rest of humanity, and it was here that he felt most at ease. Even though he was more surrounded in the built-up places, it was an anonymous feeling rather than a trapped one, and this in itself was a luxury he rarely got to experience anymore. It was incredible now to think of the days when he had been nobody of note – he almost envied who he used to be, the precious obliviousness he had carried around with him.
The bus station was a little quieter, the peak-hour traffic of businessmen and -women having already come and gone, leaving the run of the place to families, casual workers, tourists, and schoolkids taking advantage of a sunny Saturday. Demyx and Auron found their bus, bought tickets and took a seat halfway down. The blond sat with a heavy exhalation, Auron lowering beside him. "Man, I'm already tired."
"You need to go to bed sooner each night," Auron advised. "Start behaving like a high-school student again."
Gloomily, Demyx said, "I suppose I'll have to, for the next three months." Then he shrugged a little as he settled back into his seat and turned his head to gaze out the window. "I guess it's not all bad, though. At least I have a few friendly people around me now."
"Friendly people that lend you horrible clothing," Auron pointed out, a slight smirk in place. "Are you sure he's being friendly rather than secretly cruel?"
Demyx rolled his eyes. "So maybe the kid's taste is a little – eccentric," he admitted. He smiled. "It's still nice."
Auron nodded, folded his arms and waited for the bus to get moving. "I know, Dem. I'm glad. It's good to see you fitting in."
The pair lapsed into silence as the bus slowly filled, Demyx's left arm partially obscured by Auron pressed beside him, so that at a cursory glance he was unnoticeable as a mad-worlder. The blond fished a book out of his bag, one that Zexion had lent him for casual reading, a compilation exploring the superstitions of the various worlds and their similarities. It was startling just how many of them were parallel to those he'd heard on his own world. He found the whole thing fascinating, along with the main theory that claimed that, once upon a time, all the worlds had been one, and were separated through some terrible cataclysm or another. While many stories claimed it had to do with something about darkness, the legend that was strong on this world involved a calamitous meteor crashing into the planet. There was a minor religion founded on the theory, worshipping a deity known as Jenova.
Auron, who had been reading over his shoulder, snorted as they got to this bit. "It's as make-believe as Yevonism."
"I've read about Yevonism," Demyx murmured, flicking back several chapters in search of it.
Auron grunted firmly, "Leave it where it is. I don't need to hear about it. I have no interest in religion." At that point, the bus rumbled into life, the two of them glancing up at the sharp, warning beep of the doors sliding shut. "Put it away now," Auron commanded quietly. "You'll get sick if you read while we're travelling."
Nodding, Demyx obeyed, pulling his bag firmly into his lap and watching as the world outside the window began gradually slipping past. Before long, they were out on the major roads, the massive vehicle packed with noisy teenagers. It was a thirty minute ride to the hospital, a stop set up several meters from the front entrance. Auron pressed the button to alert the driver as they approached, the little electric bell dinging, and as Demyx stood alongside him, the bus fell silent. However crowded the aisle might still have been, it still managed to quickly clear, the pair having no trouble getting to the open door and out into the fresh air. Shoes slamming to the pavement, the blond took several steps away from the curb, moving to the middle of the quiet, tree-lined sidewalk, turning and waiting for Auron to catch up. The bus pulled away, pale faces staring out through the windows, and disappeared down the road.
This part of the city was relatively deserted. The maximum-security mental hospital was set up seven miles from the regular hospital with its mental ward wing, keeping well away from the ambulance route, maintaining, at all times, as calm an atmosphere as possible. It had terrified Demyx, when he'd first been taken there, just how quiet it sometimes got in that place. The quieter the halls, the more clearly you heard the occasional moans of the imprisoned, along with Hojo's piercing tones whenever he was making his rounds. For about the first week, Demyx really had believed he was completely and utterly mad. The memories – they weren't fun.
