"Okay, so maybe I am a little obsessed with death. I'm not like you. I notice the sad things first. I have to dwell on the past. And yes, I am depressed because of it. But this is who I am, and I'm done trying to explain it to you."

". . . you don't have to explain it to me. I get it."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Death surrounds me, too. That's why I can't help but ask you to smile."

~Kairi (age 15) and Sora (age 15)

. . .

What You Do in the Dark

. . .

~The Pain of Foresight~

Sometimes, no matter what happens to you, no matter how much time passes, there are some core traits that never change. The first day back at school was wretched enough because of my confusion.

But the worst part of the day was not a big surprise.

"Alright, Namine! You're up!" Yuffie finished off her high-pitched command with an eardrum-shattering blast from her thumb-sized whistle. Despite her enthusiastic attitude, the cheers and eager glances did nothing to quell my growing anxiety. She was my favorite teacher of the day, but she couldn't save the course for me.

P.E. had remained at the top of my hate list in my academic prison. It only took a few minutes for me to nearly pass out just standing next to the acrobatic maneuvers people were seemingly pulling out of their ass to perform. Last time I checked, I was in a specialized school for dealing with the paranormal, not the circus training show.

My mind couldn't process everything. People were moving too fast, and with my brain already at full speed trying to place the memories I was seeping out of just a simple shoulder bump, my stamina levels left me stuck in an ever-growing ditch of fear.

The tension in my muscles kept my legs locked in place. I stared at the bar I was supposed to jump over. I gulped.

"Any day now, sweetie." Yuffie's forced smile was intimidating, but the dull resignation in her eyes was the most telling. This was probably a regular thing she had to deal with when it came to me.

"Right," I muttered, bending down into a running position. It doesn't look very high. I can do this. I swallowed the bile in my throat, giving one last look around at my fellow classmates. Just one friendly glance, one smile from a friend would be enough to get me to jump.

Nearly all the faces I stared at had the same dull expression. All of them except one. Roxas was glaring at me.

The tension disappeared from my body and I looked away from him, running quickly towards the suspended bar, jumping as high as I could.

But I didn't make it. My right ankle caught the bar and I spun in midair, falling at an odd angle, cracking my skull against the hard floor. Blood leaked out from the back of my head, and the breath I was holding escaped my mouth in a weighted moan as I curled into a ball on the floor.

The tension disappeared from my body and I looked away from him, running quickly towards the suspended bar, jumping as high as I could.

Or, that's what I tried to do. But I wasn't thinking about the proper way to jump. I just kept picturing Roxas' face, his uncharacteristically angry face, those burning blue eyes. I barely hopped, hitting the bar full force with my side, landing flat on the floor face first. Blood gushed out of my nose and I shuddered as the heat from my cheeks displayed my embarrassment for everyone to see.

The tension disappeared from my body and I looked away from him, running quickly towards the suspended bar.

I forgot to jump.

At the speed I'm running I may hit the bar hard enough to earn myself a black out. This was going to be really painful.

Ironically, when my forehead met the bar, I'm left seeing stars but I'm not given the blessing of unconsciousness. I felt every throb, every vein in my head screaming in agony as I landed on my butt.

"Any day now, sweetie."

I jump from the sound of her voice, watching warily as the corners of her lips twitch her mouth up into the fake grin I've already seen three times. "Y-you already said that," I stammered, backing away from the bar.

"No, I didn't. But I'm not going to repeat myself." She nudged me back in the right direction. "You'll only have to do this once. I've already made you last, now make my job easier and do it."

"I can't." I winced as my mind brought up another version of me jumping the bar. "I can't explain it, I just-"

"That's going to cost you participation points, you know." She started marking something down on a clipboard. "Oh well, not like I can force you, right?"

I bowed my head, muttering a quick "sorry," before sitting in my designated spot on the bleachers. I avoided the eyes of the other kids, rubbing my neck as I tried to push the vicious premonitions out of my mind.

