I can't handle tight spaces. I can't, I mean, I know I'm supposed to be here, but at the same time, I'd do much better away from this place. It's not like I'm some danger to myself or others. I understand why they have me here, because I wasn't able to handle the PTSD from the wars. I get that, I do, but I can't handle the small rooms and the straight jacket. It's not necessary; I'm not a danger to myself or others. I just need to be out, on my own, and away from those small rooms where they strap me down in the bed and turn out the lights and then when I'm in that state, all I can do is fall into the nightmares that won't even wait for sleep to come. I just want to go home. One lousy, measly suicide attempt and they've got me in the nuthouse. They're acting as if I'm a danger to myself or others…
What's that? That weird scraping noise? It feels like it's getting closer but I might be wrong... There's a few people in here, but they belong here. I don't. I don't belong here, I need to go home, I want to go home. Why won't they let me go home!?
It's not real, it's not real, it's not real. I know that beyond that broken skull and face that resembles hamburger, is the wall. The wall is a pale green, there's a faint blue stripe on it. There are approximately three hundred and twelve tiles on the floor in that hallway. One side is the nurses station just beyond the door that needs a card to open, where the elevators to freedom are, the other side, if you walk through that ghost that isn't there, because it's not real, I don't care if I can smell it from here, if you walk past it and turn left, there's the cafeteria. Food here's not too bad, not like that guy staring at me with what used to be his eyes would know. He doesn't have a lot of his torso left and besides, I can tell he's missing most of his tongue through that big hole in his face.
He's not there… he's not. He's not there, do you understand me?! He's not there, and neither is the Oz soldier standing next to me. Not real, no way, not gonna fall for it this time. I won't scream, and I won't try to defend myself again. That's how they get you here, they insist that you're a danger to yourself and others and then they strap you in a straight jacket and toss you in a corner, or worse, they haul you to your room and strap you in bed so all you can do is scream until you can taste blood.
I found out that they have orders not to sedate me. Something about the training I went under. I wish I were Heero. Heero wouldn't end up in a place like this. Quatre comes to see me with Trowa regularly and I know Wufei keeps his eyes on me as best as he can. I miss Heero, even if he doesn't speak to me regularly, at least he finally figured out how to be kind to me. Quatre and Trowa get down in the floor with me and Quatre will wrap his arms around me and rock me like I was his kid. Trowa never speaks, just watches me with a soft look that makes me feel safe. Sometimes he doesn't even speak to Quatre, and Quatre never talks to him. I guess they play the silent routine to keep me calm or somethin', I don't know. Whatever, it works. They make me feel safe. They always come, though, when they have to strap me down, always. They even came back from a vacation once. I guess Quat told 'em to let him know if I had an episode, but honestly… I'm not a danger to myself or others or anything. I just see… scary things and I don't like that.
There, I admitted it. I see those things. That doesn't make 'em real. I know I'm finally coming along in my therapy. I'm opening up to the doc, who's a pretty standup guy. He knows what it's about, hell; he fought in the Christmas Eve war himself! He even said Deathscythe was the coolest Gundam, so there!
Heero comes at the end of the day every Monday. I stand and wait for him and when he comes, he walks me back to my room. It's the only night I get any sleep around here. How long are they going to keep me before they realize that I'm not a danger to myself or others? Heero sits on the floor by my bed and he whispers to me. Half the time I can barely understand what he says, but he's always by my side, helping me get to sleep. Sometimes he'll even sit on the bed next to me and hold my hand. I like that. It makes me feel… grounded.
One of these days, I'll apologize for k… there's that scraping sound again, like someone's pulling something big and rusty down the hall. It's not there, it's not there, it's not there… you know why I know? Because I'm getting better, that's why! I'm not crazy, you know. I'm just… in a high level state of anxiety. It's the PTSD sinking its teeth into me. I've been here what, six, seven weeks? They'll have to let me go soon. I'm not a danger to myself or others…
"How is he today?" Quatre asked as he came to the nurse's station. The matronly nurse gave him a sad smile before she typed something into the computer.
"The same, Mr. Winner. Just sits in his corner until time to eat, or use the facilities. He doesn't join them much in the evenings with television or games. It's heartbreaking on Monday's. That's the only time he shows any spark of life at all. That's the day…"
"When he expects Heero to come," Quatre finished sadly.
"I don't know why he has it in his head that he'll come on Monday, but every one, all day long, there he stands at the door, looking through the glass and just waiting. Then, at the evening shift change, he turns and heads back to his room, goes to bed and falls asleep."
"I wish he knew that I was here for him," Quatre said gently. "I'd like to go in and see him now."
"Yes sir, Mr. Winner."
When the doors buzzed, Quatre stepped through quickly, wincing internally as the loud metallic click indicated that it had latched and locked. He strode with purpose towards a room on the left hand side of the corridor. Just as the nurse had said, there was Duo, sitting in the corner with his knees to his chest. His long auburn hair spread around him as he looked towards his feet with a demented concentration. He was rocking, his arms clinging to his shins. Quatre stepped forward and then kneeled down until he could sit on the floor with his friend. And then, with the gentleness of a caring father, pulled Duo into his arms and began to rock.
"Oh Duo," he breathed.
"heero's comin' monday…" Duo murmured into Quatre's shoulder.
"I know," Quatre whispered softly as he caressed the back of his friends head. He thought back briefly and realized, it had been a Monday when Duo had killed Heero. And Trowa and Wufei. He closed his eyes as a tear trekked its way down his cheek. A Monday, fifteen years ago this coming May. The explosion that had meant to take Duo had instead taken away three people that had meant the world to Quatre. He couldn't bear to lose Duo, too.
"heero's gonna get me outta here," Duo murmured again. "wanna go home."
Quatre's brows furrowed in compassionate pain. The asylum had been 'home' for the past fifteen years, but for Duo; time was lost, along with what was left of his broken mind.