With the main building looming ahead, they got walking, Demyx fiddling with the strap of his bag while Auron gazed dully ahead. Veering into the entryway of the vast hospital, they passed through the glass doors, into the main reception area, and headed directly for the elevators, the head receptionist staring slackly after the burst of colour that was Demyx. Auron pressed the call button, and as the elevator dinged, its doors sliding apart, Demyx turned to him, adjusting his hat and smiling. "I'll see you back down here, Auron."
The tall man nodded briefly, lacking the clearance to enter that section of the hospital, no longer an authorised guest like he had been that night so long ago when he'd first taken the hapless blond home with him. "I'll be in the area if you need me." Demyx stepped into the elevator, pressed the button for the third floor, the one with the strongest defences, the most lockdown ability – the core of the maddest of the mad. He turned to see Auron disappear from view, the elevator closing and taking him upward, deeper into the sterilised environment.
Despite her outpatient therapist status as far as Demyx was concerned, Lucrecia still worked exclusively from the heart of the facility, necessitating his continual re-entry into the area of his nightmarish first twenty-eight days in Midgar. The higher he went, the tighter his insides knotted, anxiety blooming anew, just like it always did. His one comfort was that he knew that if they tried to keep him here Auron would be all over it. He knew Demyx was okay – he wouldn't just stand by and let them swallow him up.
The elevator car stopped, doors parting to reveal the maximum-security reception, so different from the main one on the ground floor. This floor was all about metal bars, unbreakable mesh, electronic locks, alarms and lights capable of hysterically plunging the hospital into chaos. Things eased up so as not to alarm the patients the further in you got, but the entranceway was as cold as the business end of a gun.
The nurses' station was set up inside a thickly protected room to greet all visitors, all patients, ready to administer injections or brutal force to uncooperative newcomers. There was one nurse in particular who was good at the latter tasks, who they kept at the desk to admit and release patients, with the ability to lock the entire facility down at the push of a button. Demyx recognised him in a heartbeat, as always, and right on cue was intimidated as all hell. The man was quiet, tall and impossibly thin, with long dark hair and hooded eyes that saw everything. He was the one that sealed you up; he had the power to release you; up here with Hojo, he was a god.
Timidly, Demyx approached the desk, greeting, "Hey, Vincent…"
The man was typing on his computer, not glancing up. "Here for your appointment?"
The blond nodded. "Just for an hour and a half," he hastened to clarify.
"As per usual," Vincent agreed, in his gravelly voice. He stopped, picked up a phone and dialled quickly. "Dr. Crescent, your nine-thirty is here." Obviously getting the confirmation from the other end, he returned the receiver to its cradle, hit a button on the keyboard and rapidly printed out a nametag for the blond to apply to his shirt. The word 'guest' was a beautiful thing, Demyx relishing it with a pounding heart as he fumbled to attach it. Vincent at last looked away from his screen, inspecting the blond's bizarre fashion sense. "…Well," he commented dryly, "I can see that exposure to Midgar's society has driven you mad, just as Hojo suspected it might."
Demyx blinked rapidly, looked down at himself, then back up with some panic and blurted, "Hey, it was one of your people that gave them to me! Some kid from some island world at the high-school!"
"Joking, Demyx." A loud buzz vibrated the air, before the door to the ward opened. "Lucrecia's expecting you. Nero's out wandering, so don't dawdle."
The man's amber eyes followed Demyx as he hurried for the entrance, entering into white halls and wide, barred windows. With a second buzz, the door slammed shut behind him, trapping him within. Drawing a deep breath, used to it by now, Demyx continued onward, heading through the complex to Lucrecia's office. He passed a series of metal doors before passing into the patient wing, the doors developing small windows for the physicians and orderlies to peer into. He saw several of the blue-clothed nurses as he went, some of them calling out to him amiably. It was odd that this was the one place on earth he wasn't treated as a freak; the staff were well aware of his sane status, and had no compunction in stopping him to exchange a few friendly words about his new life on the outside. After all, he'd been reasonably well-liked in this place – he was one of the few inpatients that had never tried to attack anyone, ironically.