When the bell rang I was the first one out, changing quicker than I ever had (from what I remembered) in the locker room. By this point, I had remembered enough to know where all my classrooms were and I could function somewhat normally in front of my teachers, though I didn't have the nerve to speak when called on. Just seeing my teachers brought back images of the work I'd done throughout the years, of the frustration I felt during certain tests and projects.

People that didn't factor into my life as largely as others were the easiest for me to recognize. My teachers were familiar enough, but besides Roxas I couldn't recall any people close to me at this place.

Do I even have any friends? I pondered that for a while, unconsciously heading towards my counselor's office before a hand struck out, slamming into the wall next to me. I shook, dropping my backpack, and I tried to avoid the eyes I was both hoping and dreading to see.

I could see him stiffening in the corner of my eye. He lowered his hand, leaning down to pick up my backpack. "You're acting weird today," he said, his voice a perfected monotone.

It was a deeper version of the tone he used with me when we were kids. I stared at his hand, thinking of all the memories I'd missed, of the time I lost. "I feel weird," I whispered, reaching for his hand. If he thinks I'm acting weird, then he's been around me long enough to know when I'm being myself. Maybe we did end up becoming friends during all these years.

My stomach did a few backflips as my lips quivered at the thought of him kissing me. Or maybe something more . . . but that was just a silly dream.

My fingers almost made it to his hand, but he pressed the backpack into me, avoiding the contact. "What's wrong with you?"

"I . . . " I shook my head, trying to push away my unease. "I couldn't do it. I just . . . had a bad feeling about it."

Roxas sighed. "You're drawing too much attention to yourself. You need to keep your act together for a few more days. We can't let the nurse check up on you yet, right?"

I blinked. "Why is that?"

His glare returned. "You know why. Ugh, I shouldn't even be talking to you."

I frowned. "Then why are you?"

"You can thank your dad for that." He took a few steps back, giving me a pained look. "Just don't chicken out next time."

He looked away from me. There was something about the way he said that last line. I had a sickening desire to punch him out of the blue. My body screamed for retaliation, turning the embarrassment I felt at the gym into a force of reckless energy.

My hands shot out, but instead of hitting him I grabbed his face. I was expecting the sick feelings, the emptiness that came with touching him. The memories moved sluggishly. I could literally sense the toll it was taking on my magic. I had been absorbing multiple past experiences all day, I didn't realize until too late that I was at my limit.

To make matters worse, the longer I stood next to him the more I began to hallucinate. I could make out three versions of him next to me. They all looked furious.

I closed my eyes, trying to push away the fake scenarios. I'm too close. I can almost see it.

Just one memory. I want to know what happened when I came back from the hospital all those years ago. That's all.

I hissed as a jolt of pain slammed into me from above. Like a nail being hammered into the center of my forehead. I was pushing so hard, focusing on that one event so badly, that I was able to ignore the soreness in my hands and legs. I was about to collapse again, I knew it.

But before I could sink, before I could fall, I felt his hands wrapping around my wrists. The moment my fingers left his face I opened my eyes.

I lower my head, staring down at the blonde, pale child lying in a patch of dead grass.

I open my mouth, muttering quietly. Like I don't want her to hear me. "I didn't write the letter."

She blinks very slowly. Her eyes are glazed. I've seen that look before, but it looks weird on her. I lean over her, closing her eyes, shuddering as I feel her shake beneath my hand. I shouldn't have touched her.

What was different about this time? Why does it . . . bother me? I sit next to her. She still has some energy left, plenty of blood left, but . . .

She's the first one. The first one who wanted to be friends with me. I frown as another tear slides down my cheek. This emotion, "sad" or "sadness" as my creator calls it . . . is new for me. All I had before was "Angry" and . . . what was it . . . um . . . "Panic". I don't like sadness. It feels the most uncomfortable out of the others.

She has enough energy left for me to eat. I can tell by sitting next to her that I won't feel the "hunger" for a long time . . . longer than when I ate the others.

