Chapter Three

Headaches are a wicked thing. I'm not too sure what I did to deserve this one, but it's killing me. My skull feels like it's splitting in half, and the fact that my neck feels like it's been squeezed to death doesn't help.

Oh wait.

I remembered it in a blur: The car, the rain, the sidewalk, the hand at my throat, and the men. The one with the hole in his stomach, and the one with the weird hat.

What kind of unmedicated relapse was that?

I was lying on something soft. Was I home? Did none of that really happen, did I never really jump out of a car?

Did I never actually get out of bed this morning?

Cautiously, I opened my eyes. My vision was met with white. Nothing in my room is white. Slowly I sat up, pushing a blanket (also white) off of my person and looking around.

White walls.

White sofa.

White pillows.

White blanket.

White table.

White floor.

White ceiling.

EVERYTHING IS WHITE.

"Great," I mutter, rubbing my eyes. "She's finally committed me to an asylum." It was just a matter of time, really. My mother could only care for me so much, and I'd likely never be capable of living on my own. When I'd first been diagnosed with my condition, I'd overheard the psychiatrist telling my mother that I was a threat to her and anyone else if, for some reason, my medication stopped working. Maybe my mother finally saw that my psychiatrist was right and decided to toss me into the looney bin.

Although, the last time I checked, the rooms in any asylum weren't so spacious. The one I was in was huge.

It was also, as previously mentioned, unnervingly white.

I swung my legs off of the couch and set my feet on the floor. Oddly enough, my shoes were still on my feet. I always take my shoes off before I lie down anywhere. As I look down at my feet, I spot my plaid messenger bag sitting on the floor. As I picked it up slung it over my shoulder, I realized that it was damp.

Frowning, I ran a hand through my frizzy hair. Like my bag, it too was damp. "Weird." I then begin to do a once over of my entire person, realizing that my pants and my shirt were also wet in the same places that I fell onto my side in my medication lapse.

Unless it wasn't actually a lapse and it really happened.

"Impossible," I said aloud to myself. "People can't have holes in their stomachs and still be among the living." I stood still for a moment, head titled toward the ceiling, before shrugging and pivoting towards the only not white thing I could see—a window with bars on it.

I understood the bars—I mean, come on. You don't want someone who has been committed to an asylum to go and fling themselves out of a window now, would you? So maybe the window is higher than my height of 5'5" could reach, but if I stood and something and jumped at it, I could maybe haul myself out if there weren't any bars.

Out of habit, I glanced at my watch. The hands were stuck directly on 8 o'clock and I cursed, remembering that the battery was dead.

"Fat lot of help you are," I muttered darkly, choosing to shove my hand deep into the pocket of my jeans instead of removing the watch and smashing it against the wall as I was wont to do. "How am I supposed to remember to take that medicine now?"

With a sigh, I look at the underside of my left wrist. The two 'x's from earlier are still there, sure enough. So, did I really have a psychotic break? Did my mother check me into an asylum and I didn't remember it? Or am I really in a large white room with my broken watch and bars on the window?

Curling my lip in disgust at my confusion, I turned around.

And then, I screamed, flinging my hands up in the air.

It was a loud, blood curdling shriek that would have done many of the female victims in horror movies proud. In fact, it did me quite proud when I looked back on it later.

I had turned around to come face to face—well, face to chest, really—with the blue haired man. His appearance was rather sudden and quite unannounced, and I had been somewhat positive that my psychotic break was over for the most part. As it turns out, I was either A.) Wrong, or B.) Not actually in an asylum.

At this point, I was really rooting for A.

The guy immediately clamped his hands over his ears and cringed away from me, his face displaying what I hoped to be excruciating pain.

"Be fucking quiet!" I heard him shout over the noise emerging from my mouth. I paused for a moment, taking more air into my lungs and closed my eyes before shrieking again, this time an octave or two higher than before. Mother may have always told me that the things in my head couldn't actually hurt me and she may have been wrong, but that also meant that it was quite possible for me to hurt them.

My method of torture was attempting to shatter his eardrums, but who could blame me? It's not like I knew how to fight or anything. I was about as useful in a fight as a three day old kitten.

About three seconds into the second scream a hand clamped down over my wide-open mouth, muffling the ungodly screech. My eyes popped open and the rest of the shriek died in my throat as I met the rather pretty eyes of the blue haired man.