He passed Nero on his way, as Vincent had warned, the slender, dark-haired man's arms caught up in his almost ever-present straitjacket. Beneath the thick cloth, Demyx knew, were hard-muscled, tattooed arms, hands that were capable of crushing a man's throat. Strapped up, though, Nero was harmless and soft-voiced, if completely unnerving. He paused as the blond tried slipping past, stepping sharply into his path, intent eyes pinning. Demyx drew back uneasily. "Demyx," the man murmured, elbows shifting slightly within the jacket, "did you know I could swallow you whole?" As Demyx took a breath and circled around him without answering, he continued, "I could send you into darkness. Chaos! Are you immune to my chaos, like Vincent is?" He started to follow the blond, Demyx increasing his pace. "Have you seen my brother?" Nero called after him. "Weiss has been visiting; did you see him, Demyx?"
One of the orderlies came around the corner, ignoring Demyx and sweeping past to Nero, laying a firm hand on his shoulder. "Come on, Nero, let's take you to the games room."
"Will you let me play chess?"
"No, but you can watch TV," came the reasonable reply, their steps heading the other way.
Demyx let out his breath slowly, not quite relaxing until he was out of earshot. Finally arriving at Lucrecia's office, he knocked anxiously, hoping to be accepted in before anyone else came along. Her clear voice rang out instantly, inviting him in. He pushed open the door, entered swiftly, shutting it firmly again.
Lucrecia's office was something torn between a sanctuary and an indelible reminder of precisely where he was, causing an eruption of the same confused butterflies that appeared every time he found himself standing before her smile. She stood from her broad desk, her white coat over street clothes, and came around to hug him. "It's so good to see you, Demyx!" Holding him at arm's length, she scrutinised his appearance, the blond waiting patiently, resignedly, for the inevitable comment about his clothing additions. At length, instead she said, "You look tired. That's to be expected, considering the week you've had." She cupped his face. "How are you feeling?"
Demyx blinked, considering. "Not bad?" He sighed. "Not fantastic?" Then he smiled. "Kind of a crappy middle. Things have been bad, and things have been kind of okay at times."
She nodded, frowning understandingly. "I know you're unhappy about the arrangement with your education, but it's vital that we give you a graduation certificate, so that you have the same opportunities as everyone else." She smiled encouragingly. "And it's a nice, prestigious school, which will make it count a little better." Releasing him, she returned to her seat. "Please sit, we'll get through everything we can before the session is up, alright? I know there's a lot to cover." As Demyx obeyed, swinging his bag to the floor, she folded her legs elegantly and leaned forward, elbows on the desk, prompting, "So, I know there are a couple of issues needing addressing, but first of all, tell me how your studies are doing."
Demyx thought for a moment. "I'm – attending each class? I've been given a couple of books to read. And my English teacher is including me in a quiz on Monday."
Lucrecia blinked, an expectant expression in place that faded slowly as Demyx fell silent. "Yes? And your work, how is that coming along? Your teachers are making sure you're at the level of your peers, that you understand everything that's going on?"
The blond felt a prickle in his cheeks, a creeping sense of having missed something potentially important. "I – I don't… Maybe?"
"You've been tested comprehensively for their records, haven't you?" she asked, beginning to frown. "We haven't given them any of our information on your abilities; they're supposed to be testing you independently. That way your grading and progress will be unaffected by the extenuating circumstances you were suffering within the hospital."
Demyx swallowed, shrugged. "Sorry, Lucrecia, but I don't think they got the memo on that. I've just been sitting through each class, listening. I – I sometimes take notes," he hurriedly added, as her expression darkened. "And, like I said, I'm reading books – I – I have one right here with me…" He scrambled to pull it out, stopping as she waved a hand sharply.
"Are you telling me," she surmised, "that in the space of an entire week, you've been doing nothing but sitting and observing?"
Defensively, the blond replied, "We didn't know what I was supposed to do! No one told us!"