But . . . seeing her eyes this way . . . makes me sad. I have to get rid of this feeling before I do something that would expose my creator.

She tried to be friends. But I'm not ready. Even so . . . I don't want her to die. I want her to open her eyes again. I want her to try to be my friend again . . . even if I have to refuse her every time.

I stand up, and now that's she's sleeping I know it's okay to give her one small smile. "Have sweet dreams, Namine. I'll save you, so don't worry."

I wave my hand, saying goodbye. As I walk back to school my stomach starts to act up. Instead of aching like I'm used to, it fills up with warmth. For a little bit, just a little bit, the pain in my throat and chest go away . . . it's a feeling that I don't want to push away.

But . . . what is it?

"What is it?" I mumbled while simultaneously rubbing my eyes.

"Oh, you're awake."

"Hmm?" That sounded like Roxas. "Huh?"

My hands moved up instantly, protecting my sensitive gaze from the pulsing rays of his flashlight. When it was shut off I was lost in a world of darkness . . . all except for blue eyes. They were glowing, and I could make out the red veins protruding around the iris. My eyes were taking a long time to adjust, but I could almost make out his body. I couldn't tell what he was wearing though.

"That memory . . . wasn't mine." I frowned. "I don't understand."

He didn't blink. Instead, he turned on the lights. The walls were wooden and bare, except for the corner to my right which had a ranging mixture blood stains. There was a rusted bucket in the corner. Besides that, the room looked fairly boring. There was only one dresser, one desk for the lamp, and the bed I was sitting on. All the furniture was white to match with the wooden walls, which made the bloodstain in the corner stand out even more.

I couldn't take my eyes off of it, even when Roxas sat next to me. He squeezed my shoulders and I gasped, shuddering out of habit. But there was no need. His fingers were warm and the heat only increased as he rubbed small circles into me. I shifted my wrists up as I turned, only to be stopped by very thin, small elaborate chains keeping me tied to the bed.

It wasn't until he spoke that I realized he was mad at me. "How do you feel?"

My eyes caught the beginning of the chain at my wrists, watching it travel along my arms and around my legs. They intersected in between my thighs and connected my feet together. I wasn't wearing the same clothes from school either. Just a white tank top and white shorts. He was only wearing shorts too, except they were black.

His hands moved from my shoulders to my face, slowly shifting it up so that I couldn't look away. "Can you hear me?" he asked.

My body didn't shake, my stomach was in tact. For the first time I could fully focus on what he was saying. There was no sickness attached to his touch, and the strong gaze that dragged me into the hospital years ago only served to make me nervous. "I . . . I think I'm dreaming," I said, being completely honest.

"How do I act in your dreams?"

The question threw me off guard. It was almost enough to make me forget that I was trapped, that he could hurt me very badly if he wanted to. I shuddered. "I don't know. You're just . . . normal." Something flashed briefly through my eyes and I thought about what Roxas had said, what he thought about sadness. "You're not afraid of your own emotions."

He gave me a cold smile. "Normal, huh?" He pressed his palm against my forehead.

The pain was instant. My stomach twitched, aggravated, and I held in the bile as best as I could while the headache flared up by his hand. It all disappeared the moment he pulled his hand away. I stared at the black stuff coating his fingers. Like a mist, it curled around like snakes and he brought his hand up, sniffing it. His small smile turned into a crooked smirk. He gave me a knowing look. "You've been holding out on me. I'm not the only one scared here."

"Roxas," I tried to move my wrists again. "Could you please untie me?"

"No." He shook his hand, waiting for the black mist on his fingers to evaporate. He then stood up, walking over to his desk and opening it. He took out a long butcher knife before glancing at me, eyes wary. "Not until you tell me what you were doing in my head."

Thanks for reading this far everyone! It was hard ending this chapter, that's why it took a little longer than I would have liked. Nevertheless, I hope it didn't disappoint.

Justice T.