Disclaimer: Nope, that isn't Adam Brody tied to my bedpost, just a very good look-alike. Eh okay, so I own nothing, I admit it. Fox is the one with the cast tied to its bed. Kinky!

Author's note: Free food, and OC cast members for my fab reviewers. There ya go, don't say I don't appreciate you all. Seriously, you guys blow me away, thank you so much. And thanks to my bodacious betareader, I have managed to have some sort of outline or plot. Save some Ryan for her, she loves to nibble on bad boys. Okay, on with the floorshow. Please review, I've become horribly addicted!

Lost In Babylon

Ch 3

They painted out up your secrets
With the lies they told to you
And the least they ever gave you
Was the most you ever knew

Your voice is small and fading
And you're hiding here unknown…

Acoustic #3 Goo Goo Dolls
"Is he here yet?" My eyes itch ceremoniously as I ask her again, and I feel like throwing up suddenly. I wish she'd hide that smirk at least, can't she see things are hurting for me? Things are hard again, and familiar paranoia resurfaces as I glare in her direction.
I suspect she didn't give me my medication. Yes, that is something she'd be capable of, something she'd relish as she watches us nut jobs from her sterile white room while we roam around in the common room. Just plain little white sugar pills to conceal the torture she loves to put her patients through. Or maybe I'm her only victim…
She shakes her head, flashing teeth I never asked to see in the first place. My rage warms my cheeks, and I wish I didn't have to sit here until the hour is through. I wish I didn't have to hear the snickers of the other loonies, who do have their visitors sitting with them. I wish he'd just show up and make me feel dizzy again.
Digging my fingernails into my thigh, I calm down at the sharp pain. I feel like bleeding, but I know that if I tried anything it would be the solitary hole for a week. I don't even want to think of that place, and close my eyes for a moment. Sandy beaches the only image that seems to soothe me for some reason.
Loud steps are heard echoing towards the visitor's hall, doors sliding open, and the loud honk to warn the burly orderlies standing on guard of that fact. I glance around again, swivelling my head so quickly that my hair swipes against my cheek. My stomach does somersaults inside of me, and I'm amazed at my own reaction. I didn't know I had it in me.
"I'm so sorry I'm late," he breathes to my assigned nurse, and I can see her flutter her lashes at him. Before I can even feel outraged at that, he turns his head towards me. His face does the most marvelous thing, making me want to purse my lips some more. It glows, very delicately for a man, and I can almost feel the heat coming off of his cheeks. Things stop inside my brain, and I'm short-circuited in the most pleasant way possible. I fold my hands in lap and plant my feet firmer onto the ground, afraid of what he might expect of me.
An embrace? A handshake? I can't even try and think of the effects that would have on me, and I'm scared again. Being passive suits me fine, being mute just as well. Numbness has always seemed like the perfect plan B to me, so I stick with catatonia. And as mutely I warm myself on his glow, things feel so victorious I can hardly contain all the feelings underneath my skin.
"Summer…" My nurse orders, but I don't move. I can hear the hollow term of endearment coming a mile away, and can't imagine why she feels the need to introduce us again. I knew he was coming. I remembered despite my own insanity. I don't need any drone cutting in my only chance for clarity.
I smirk at her, "yes…you can go away now!" Cutting off any further interference from her with the finality in my voice. I feel bold and she glares at my attitude, I know I'll pay for that later.
Maybe smaller doses of drugs…maybe that's not such a bad thing… I shake my head, too many maybe's could clog everything up again.
I watch him give her an apologetic nod, and feel dispirited because of it until I feel his hand on my back. He's leading us back to our table, and I am jolted into a state of hyperawareness. Something I've been without for an eternity of haziness. It makes me feel melancholy and remorseful all at the same time, and as usual I don't know why.
"You look nice," he tries for nonchalance, but the poor man's top lip is twitching in the most adorable way. There it is again, that pride following his nervousness, it makes me feel like someone else…yet it isn't entirely strange either. I brush a few fingers through my hair, proud that it's not matted for once, "I wanted to…" but talking is hard again, so I place one hand near the center of the table, in between us. I smile, half-heartedly, uncertain of how we went about it last time.
