I slept well the morning after work; In fact, I found that I slept too well. There were no nightmares, but also no memorable dreams. I slept in simplicity and sweetly, waking up to no alarm and no strangers in my house. Two days of no work were ahead of me, and I was grateful for the break.

When I checked my phone, I saw no texts and no missed calls. I couldn't decide if I felt shitty because I wasn't popular, or if I was lucky that I didn't have to actually deal with anyone. I embraced my loneliness for the time being and turned on the news.

Gunshots, robberies, and assaults peppered the television. With a sigh, I turned it back off and headed to my mirror to see how haggard I looked. No, not to terrible I admitted to myself. I brushed out the rats in my hair and headed for the kitchen; contemplating a new change in style. Maybe I could trim it a few inches and add layers. I could go lighter too; maybe transition to a pretty brown. Hmm, for some reason brown just sounded wrong. Well, I suppose it was better than red.

Suddenly I found my thoughts drifting back to Crane and the asylum. The more I thought about it, the sicker I felt in my stomach. I grabbed a cup and filled it with some water before quickly gulping it down. Unfortunately, I didn't feel any better. I collapsed onto the couch and closed my eyes with a whiny groan.

Put on some clean clothes and pull yourself together.

My phone started to ring, inciting new found energy in me as I bolted from the couch to the bedroom. I dived onto the bed like an idiot and fumbled with the phone between the sheets. The number across the screen wasn't in my contacts.

I took a deep breath as I paced around the bedroom. "Hello?" I answered.

"Would you like to die, Mira?" A feminine voice hissed, full of hate.

My heart fell into my stomach. "W-What?"

I heard a click before I dropped the phone onto the carpet. My body was paralyzed, and I stared blankly at the mahogany headboard before my vision blurred. Tears streamed down my face, running leftover eyeliner and mascara all over my face. I was absolutely terrified. When I finally felt I could move, I wrapped my arms around my shoulders to keep myself together.

There was a rattle, and I slowly realized it was the door handle to my front door. Someone was picking the lock. I desperately looked around my bedroom for some kind of weapon to take and hide. They're going to kill me! The person on the phone is going to kill me!

"Fuck." I seethed before running to the bathroom. I locked the door and jumped into the tub, closing the curtain and praying no one would be smart enough to find me.

Footsteps echoed in my ear. They were slow and easy, almost thoughtful in a sense. I clenched my teeth tight and grabbed one of my shaving razors. In the thick silence, I heard another door handle creak. The footsteps inched closer, and I realized the intruder was inside my bedroom.

I got on my feet and steadied my body with the razor in hand. Hopefully I could scare them, and try going for their throat if they looked behind the curtain. All of a sudden, the next handle creaked and my blood pounded through my body like a rocket. My lips quivered, covered in tears. I couldn't breathe.

When I saw the shadow, the curtain disappeared. I dropped the razor in complete fear and cowered at the bottom of the tub. My eyes were closed shut, but my mouth was open in terror as I screamed like it was the last thing I could do.

Hands placed themselves on each side of my cheeks, wiping away my tears harshly before grabbing my hands. My screams stopped and I heard a voice speak casually. "You're being over-dramatic."

Dr. Crane pulled me onto my feet and led me out of the tub, but we didn't make it out of the bathroom before I gave him an earful. "You bastard, who was the bitch that called me right before you happened to get in here?"

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not amused, but neither was I. "Someone called you? What did they say?"

"They asked me if I wanted to die." I seethed at him, feeling more tears spill down my face. Crane rolled his eyes and grabbed some toilet paper, wiping my face once more. He threw the paper away and painfully closed his fingers around my wrist. Crane pulled me through the door, and pushed me onto my bed.

The doctor seemed off his game. Usually cold and exacting, he was heated and messy in every move he made. "I don't know why you were so terrified, Mira. I told you I was coming" His glasses rested on the tip of his nose, seemingly ready to fall off by the way he flipped through his folder.

"I thought someone was trying to kill me." I stated flatly.