"'Us'? Oh, you and Sir Auron, I see." She sounded unimpressed. "But this is precisely the sort of thing Sir Auron is supposed to be informing you on; he is your mentor, after all. They may be unofficially calling themselves your 'guardians', but his duty is more than simply protecting your physical wellbeing, Demyx. Sir Auron should be the one that knows all of this, long before I – I, after all, am only your therapist. I take care of your mind, but I have little involvement in your everyday life. As we've discovered, it isn't until after mistakes have been made that I'm even aware of them." The woman pursed her lips in thought, one magenta pump rhythmically flipping down and back against her heel as her toes scrunched and extended. "I can see that he and I are going to have to have more phone conferences," she sighed eventually. "It's a shame, we really don't mesh well." She then smiled. "But that's up to us to resolve, as one adult to another; it shouldn't impact upon you, and I'll make sure that it doesn't. From now on, together we'll make sure you're completely informed, okay?" She reached across the desk, flicked her fingers a little, encouraging him to lift his hands and place them in her own. "Now," she said softly, "tell me about the bad things. Auron told me about your panic attack on Tuesday morning when we spoke about the blunder with your mathematics class, and the flashback you suffered. Tell me about them, and what happened to you."
Demyx talked. He told her about each mental hiccup in as much detail as he could muster without plunging back into that time, his descriptions often halting and incomplete. He could feel it crawling at the back of his brain, over but not done with, gone but not forgotten. There was always a risk that thinking about it would bring it all roaring back; it was only here, with her, that he dared to.
Lucrecia listened closely, breaking off one of her hands to start writing things down, but keeping the other knotted in Demyx's. The blond, she had discovered early on, was a tactile creature. As deprived as he was of contact these days, she always made an effort to give him a physical anchor to the room, which he appreciated. While he held her hand, he could study her several rings, the state of her fingernails – lovely and smooth during positive weeks, bitten when the stress was building up; he could be distracted by the glint of her bracelet or sometimes just be grounded by the warmth of her palm.
He told her as much as he could about the way he had been crushed by his flashback, the panic attack he'd suffered at the nightmare and meat combination, the bullying he'd endured at the hands of Saix, Ansem and Axel, before Zexion had got to him. He recalled for her the feeling of all those eyes, more eyes than he'd ever had focused towards him with such hostility, boring into him so hotly he could just about smell the smoke rising up, and she was concerned. She advised nothing; just waited for it to finish falling from his tongue, letting it all sink in.
At last, when he'd exhausted himself, she smiled and asked, "And what about the good things? You're looking warmer today than I've seen you before."
Demyx reached up to touch his hat, run his fingers across the soft hairiness of his scarf. "There's a boy at the school who comes from a hot island world. He doesn't deal well with the cold, and he hates seeing me shivering. He… brought these for me. And he wishes I could wear jackets and stuff." He paused, glanced at her uncertainly, trying to gauge her mood. Her nails seemed okay today… "He suggested I buy warm things and slice the left sleeves off. That way, I could get the proper insulation… because… because it hurts sometimes, it gets so cold, and the radiator in my apartment doesn't even work. Walking to school each day hurts, Lucrecia, and every other time I'm outside. I – I deal, sure, but…"
"But it hurts," the woman concluded softly. She eyed him closely, playing her thumb absently over his fingertips. "I'll consider it with Hojo, and Heidegger will have to be consulted, since he's in charge of your finances. It will require ShinRa spending more money on you… but it really is essential. I can guarantee you that none of those we're depending on to agree would go out of doors these days without a coat on…" She squeezed his hand. "I'll see what can be arranged, okay?" She smiled warmly. "I like hearing that there's someone at that school that worries about you when I'm not around. Is this boy the only one?"
Demyx hesitated. "…No. He has a friend who lent me his gym pants, when we thought I was going to be participating. And he seems nice even without Sora around. And… there's this teacher, he knows a lot about – well, about my people. He knows that I'm not crazy, and he thinks anyone that does is stupid. He can get a little – worked up on the subject, especially since I won't get involved, but he's trying to help. He treats me nicely."
