Author's Note: Mmm...do you know how horrible it would be not to feel? Think about it. It makes your mind run in circles...like, if you wanted to hate something, you couldn't. And then you'd start hating that you couldn't hate. Then you'd remember again that, oh, you can't do that...and it'd turn into one big circle. Anyways, I will let it be known that this story...is more than just memories. Oh, and also be warned that I can get very depressing...or...what I write can get very depressing...and dramatic...and cheesy...and I'm sorry. :-)

Disclaimer: Square Enix owns all Kingdom Hearts related items. If I own something, trust me, you'll know. It'll be something like THE COVETED (insert lame title here) © mazarine 1991-2006.

Rating Warning: This story contains many types of abuse: alcohol, physical, mental, etc. No, there's nothing too explicit, but there is implied sexual conduct. You have been warned. Blood and gore in this one. I'm beginning to wonder if this should go up to mature...

•••

Relique Argentée

(Silver Relic)

Chapter III

•••

No. No. My mind will not get the better of me. Not this time. For the past two days, it has done nothing but play tricks on me, taunting me with my worst memories. Worst meaning all of them. My life is my worst memory, the one I will refuse to acknowledge. It did not exist. I am making this up. I will die before admitting that my memories exist. Die. You know why? Because I'm a coward. I always have been and always will be. After all, a leopard can't change it's spots. Obviously, my sudden anger problem (slamming the doors, taking corners far too sharply, yelling at someone for the smallest act of stupidity) hasn't gone unnoticed. In fact, they actually sent Vexen to speak to me the other day. Vexen of all people! I find it humorous that they've finally decided to pay me some bit of attention. When he asked what was wrong at the door, I merely slammed it in his face. Speaking of my room, it's becoming a bit of a dump. Books are scattered everywhere and the bed is unmade and there are clothes everywhere and I'm beginning to wonder if this is contributing to my sudden...'mood.' Just a few hours ago, Vexen came back and suggested that he help clean. For some reason, I agreed and that went very badly due to the fact that he unearthed an ancient photo beneath the small pile of discarded books under my bed. When he showed it to me, he was promptly kicked out. Now it sits on my desk, quite near this paper I'm writing on, waiting to be taken to Axel and burned. And though I've had my number of chances, for some reason...I haven't.

•••

"Ienzo," the voice began icily, sending shivers up his spine and giving him a preview of what his voice may sound like one day, "what are you doing?"

Grey-blue eyes slid up a burly form, landing on fearsome near-black ones. They smoldered like flames, a stark contrast to the now fading grey of Ienzo's eyes. The scene took place in his bathroom, which was decorated in pale lilac and black and white. The only thing that wasn't one of those colors was the tile, which was now stained crimson.

"Getting away from you," came the reply. The words were bitter and filled with a dry humor that had plagued him for the longest time. The lips that uttered them curled up into a cruel smile, but a smile nonetheless. It looked out of place on his cold features. The lifeless grey eyes slid down, past his father, past the cabinets, past the crimson blade that sat on the crimson tile, and to bloodied hands and arms. It was hard to tell where the cuts actually were, but if one looked intently, they would see that they were everywhere. The sight brought a chuckle to Ienzo's lips and it slipped smoothly out, teasing the air around it. When it reached his father's lips, the older man was far from humored.

"You son of a bitch!"

And then Ienzo knew only darkness due to the fact that a blow to the head had followed the curse. The smile died, the eyes closed, his breathing became joyously shallow...and for a moment, Ienzo thought it would end; but life wasn't that good to him. A few hours later, he awoke to the stark white walls of a hospital.

"No."

He was not alive. This was not a hospital. He was notbreathing! No. No This wasn't right He shouldn't be here, he should be dead. That's how it was supposed to be! Why couldn't his father have just killedhim? His train of thought was destroyed, though, by a movement in the corner of the room. Before he could catch a glimpse of who it was, his eyes were covered by a soft hand that pushed him back into his bed.