Mr. Cohen, I sigh silently to myself, and try hard to make my eyes glow for him when he engulfs my hand with his. "Are you…" he stutters softly, and seems aggravated with himself as he tunnels a hand through his locks. "…--- I mean, are they treating you okay? Are—you okay?"
No one has ever asked me that… No one. I want to cry again, no one I can remember at least. I shake my head, and I hate myself a little more with every passing second. He has this look in his eyes, something gutted and tortured dancing about in his gaze. I want to ask him why he looks so torn apart, but I figure I must be the cause for that although I hope I'm wrong as usual.
"Maybe…" I mock myself by letting loose a loud abrasive laugh, and despite my back being turned to the uniforms I can still feel their piercing gaze commanding me to be silent. I comply, because that's what I do. He squeezes his fingers around my palm, coaxing me on by adding a smile as well. "I -- I have heard things…around here. All I know is that no one in this place is okay, Mr. Cohen. Least of all me." He gives me an almost pitying look, the meaning of it escaping me like everything else and things slide out of place inside of me. Horrible things are catching at my happy thoughts again, until they are completely shredded and torn.
"Call me Seth, please." His tone turns the tables, my guilt dominating things again. This time, I'm the one doing the soothing…
"I know I'm supposed to know you. And sometimes, if I really try hard, I can almost feel it…I can almost picture things in my head." I don't want to lie, I can't because of his face…his big busy eyes sucking all the hope out of me. "But really—I don't know anything, and I want to be able to remember…you, Seth!"
His index finger is running a lazy trail up and down the palm of my hand…and suddenly it stops. He stops, I stop… God, everything just stops with the tip of his finger tracing my pain. My secret, the only goddamn thing I do remember, erases all the niceness out of this visit. It swiftly ruins everything I had wanted to hope for, jamming up everything inside my mind again.
And we're both just sitting there, staring mutely at the pinkish scar that runs from the base of my palm down to my wrist. I close my eyes for a moment, not wanting to see the expression on his face as I try to soothe myself by breathing steadily.
Steady, yes that's what I must remain always, despite the shakiness I portray from the outside…I'm always steady inside, where it counts. "I'm sorry," I hear him mutter, but his hands don't leave mine and I'm still not sure how that's supposed to make me feel. His fingertip still poised at the edge of where I once cut myself, making it burn all over again. I wondered if I should share that particular piece of information, but when I finally do look at him he looks too confused to understand what I'd mean anyway.
"You have to go now…" I am harsh, urgent, and tug my hand away from him. I cover my scar with my other hand, protecting it from his prying eyes. He looks like he wants to say my name, talk me into something I'm sure I would never agree to anyway. I just shake my head, trembling a little as I cup the source of my pain. My scars are throbbing violently, searing me like the night that they were born. I do not want to remember these dark things, I hear countless voices scream inside my head. Instead I shake my head at him, silently scolding him for waking them up.
"You need to leave, Mr. Cohen!" I repeat, over and over again, puzzling even myself with the urgency I say those words. My nurse comes running over when she sees the frantic scene, and for the first time I can remember I adore her. I want her to end this, to inject me with something and make the flames stop licking at my skin like this. Like a wounded child, I feel the need to show her where it hurts, and hold out my hands to expose my throbbing wrists to her.
"He needs to go," I whisper to her despite seeing the sad look in his eyes. He mouths an apology, but I cannot make myself face him. I feel confused and hurt, and utterly lost as to what to do. With a flick of her head, she lets him know the visiting hour is through. The light catches the syringe and I already feel pleasant even before it's reached my skin.
It works quickly, flushing out the hissing noises inside of me, and I smile up at my nurse. Chocolate brown curls bob aimlessly beside her, and I blink my eyes quickly to see if they'll vanish. I choose to ignore them, and attempt to focus on her curvy spectacles.
"Tell Seth I'll be good next time…" I said in a whispery sob, "I promise I'll be good…tell him! He'll come back if you tell him." I wet my lips, and close my eyes for a moment. Hardly noticing the arms that place me on the gurney. I try to keep my head from swirling. But I just feel so horribly dizzy because those curls keep bobbing up and down before me, even when I close my eyes. Especially when I close my eyes…