Ultimate Amiss XII

"I wish I had monopoly over your mind."

As his conscious began to emerge from the depths of his mind - away from pointless dreams consisting of a large dark pit of nothingness - Hajime first became aware of the thrumming in his head. It wasn't like a ceaseless pounding, the blows were softer, but still irritating; and there was a decent lax in between them. Though, he wondered just what sort of dream he must have had to cause such a headache the moment he woke up.

It must have been about the reporter he had spoken to earlier, in which case he was perfectly happy with not remembering a single second of it. In fact, he was hoping the yakuza security had been present at the guard station when they took the reporter away. Then there was no way the reporter would try what he had done to Hajime again - or anyone else for that matter.

He shifted on the bed, letting out a short hiss when his left wrist stung when he moved it. One of the reasons he didn't immediately move his legs and try to get up was just in case he had been dream kicking the stupid reporter and hit the wall instead. Whether he had dreamed about the reporter or not, that would be his excuse if anyone asked what was wrong. Like his mother... if she was home yet.

Hajime groaned when his head reminded him with a definitive tap that he should go and get a pain killer to make it go away. As it was starting to increase in tempo now that he was more-or-less awake. Wait. That didn't make sense; and why was the sound coming from outside his head?

He turned his head, squinting at a monitor. A green zig zag line playing pong on it, while it issued that noise every time the line went up.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He quickly decided he would take this headache over the consistent sounds coming from that machine. If his arm didn't feel so heavy he would search for an off switch, but... Hm? His arm didn't just feel heavy, but wet as well.

It took him a moment to register the one other noise in the room. A sort-of huffing, muffled by the fabric of the sheets. There was no doubt left in his mind when another second passed. It was the sounds of a person sobbing, a woman by the breathy little gasps that split the air in between each muffled sob.

Hajime opened his eyes fully, blinking at the bright light reflecting off beige walls. This wasn't his room. His gaze settled on the machine for a second, recognizing it as a heart monitor. How had he missed that little detail? What did he think it was a second ago? An alarm clock? Based around pong... that would actually be pretty neat.

Focus.

He turned his head, gaze flickering around the room: taking in the simple furniture, an actual clock, and a small tv bolted into the corner of the ceiling; before his eyes rested on a pile of strawberry hair. "Junko?"

There was a brief respite as her form shifted; and he became aware of the sting at his wrist again. He glanced to the right - now feeling the cord on his skin - to see a metal stand near the head of his bed with a blood pack. The liquid was flowing through a tube that disappeared under the sheets, presumably connected to his wrist and sending that blood into his body. When his gaze rested on Junko again he could now see half her face, one eye bright red, but from the blue tinge her contacts were still on.

The room actually seemed to be perfectly quiet for a second, and then her lips parted, "What could you have been thinking?" He nearly shrunk back when she spoke, her voice cracking akin to a whip. "How could you be so selfish to do something like that?" she continued to speak as she stood up, wiping at her eyes, getting both tears and mascara smudges on the back of her hands. "Just what the hell is wrong with you?"

Personally he was on the same thought process, but with her at the center instead of him. Why was she snapping at him like that? He couldn't recall doing anything to upset her. Hajime still didn't even know why one of the first things he had heard when he woke up was her crying. Why he was even in a hospital. It didn't make any sense, but... but Junko was-

"Give me your pillow," she snapped, sniffing a moment later. There were still tears rolling down her cheeks as she bent over him, seemingly to glare at the heart monitor, her right hand hovering over the call button on the arm of his bed the whole time. "I'm going to beat you with it."

Her gaze turned back to him and his left hand raised up on its own, his fingers running along her cheek. Junko was crying. She never cried; or rather she did, but it was so rare he could barely recall the last time she had done it. Besides, even then she hadn't looked like this. He wanted to wrap his arm around her, but the angle of her body really didn't allow for it, especially with him laying down. Hell, he would wrap both of them around her if he wasn't convinced the movement would cause the tube to rip from his wrist.

She slapped his hand away from her a moment later. "Since you're awake now tell me what made you even consider doing that. Better yet, tell me exactly what you were thinking when you did it."