"Ienzo," a voice said for the second time that day, only it was soft and timid, "do you know where you are?"

"The hospital," he snapped coldly.

"No," the voice replied slowly. "No, you're in the psychiatric ward, also known as the–"

"–mental hospital."

"Yes. You could call it that. Do you know why you're here?"

Silence. An uncomfortable one at that. It was filled with a static hatred that lusted to engulf everything it touched, engulf it and send it to oblivion. "Yes," he hissed. "Yes I do."

"Why?"

That one word sent him reeling. His eyes narrowed beneath the hand and his lips pulled away from his teeth in a silent snarl. His hands clenched into his fists and he barely noticed the fact that the bandages wrapped around them and his arms were turning crimson, let alone the pain.

"Why, Ienzo?"

Years and years of abuse and rage boiled up from the pit of Ienzo's stomach. Gone was the quiet, submissive boy that everyone knew. Gone was his calm, almost elegant movements. Gone was Ienzo period, his sanity shred away to reveal what he could become. What he might become.

"Get away from me," he hissed. "Now."

That was the woman's only chance. When she did not move, a painfully cruel smirk graced Ienzo's lips. In a fraction of a second, he was free of any bonds or equipment that held him to the bed, his IV lay discarded on the mattress, and his hand had wrapped itself firmly around the woman's pale neck.

"I am not crazy, do you hear me?" he barked.

"Now, calm do–"

"No. I do not need to calm down and I am not crazy!" he continued, eyes dancing with the glow of insanity.

"I didn't say you were, Ien–"

"Shut. Up"

Oh god, he was becoming his father. Even as the thought this, he ignored it. He would not think that. No. No. He would not become his father. He would not become his father. So why did he persist in his abuse of this poor woman?

"Okay."

Ienzo's bandages were dripping now, staining the sheer white of a floor once more. His blue-grey eyes bore holes into the woman and a hint of pleading joined the insanity.

"I was supposed to die," he hissed. "You were supposed to let me die" He was shaking again, but this time it was in an attempt to hold back...sobs? "I wasn't supposed to live! I'm not supposed to be here! I'm notcrazy either! I'm just sick of it! I'm sick of being starved and kept in my room and hit. I'm sick of living Next time...next time this won't happen. Next time I'll be long gone before anyone can get to me."

He released the woman's neck and she fell into a heap on the floor. With one last look of rage, Ienzo turned and half walked, half stumbled out of the room, scarlet blood trailing behind him. His adrenaline was wearing off too quickly...his vision was fading at an unbearably fast rate...and soon, he could barely stand, let alone walk. He stumbled sideways, lurching into thin air and landing on the cold tile with a splatter of blood. The ends of his hair barely skimmed the liquid and his eyes faded to a dull muddle of their original colors. He was staring at the wall, watching himself cry in his own reflection. Only now did he feel the sheer pain of his injuries and they threatened to burn a hole through him. He wanted to die even more now, to be free of all things earthly–of pain and sorrow, of anger and hatred. When someone picked him up, he was a rag doll in their hands, ready to be tossed in the garbage. Begging to be tossed in the garbage. The only way his body could manage to force the fluid out of his throat was by way of two weak coughs that involved blood and grime.

"Get him to the med center," muttered the annoyed voice of someone passing by. "Kids these days...overplaying things to no end."

A murmur of agreement followed.

"In the med center, tell the lady to sedate him and soak his arms in alcohol, then stitch him up. After that, have her wrap the limbs in alcohol. Then put him in his room again and restrain him. Heavily."

Ienzo was awake for none of that. Instead, he was balancing on the edge of something dear, trying to fall off, but being pushed back by some force that he couldn't get past. Something that told him...

...stay.

•••

Author's Note: Aah! Drama! Too much! I feel so...dramatic writing it. Hope I didn't overdo it. :-) Review?