Her eyebrows rising, Lucrecia said, "I wondered when someone like that would come along. So he's informed, and kind to go with it? How wonderful for you. Especially as he's a teacher! What a fantastic combination, Demyx." Happily, she gathered both his hands up, squeezed them hard, eyes shining. "You see? They exist! Smart, calm people really do exist, and they're waiting for you! They won't judge you, and they won't tell you you're evil – they'll see you for who you are. I knew it would come about eventually! Midgar is too open a place not to!"
Demyx ducked his head, hiding the shy smile that emerged at the thought of ever being accepted into this society. Then, feeling the positivity radiating from her, a thought occurred to him. Lifting his gaze slowly, he inspected her bright smile, her eyes crinkled. Taking a breath, he pulled his lips into his mouth for a moment, before saying in a rush, "He also said I should take up music class and join the band. My teacher, Zexion. The – smart, calm one." At this, Lucrecia faltered, dimmed a little. She was shaking her head even as the blond opened his mouth to argue, "Zexion thinks that people would like me better if I showed them I can play music, he thinks it'd be a good integration tactic, he thinks it would show a – a willingness to involve myself in the school and, and… and he…"
Lucrecia bowed her head, still shaking it, her high, cloth-wrapped ponytail swinging gently. "I'm sorry, Demyx," she said, softly but decisively. "This man Zexion sounds very interested in your wellbeing, but your assimilation isn't simply a popularity contest among students." Her face rose, gaze sympathetic but firm. "ShinRa is funding your current education, and there is no time or need for you to be taking an indulgence class. This has already been discussed; it was predicted that you might ask us this, and I'm sorry, it just can't happen." Trying to soften the rejection, she sought his averted gaze with a hopeful smile. "But when you've graduated, when you're more settled and providing your own income, I'm sure there'd be no harm in you taking a class or two elsewhere, right? Just not while you're studying right now, Demyx. You already have plenty to do, and need to remain focused on that. Okay?"
The blond stared at the corner of the desk for a long moment, saying nothing. Concerned, Lucrecia gave his hands a press. His fingers twitched in resigned response. "Yeah." His voice, in contrast to his expression, was light, hiding the disappointment that stung bitterly. He hadn't been planning to ask, hadn't got his hopes up in the least – and yet that split-second where he'd thought it might be possible had been more, more… more than enough. "Well, you know, that's part of why I told him 'no' when he first suggested it," he went on. "I just figured I'd run it by you to make sure, just in case, but, you know, my first answer was a total 'no'." He smiled, still not looking up. "And anyway, it's not like I even have an instrument."
Brow creasing, the woman grimaced, sighed, loosening her grip on him and sitting back again. "…I'll ask about you wearing thicker clothing, anyway. And really, I'm so pleased you've made friends. It's such a – positive step, Demyx. We're heading in the right direction." Folding her hands on her raised knee, she watched him for a long, quiet minute, allowing him to get over the refusal. Then, making sure to keep her voice soft, she said, "Now, I'd like for us to discuss the impact this last week, with all its ups and downs, has had on your regular state of being. Have you felt any guilt this week, Demyx?"
"…Guilt?" Demyx's gaze skittered to the left. "No."
"Have you been thinking about your old friends, with the advent of new ones?"
"No."
"Have you been thinking of your family, then?" she persisted. "Surely in a school situation, you'll be encountering families, mentions of families, you'll be seeing students being picked up by parents – the comparison alone between when you last went to school and now would be more than enough to trigger episodes in you; flashbacks, any sudden surge in remembrance…"
"No." He thought, then amended, "I mean, I had that one flashback, but that was because I stood too long at the window; it took me back to the house I slept in on my way to the border. I get that. It was a visual trigger, right?" He glanced up for confirmation of the term, knowing it to be truth anyway, after all this time. "It was a visual trigger. But I haven't had any other episodes, and definitely nothing connected with anyone from my old life." He paused, lowered his gaze, shrugged and asked, "Why would it? I mean – it's gone. They're dead. There's no point playing music when the music is dead."
