Chapter Twelve

Get out, get out, get out. Find an exit.

No, don't. Stay here. Rot. Don't breathe, don't breathe, don't breathe, die.

I was hyperventilating. The room seemed to be trying to shrink in on me; I was crouched with my back up against the corner, hands braced against either wall. I wasn't sure which variation I was supposed to be listening to, which one I should obey.

I had run out of medication only two days ago. The lack of drugs made me jumpy, every nerve wide awake and sleepy all at once and I hated it. I couldn't see straight, couldn't hear much other than the rapid thump of my heart and the screech-whisper of the voice. I was sweating and shaking and couldn't properly organize my own thoughts.

Kill them.

No, don't. Die, kill yourself, kill yourself. Don't breathe, don't breathe, don't breathe.

I tried my best to act normal and coherent when my food was brought to me by Usagi. She didn't seem to notice anything wrong with the way my hands shook when I raised the spoon to my mouth, with the way I twitched and wouldn't dare look her dead in the eyes like I had done the day before, with the way I could barely choke down the soup, with the way I missed my mouth half of the time. It was like she was preoccupied with other, more pressing matters.

There wasn't a way for me to get better; not without the medication. I could try to act normal, try to pass off that absolutely nothing was wrong, but it wouldn't work for long. Someone would notice eventually, or they would see me as I was then: in a corner, like a caged beast.

Don't breathe, don't breathe, don't breathe. You don't deserve to breathe.

Find an escape. Kill them all.

I was sitting with my knees up to my chest, arms tucked over my head like they were shield set out to protect me. The voice was still screeching, a babble of unintelligible words and noises and commands. They would make sense too soon, I knew; they would jump back into clarity, and then I would have to fight with them again.

I was still breathing heavily; my face felt wet. I couldn't make sense of up and down or left or right. Not that it mattered much, but it would have given me a greater semblance of normalcy.

My body didn't feel as if it were my own anymore; I was just the passenger and the driver was a psychopath with no sense of direction or self preservation.

There was a small click as the door opened, and I only faintly registered the noise in the back of my mind. At that point, there was no distinction between fantasy and reality—they were one and the same, but I knew in the back of my mind that some things didn't actually happen, no matter what I saw or heard.

"Kaori?"

Killthemkillthemkillthemkillthem escape.

My head jerked up from its position on my knees, hummingbird heart thundering in my chest.

"What?" My voice didn't sound as though it came from my mouth, or even like it came from me. It was harsh and cold, belaying none of my confusion.

Everything was in sharp focus, edges hard and colors bright.

Usagi stood in front of me—I wasn't sure how far away, but her teeth looked larger and sharper than they should have.

All the better to kill you with, it whispered.

Usagi took a step back, frowning. Even though I knew her mouth was closed, I could still see her saw blade teeth. The more I looked, the more it looked like they were coated in blood.

"You're not okay." She took a half-step forward, and I did my best to smoosh myself farther into the corner I was in.

She took another step forward.

I was laying on the couch, swathed in the blanket. My heart had slowed considerably, and my mind was blissfully quiet. I waited a few moments before I sat up, just to make sure the voices wouldn't have a resurgence before I could even manage to get off of the couch.

I barely made it to an upright position before I realized my abdomen was sore—what had I done to cause that? I couldn't recall moving from my corner as Usagi moved towards me, or even what could have possibly unfolded afterwords.

"Careful, Kaori. I had to hit you kind of hard." I turned to see Usagi lounging in the chair just a few feet away from the couch. The coffee table was no where to be seen, and my head was pounding.

"With what?" My tongue felt thick and heavy in my mouth. "A train?"

"Well, no—my knee, actually. Reflex, guess." I accepted the reflex answer—it was why Grimmjow had punched me in the face on reflex, after all (Or so he said; I'd just have to believe him for now).

"Let me take a wild guess, then—I tried to beat you up?" Kill you, maybe? Schizophrenics don't generally get violent while off of their medication, but there are a handful who do. Unfortunately, I was one of the few who did; the worst thing about my violent outbursts were that I didn't recall them once they were over with.

"More or less, I suppose you did. I mean, you were coming at me threateningly and whatnot, and I just . . .reacted, I guess." She shrugged, shoulders bobbing up and down as a concerned look crossed her face. "What's wrong with you, Kaori? You haven't quite been yourself over the past couple of days. I mean, sure, I don't know you quite as well as I could, but I can tell when you're not quite yourself—you're distant, colder, and your hands are shaking even now. What's wrong?"

"Nothing." The word slipped out of my mouth before I can think about any other answer for Usagi; "nothing" was my go-to phrase when asked if something was wrong, if there was any real reason I needed to see a psychiatrist a handful of times a week and take medication religiously.

"Really? So you have violent outbursts that you can't remember all the time, and it automatically makes it "nothing"?" She was glaring at me, eyes narrowed in a rather threatening manner. If I were a weaker person, I would have cried.

Instead, I broke. "I hear voices. In my head. Sometimes, I mean—not all of the time, at least not when I have my medication. And I ran out of that a few days ago, so they've been a constant surge of "do this"'s and "don't do that"'s, and it's so hard not to listen to them, to fight against obeying them. I haven't heard them in ages, thanks to the medication, but after not hearing them for so long it's gotten more and more difficult to ignore them and fight against them. I'm scared that one of these days, I'm going to kill someone and not remember it."

She was silent and I was scared. My tongue had loosened itself, had run rampant against my will underneath her gaze. She was cool, just about as calm as if there was a storm coming.

"Is that why Aizen wants you here?" she asked. "Because you hear voices in your head that are not your own?"

It was my turn to shrug. My heard had quickened it's pace again, and at this point I'd be lucky if it didn't fail soon. "I don't know. He won't tell me, and I don't even know where "here" really is located—Saudi Arabia or something? I dunno, and I don't rightly want to know at this point. I just want to go home and get more medication and see Mizuri and my mother and never, ever leave the apartment again because the last time I did so, I wound up here covered in blood."

Usagi nodded a bit as if she understood what I meant. But I knew she didn't; knew she couldn't. No one could ever quite understand what it felt like to be a kid-napped schizophrenic without actually be a kid-napped schizophrenic.

oops? so sorry guys. i have a lot on my plate-i entered my final trimester of high school a month and a half ago, and even though i'm only there for half a day, all of my classes are college classes. i've also been doing community service like crazy, looking for a job, and recently landed master of ceremonies for my school's may day program (i'm waltzing, too, so i've been having waltz practice). i've written a schedule i'm going to force myself to stick to, so hopefully the next one won't take so long!

also, thank you all so much for your reviews! i love you guys ;-;