Of course, his pretty blue eyes were rather infuriated, but still.

"I told you to be fucking quiet," he seethed. "If you don't, I will kill you." My eyes widened a little and I nodded, only scared because of my earlier encounters with him and the man in the funny hat. Also because, upon opening my eyes, I saw the hilt of a katana at his waist.

He removed his hand from my mouth and stood up straight. Slowly, I lowered my hands and shoved my right one back into my pocket, hunching my shoulders. My eyes darted to the white thing sticking off of his right cheek, and I realized that it was bone.

Oh holy Roman Empire. Why would anyone wear a piece of bone on their face? And what the hell did he kill that had that large of teeth? What kind of sick, psychotic people was my mind making me think I saw now? Not only that, but I didn't see any strings to attach it with. What did he use to keep it there, Velcro? Superglue? Staples?

"Now you're going to follow me and not put up a fight, or I'm going to kill you." I nodded again, biting my lower lip. Why did he think that threatening to kill me after telling me to do something would really work? I mean, I jumped out in front of a car. Pretty sure being killed isn't too high up on my list of things I need to worry about.

He stared at me for a moment longer before turning around and walking out of the room. Weird. I didn't notice a door anywhere earlier.

It wouldn't surprise me if that were white, too.

Sticking my left hand into it's respective pocket in my jeans, I started after him, eyes trained on his back. Once we were in the hallway, we took a right. As I suspected, not only was the door white, but all of the hallways as well. They really went all out on the invasive, sanitary look.

I made it all of two and a half hallways before I couldn't keep my mouth shut anymore. "If I may ask, what's your definition of quiet? Is it absolutely no sound quiet, or is it I can talk, hum, whistle, and yodel, but not scream at a deafening volume quiet?"

He glanced over his shoulder at me, eyes narrowed.

"From your lack of stabbing me with the sharp, pointy object at your waist, I think it would be safe for me assume that your definition of quiet is not, in fact, absolute silence, but just about everything minus the screaming. Of course, I don't think you'd want to hear me yodel, either. I don't even know how to yodel, but I would like to learn." He had looked forward again as I said the word 'waist', either unamused by my musings or really intent on not running into a wall. It seemed like there wasn't really a way I could get a reaction out of him unless I started screaming again.

I didn't think it would be in my best interest to begin screaming again.

"Who invented yodeling, anyways? It's a rather pointless talent, in my opinion. Rather like being able to stuff a numerous amount of marshmallows in your mouth and shout 'Chubby Bunny'. Although, you know, it's not entirely useless if you're in a contest or something and in order to win a ton of money you have to yodel your heart out and then Chu-"

"WILL YOU SHUT UP." He had stopped walking and turned to face me, his hands forming fists at his sides. The action told me that he would have punched my face in by now if something wasn't holding him back. I stopped walking as well, drawing my shoulders back to stand up straight and look him in the eye. I don't believe that that would have been possible unless he was standing the way he was—leaning forward slightly so that he could almost look directly into my eyes.

Honestly, he wasn't as intimidating as the other man I saw quite often in my delusions.

We stood in silence for a few moments before I finally said, "No, I won't."

"Why the fuck not?" There was a little voice in the back of my head—my own voice, actually—that told me he wasn't the type to mess around like we were now; that threats of killing normally worked the first time and did not have to be repeated and ignored. The arrogance that he exuded nearly confirmed my suspicions.

"Because you didn't ask politely, and I refuse to obey the demands of people who are rather rude." Even if they are in possession of a sword.

I could see his jaw working side to side as he ground his teeth and I did an internal victory dance. If I could keep this up until my medication kicked in at some point or I actually came to within an asylum, then I would be golden. Nothing would hurt me.

It was nearly a full minute before he managed to grind out, "Will you please be fucking quiet." It wasn't a question. It was a command.

I shrugged anyways. "Sure. Just tell me where you're taking me and then I'll be silence."

I swear, he looked like he wanted to scream.

Instead he just said, "To see Aizen."

Alright! I'm leaving Thursday, July 5th to go the beach. I won't have any internet until Monday, July 9th. Hopefully, I'll have another chapter written by the time I get back, but that might not be the case.

I hope all of you Canadians had a lovely Canada Day, and all of you Americans have a lovely Fourth of July, and everyone else just have lovely days in general.

I would also like to take this time to thank you all for the awesome reviews, story alerts, and favorites. It really makes me want to write more!