"I would take a moment to argue that," Lucrecia said, an edge entering her tone, replacing an elbow back on the desk as she fixed him with a hard look, "but the fact of it is that music and your old life aren't one and the same. You can't compare the loss of the composers you once admired to the loss of your family and friends."
"But I told you," he replied, with old frustration, "they're dead, Lucrecia. And don't get me wrong, it's not like I'm not sad about that – but I need to get on with this life, you know? I realise that; they're all gone."
Lucrecia's eyes narrowed, fingers tucking into her palms. "Are they, Demyx? To you, are they really? Because I don't think you're grasping this. I don't think you realise that they're gone, that your whole world is. And do you know why?" He affixed a deliberately patient expression in place, waiting. She continued, chin rising, "Because it's too much to take in. The brain can't wrap around destruction of that magnitude, any more than it can conceive the endlessness of the universe." She leaned in, holding his gaze firmly. "I'm not saying you're in denial, because I think it's obvious you're not necessarily trying to reject this reality – but I still don't think you get it. I don't think you're comprehending this; I think you're treating it like something terrible that happened to someone else. In your mind, you know a bad thing happened, and in your heart, you feel a stab – but nothing else is getting through."
Demyx groaned and sat back, hands flopping. "Well, if it's so impossible to grasp, why are you acting like I'm sticking my head in the sand just because I don't myself to sleep at night?"
"Because you are sticking your head in the sand!" she exclaimed. "You're not trying to understand, Demyx. You're leaving it in a corner of your brain, and you've sealed your heart off from it. Can you really sit there, and, less than three months after you lost everything and everyone you've ever known, not break down and need a hug?"
Letting out a bitter laugh, the blond shook his head. "So it is because I'm not crying about it. I wasn't aware that there was a protocol to follow for this sort of thing. Maybe someone forgot to give me the handbook?" When she scowled, he sighed. "What do you expect me to do, Lucrecia? Jump across the desk and start calling you 'mommy'?"
The corners of her mouth turned down a little further. "Don't be smart with me. What I expect from you is something other than this 'everything's fine' mentality you've set up. It's a lot more obvious than you seem to think, you know. You think you can smile and be happy and everyone around you will buy that." She drew her chair in a little, bending grimly over the desk, eyes clear and determined. "I haven't bought it from day one, Demyx, and I'm not about to start now. Just because I no longer have permanent access to you doesn't mean I've forgotten you, so stop pretending like I can be fooled." Demyx refused to meet her gaze, a darkness entering his expression. Silence developed between them, still and deep. At last, she softly commanded, "Tell me about your guilt this week."
The blond didn't move for a long minute, sitting as motionless as if he were carved from stone. Then, gradually, his lips parted. "…I lived. And everyone died." Those same lips formed a smile, sour and wrong on his face. "Every day that I wake up, there are billions of other people that… this time last year… had no idea what was coming."
"…You took the chance of believing what was widely considered a wild goose chase," Lucrecia reminded him quietly. "Remember? You survived as long as you did, and then you made it out of there. Those that died are those that chose to stay." She waited for a while, then said, "But we both already know that. You acknowledged that a while ago, right?" When he grunted assent, she continued, "What I want is for you to tell me what grief and guilt have arisen this last week, surrounding your dead family and old friends. While you were making friends with boys that lend you their clothing, and meeting someone that understands and treats you respectfully out of choice, how did that make you feel?"
For a while, Demyx didn't know how to answer. "I…" Lucrecia looked at him keenly. "I felt… nothing," he said, at last. Lucrecia deflated a little, the small motion in the corner of his eye causing the blond to look up slowly. There was disappointment in her eyes.
"Demyx..."
"No, I mean it." His eyebrows drew together. "I wasn't thinking about them. How could I feel guilt about it? I've already… stopped grieving. There's no point in thinking about them, so I don't."