Did it? "Did... what?" his tongue felt heavy in his mouth when he spoke.

Just what was going on? He wished he knew, so Junko didn't look like she was about to burst into tears again, now that the tide had seemed to slow. "You can't not know. Hajime," his name on her lips sounded like a dying animal; a tear slipped from fluttering eyelashes. "The security in your neighborhood tried to speak with you after dealing with some stupid incident in front of your house. They wanted you your side of the story or something. I don't know. But when they entered your house you were on the floor of the kitchen, bleeding from a cut on your wrist, unconscious."

For a moment he just stared at her; and then he blinked and she was crying again, collapsing against his side once again, in the same exact position as when he had found her.

Security had found him? Inside his house like...

"Junko-" He wanted to ask her for details, anything that might help him put the whole picture together when she started talking swiftly,

"The doctor said you might have a concussion from when you fell, after suffering from blood loss. They say you probably blacked out when your head hit the ground, that you might have slipped on the tile after... doing what you did."

Again he wanted to ask: did what? She couldn't really be insinuating what he thought. That... that was just ridiculous, but he needed to check, he needed to know that that wasn't the case. she couldn't really believe something like that, could she?

"Junko," he spoke softly, "The doctors didn't say anything about a suicide, did they?" From the sudden shaking of her shoulders they must have. He could feel his blood boil as he watched her body tremble at the side of the hospital bed.

How could they say something like that to her? It's not like they were there, they couldn't know for sure if he attempted suicide or not. So why tell Junko that? What could have caused them to think that in the first place?

Hajime pulled his left arm up from under the covers, looking along the back for anything that would indicate what had happened. There appeared to be a bandage wrapped closer to his hand and he turned his arm over, to see the thick white gauze that encompassed his wrist. Just from looking at it he could tell the wound must have been bad. There was even a small pink stain that must have bled through the center of the bandage.

Even so... to just assume that was completely unprofessional. What sort of hospital did that? And-

"What's the last thing you remember?" Junko head was now raised, chin resting on his blanket covered arm, looking at him with tears still swimming in her eyes. Though, she was blinking quickly to keep them at bay, staring at him as if his answer would decide whether the dam broke again or not.

He couldn't be responsible for her crying so often in such a short time. No, it was more like he didn't want to be responsible, but... What was the last thing he remembered? "I was on the phone. I had just entered your number and then-" And then what? Had she answered? Had he left a message? Is that what had her so convinced that he had attempted suicide? Had he left some sort of suicide message on her phone?

"Then what?" Junko asked, voice clearly strained, as if she were having a hard time speaking.

"I..." Hajime glanced from the cut to his wrist, then to her. "I don't know."

He immediately knew when the first tear slid down her cheek that it had been the wrong thing to say. She slumped forward, face buried in the gap between his arm and the rest of his body, crying again.

If he knew what to say, how to comfort her; he would. But his gaze was sliding from her to the closed door. This was all that doctor's fault. Whoever had put it into Junko's mind that had tried to kill himself. He wanted to believe the security for the neighborhood wouldn't have made random stabs in the dark as to what might or might not have happened. If she had even been there.

Junko hadn't said a word about being at his house, but she had obviously heard about his supposed suicide - some freak accident, like what one would find in a bad sitcom. She had probably gotten a call or text from security since he had added her onto the list of people to call if anything happened, besides his parents that is.

They either hadn't checked their phones yet, were still across town, or stuck in traffic judging by the time on the clock. He would need to convince them later that he hadn't tried something so stupid. No wonder Junko had been questioning him before, and he still wish he knew the answer to every question, but-

"I didn't try to kill myself, Junko." He needed to convince her first. Every time she let out a sniff, a sob; it felt like he was being stabbed in the chest, knowing he was responsible for her pain. He didn't want her to suffer because some idiot doctor with a degree from some prestigious school thought they knew everything. "Junko, please look at me."

There was a huff as she raised her head just enough for him to see her eyes staring back at him. "How can you know that when you don't even remember what happened?" her voice kept cracking on every other syllable, and she was no longer making an effort to keep the flow of tears back.

He wanted to answer, but his mouth closed up. She wanted concrete evidence, and he just didn't have it.