Chapter Five

"He doesn't know what he's talking about," I mutter to myself as I follow the blue haired man back out into the hallways. I believe his name started with a...never mind. I don't remember."He has no idea what he's talking about. He can't." Me? Not have the condition I had been diagnosed with eleven years ago? That would have made my entire life a lie—I could have actually continued school, still be going to school, actually have a future, a career, have plans and goals I could meet other than 'not act crazy'. "There's no way I don't have it. There's just no way."

While I may have somewhat accepted that where I was and what was happening may have been real, there was no way I could believe that man—that, what was it? Aizen? Something like that. He who thought himself above everyone else, given his position on the rise, like he was a king or something.

"I just..can't not be what I've been. It's impossible." My nose had stopped bleeding, although the blood on my face was drying quickly and I hadn't had the chance to wash it off. There were a few large spots of it on my shirt, but I was sure something could be done with it at some point. I mean, everyone I'd seen so far wore white—surely they had to be in possession of some stain remover or something to get the blood out of my shirt without the stain staying. "There's no way that I'm not crazy."

"I have to agree with you on that one." I jumped a little and looked around wildly before realizing that it was actually the blue haired man who had agreed with me in a somewhat civil tone, and notably without expletives. All of the other times he'd addressed me, there was at least one 'fuck' in there somewhere. "You're talking to yourself and you jumped into traffic. I'd say you're crazy and if you're not, then I don't know who is."

"Thank you." I was glad to have someone agree with me, even if it was the one who practically had me strangled. But as my mind processed all of his words, I caught something that I hadn't quite recalled before. "I mean, really, I just—wait. I jumped into traffic?"

It was something that I only recalled in the slightest. There was a sharp turn, a leap, but into what? I couldn't remember. It had been adrenaline that fogged my judgment then, and adrenaline that was flubbing my memory now.

I didn't get an answer; I was simply shown to the room I had woken up in, numb. What had I jumped into, and why?

He shoved me inside, and I didn't put up a fight; the door was closed and locked with a soft click behind me. I stood in front of the door for a few moments before trudging over to the sofa and sitting down lightly, swinging my messenger bag into my lap. The strap is black, made of leather and old and thinning. I was surprised that it hadn't broken; it was at least five years old. The bag itself was red plaid, the fabric faded out to nearly pink and not quite black; the corners near the bottom were frayed and nearly bursting open despite the lack of weight inside of the bag.

I knew exactly what was in the bag without even having to look; the items it held never changed: a marker, the pill bottle with my medication in it, my wallet, and a water bottle. The only time I had ever really left the apartment was to walk Mizuki to and from school; there wasn't much I needed in those handful of minutes, other than the contents of the bag.

The bag went on the floor as I reached for the blanket that I had tossed over the arm of the sofa earlier, kicking off my purple tennis shoes.

Maybe if I fell asleep and woke back up, I would be back home, and this all would have been a terrible nightmare.

"Get up."

Okay, not a nightmare. I yawned, stretched, and sat up slowly, eyes darting subconsciously to the underside of my left wrist as they generally did. Two 'x's still marked the spot, and despite not knowing how much time could have passed, I knew I shouldn't take another pill. It probably wouldn't help, anyways; the more time that seemed to pass, the more likely it was that her pill's wouldn't help me. The blue haired man was back, frowning down at me with his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"Whaddya want? I was trying to sleep." My voice was groggy, thick from sleep. My whole body ached from the sofa, but I felt relieved from the sleep.

All I got for an answer was a wet wash cloth tossed into my face.

"Thanks," I said as I tentatively scrubbed the blood from my nose off of my face. It would have been easier had I a mirror, but I knew I would have to make do. The blood couldn't be that bad, could it?

But just as soon as I removed the cloth from my face completely, another heap was thrown at me. From what I had seen before they had smacked me into the face, they were white, just like everything else in this place. But where was I, exactly? I couldn't tell, although I knew that I was definitely not in an insane asylum.

Mother and Mizuri would be having panic attacks by that point, wondering where I had gone after the phone call about making sure Mizuri had made it to school. I had sounded panicked, and with my condition I could nearly guarantee that I had already been reported missing to the authorities.

Rolling my eyes and sticking my tongue out, I looked at the stack that had been thrown at me. It was white cloth, as I had seen earlier, with a black trim. Clothes, I suppose, to replace the ones that were currently on my body. But other than the slight blood stains on my shirt, there was nothing wrong it.

"I am not dressing like one of you freaks." I set my jaw and looked back up at the man, pile of clothes on my lap. There was just no way that I was going to dress in black and white in some kind of weird, dopey fashion sense.

"You're already dressed like one of us."

I blinked, stretching my legs out and away from the couch so I could get a good look at them. The pants I wore were black, the shirt I remembered to be white with a few speckles of blood stains on it.

"Okay. Point taken. But I'm not going to go a step farther into dressing like you lot. You may have kidnapped me and brought me to a place that resembles an asylum run by mental patients, but you are not going to assimilate me into your ways of dressing. I'm not having it." So he wasn't a figment of my imagination; he could hurt me, and he didn't have to listen to a damn thing I said, but there was no way I was going to back down. I was going to hold my ground, take a stand, not back down.

Once the words were out, I closed my eyes and nodded my head at him, as if to punctuate the end of my tirade.

But then there was a sharp sword tip at the base of my throat. I quickly opened my eyes, only to see his blue ones only inches away from my own. I swallowed, carefully, aware that the bobbing motion made by my throat could very well cause the tip of the blade to slip and slice my neck wide open.

"Put them on," he ground out.

"No."

"Yes."

"No." His eyes narrowed; his voice seemed to get more intense every time I refused.

"Yes."

…it..., a voice whispered, just a feather of a noise in my ears. D...t...

I am so, so sorry this took so long. I really am. I've just been a little busy with school, and NaNo, and writers block. I know where I want to go with this thing, I'm just not sure how to get there.

Thanks for your patience.