"No point? Oh, Demyx." The disappointment was replaced by a deep sadness. "Demyx, I mourn them. I think it's terrible that everyone you ever loved, the man and woman that raised you, your siblings and peers, every smile you ever received up until a few months ago – all of it is gone. And here you are, building it all anew in a relatively hostile environment, and you can tell me with a straight face that you don't even spare those people a thought?"
Dully, the blond responded, "I guess I'm just not that great a person, if you put it that way. I don't mean to be bad like this, but I can't help it. I suppose I just – don't have a whole heap of heart or something."
"Which is a lie, and we both know it," the woman murmured, uncapping her pen and beginning to write in her notepad.
"I'm surviving," Demyx told her. "There's no room for anything else. No room for falsities."
"Oh, stop," she replied, irritably. "I have no interest in that particular notion. Sometimes I wonder what benefit at all Sir Auron is supposed to be having on you." Pausing in her scribbling, she sent him a firm look. "What I want to know is what happens to your mind when the survival period is over. Remember that little thing? That utopia of existence? The point in time, maybe a month or year or decade from now, when you finally let out the big breath you've been holding and realise you're not afraid anymore? When you know you've made it. What happens then, when all the leftover thoughts and emotions come crashing down in response?" Placing the pen down with deliberate patience, she added, not looking at him, "Part of survival is dealing with what you have, Dem. You don't section things off for when you're not being distracted by everything else, or you weaken yourself. Now," she held up a disclaiming hand, "I don't want to push you, by any means, that's not what I'm saying – forcing you to think and feel isn't what I'm here for." She lifted her eyes to his, their gazes locking. "My position is to advise, right? Well, I'm advising you, Demyx, and I'm also kind of begging you – don't let these things fall between the cracks for later. Otherwise, the cracks will widen, until all you're doing is dancing around the gigantic holes in your head." Her expression was compassionate. "And that's… when you end up back here. For good." After letting this have its numbing impact, she further implored, "Sir Auron can deny 'falsities' all he wants, but don't you do the same. All you have to do is just take a good, long look at him sometime to know it's not the answer."
Several minutes ticked away, during which neither of them spoke. Demyx didn't fight her on it, but neither did he accept, and there were definitely no requests for hugs. Eventually, Lucrecia sighed, subtly checking her watch. "Well, that's as far as we're going to get this time, anyway." She opened a drawer, pulled out one of her many business cards and wrote on the back of it. "I'm scheduling an appointment for Wednesday afternoon, you can catch the bus from school, okay? At this point in time, I won't be satisfied with the weekly session, not with an upheaval like this in your life. There are far too many issues this will bring to the surface." As she picked it up, nails flicking the white surface as she flipped it over to offer to him, she smiled, said, "Besides which, all sorts of things happen in a school environment. I want you having someone to talk to about it all."
Demyx's steps as he travelled back through the halls were hollow. Nero was nowhere to be seen this time, no doubt off watching TV or trying to play chess with his teeth or something. Asking about his brother, probably.
There was the usual spike of nervousness as he approached the nurse's station, Vincent's small office connecting to it from the other side. The man heard him coming, glanced up, opened the door again for him to exit into reception. "Nametag," he demanded, Demyx already unpinning in and sliding it back across the counter. "See you next time, Demyx," Vincent said as farewell, and the blond, abruptly, was as free as a bird.
Heart pounding all over again, he caught the elevator down, Auron waiting for him near the hospital's front doors. The man followed him out, steps steady, calmly accustomed to Demyx's flight from the facility.
Once a week, every week, Demyx loved the cold. He loved the cloudless sky, and the sounds of the Midgar traffic drowning out what few birds struggled to make a living; goddamn, he loved the smell of Mako.
"Coffee?" Auron offered, nodding over towards the bus stop. Letting out a sharp puff of steam, Demyx closed his eyes, reached up to adjust his beanie, nodding fervently.
"Dear Lord, please," he hoarsely said. He wouldn't be able to relax completely until he was sitting back in the doughnut place near home, sipping at his caffeine of choice and feeling the sunshine once again play across the warning black curves and whorls on his arm.