"No one's going to kill you." He said with the pen between his lips. Crane ran a hand through his shaggy hair and set the folder next to his suitcase at the edge of the bed. "I'm not, at least."

I suppose it made me feel a little less scared to know that I wouldn't be dying today. Well, I hoped not. "Will you tell me what the medicine is for?" I asked him innocently, hoping he might give me an answer.

The doctor cleared his throat. "No, I won't tell you that Mira."

"Okay." I sighed, and patiently watched him prepare a syringe. Maybe he was going to kill me, or maybe he was going to make me feel alive. I wondered if it even mattered. If Crane wasn't going to kill me, then someone else was.

"We often associate colors with emotions and memories. For example, blue might mean cold and red might mean hot. However, all these things differ with each person; the previous examples are just common associations."He attempted to pull himself together as he spoke; flattening his wrinkled shirt and pushing his glasses back.

"I thought you weren't going to tell me?"

"I told you what it does, not what it's for." Crane scolded me, eyeballing the medicine in the syringe like he was proud of his creation. "Besides, these are just the simplified drugs. Colors are just a basic association. I still have more work to do."

I was afraid; second guessing myself as I was still coming down from the fear of being killed. With my back pressed against the headboard, I keenly watched him. His eyes, pure and disturbed, seemed desperate. What was he desperate for? What more did the doctor have to do?

"I'm scared." I peeped.

"Don't be." Crane moved closer, running his fingers down my arm gingerly as he searched for a good vein. My lips tugged at the ends, forming a pathetic frown followed by more tears. He dropped my arm in frustration and grabbed my face with one hand. Then he squeezed, and I felt my eyes widen in terror as he forced me to look him in the eyes. "Look at me." Crane gritted his teeth together and his jaw tensed up.

I felt the pressure of the needle and drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly. My eyes closed, but they opened back up as Crane began to move around the room. He disposed of the needle, and headed for the kitchen. A short screech rang in my ears. I was startled until I realized it was just him grabbing a chair from the kitchen. He sat to my right, close to the edge of the bed, but not too close.

"Am I going to fall asleep?" I inquired.

Crane shrugged. "Hopefully not."

"You said that these were the simplified drugs. What does that mean exactly?"

"It means that you're not going to die, Mira."

I zipped my mouth shut, feeling like a fool for bothering him with questions. Crane relaxed in the chair and watched me close. I tensed up, afraid to even draw a breath in his presence. Every nervous sigh and unsteady breathe was under the intricate scope of Dr. Crane. I felt like a lab rat.

Moments passed by, and soon my breath became steady and relaxed. I slowly removed my blanket and walked from the bedroom to the bathroom. My body felt light, almost like I was made of air. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw a tinge of pink on my cheeks and a pretty ruby in my lips. The dark bags in my eyes had disappeared, and my hair looked irresistibly shiny against my skin. Was this drug making me healthier?

I raised my arms above my head and stretched longingly before dropping them slowly. With a deep breath out, I rolled my head for another stretch. Why do I smell cotton?

Crane leaned on the door frame, writing diligently in his notes. He noticed I was staring and came into the bathroom, setting his papers on the sink. He grabbed my wrist to check my pulse before examining my pupils. "You look good." He noted. I couldn't take it as a compliment knowing the circumstances, but I wanted to.

"I feel rejuvenated." I told him. "I feel like I can walk on water."

This high was much different from the first. Instead of the lust-filled sheets and my desire to writhe around with my hair in my face, I felt strong and refined. My body had acquired a light strength and a new found sense of beauty.

I reached out my hand to touch Crane. Surprisingly, he allowed it. My fingertips brushed his cheek softly, and I could feel my own shocks of electricity run through him. If I didn't know better, I would say that he liked it. Despite all that, I knew I was enjoying myself. Seeing his jaw tighten as my hand fell on his shoulder excited me.

"I don't taste any colors, Doctor." I sighed.

Crane grinned. "This goes beyond colors, Mira. However, it's safe to say that you look better in blue."