Pshyco-Therapy: Chapter 1- Yume

[Angel]

((Authors note: characters and places in this story have no relation to people or places in reality or RP. Comments and criticisms are welcome, i am also looking for an artist to do a front cover as this will be printed sometime in the future. Read, enjoy, the next section will be up in a week or so. ^_^ ))


Zed looks up from his drink as the next song begins to pound, his song. With a wry grin he pulls his light-sticks out of the back of his trousers and joins the melee on the dance floor.

The air is hot and heavy with the smell of sweat with a sharp overtone of vodka and alcohol. All around the walls are raised balconies, crowded at this time of night, and tables. To Zeds left the bar glows green and blue under the UV lights. The barmaids uniforms, hung about with light-sticks like those in his hands, pick them out from the crowd. Banks of lights above the DJ flood the dance floor with coloured flashes.

The dancers add their own light, glowing bracelets, necklaces and light-sticks give each person their own glowing aura. The banks of UV lights make teeth and eyes glow eerily with an exotic blue light. Zed is no exception, his tight black trousers have light-sticks hanging down the sides and his knee high boots are laced with glowing ribbons. A belt rests low on his hips, light flashing of its square silver studs, and a cropped, sleeveless t-shirt, lights up with the words “god loves every one, but I’m his favourite”.

He laughs openly with a sparkle in his blue eyes. The music cuts off abruptly and the DJ pulls his microphone towards him to announce the clubs favourite dancer, the Ragged Angel. A roar fills the hall at the name, shaking the roof, and the dance floor clears, people cram into the balconies and the queues at the bar turn as one. The music starts again, quietly, and the crown hushes into expectant silence.

Zed stands, head down and eyes closed, until the whole room throbs with the rising beat. Only then does the dance begin. His eyes snap open, burning with a cold fire, and his feet move with the music. Arms, hips, and shoulders follow, fluid and sure movements bring his feet down to crash with the drums, his whirling light-sticks spinning in almost impossible lashings and crossings. Hundreds of roaring voices become one with the music, the stamping feet his beat. Fire rages in his chest, faster, faster!

The floor shakes and the roof rattles, banks of lights flash their colours. In the centre of it all, Zed spins and pounds, fuelled by the voices, the fire. His heart races and everything seems to slow but he is just moving faster; right now, he can do anything, this is his moment.

The tempo rises in a final crescendo and he launches himself into the air. He kicks out and his legs pin-wheel over his head. In that instant of hangtime he whips the light-sticks out on their long ribbons and spins them beneath his head. He lands with a soft thud on the final beat, in time till the end, and the crowd screams. The noise before pales in comparison, a candle beside the glories of a sunset.

Zed stares up at them with those fierce blue eyes and a smile guaranteed to make hearts leap, men and women both. He ignores the heat and sweat on his face, his cheeks are flushed from the effort but his eyes seek one man in particular and find him without fail. Blue eyes meet golden brown and sparks fly. The fire fades from his eyes and his smile slips to almost childish glee, those brown eyes are smiling at him. The world around him shifts and the next song slides up, seeming sedate and leisurely in comparison to the storm that raged before. The DJ shakes his head with a rueful laugh as the crowd pours in, voices raised in conversation and congratulations. Zed grins back at them, not lighting fires with a glance any more, and wonders at his luck at such a life.

He throws himself back into his chair, still panting, and his partner, an eighteen year old named Luke, reaches over to ruffle his hair. Zed smacks his hand away with a reproachful glare but he breaks out in a grin nonetheless. Luke bursts out laughing and raises his voice above the noise of the crowd.

“I like it! The new routine I mean, but the outfit’s good too!” he eyes the dancer appreciatively and gets a soft slap for his trouble, Zed blushes furiously as he answers.

“Well, at least you liked it, it was bloody hard work!” Zeds muscles feel like water, he doesn’t think he could stand up right then, even if he wanted to. Thinking back, he can’t remember quite what it was he did -must be the rush, he tells himself- and what he can recall is fuzzy, as if seen from a distance. “You’re not getting a private show of that one, not even if you BEG!” He leans back and rests his head against the wall, he feels like he has been through a mangle, its never been like this before…

“I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t take his eyes off you, don't go wandering tonight.” He leans over the table with a concerned look, “there’s someone watching you, he’s alone and he hasn’t taken his eyes from you since you came out of the changing rooms.” Luke motions to the far wall where a slim man with bright orange hair, akin to Zeds, is leaning.

“Are you sure? You aren’t getting paranoid and possessive in your old age?” for all his light tone Zed is worried and not a little scared, this is not the first time, or even the second, that someone has followed him home. He shoots a surreptitious glance at the man and swallows a lump in his throat when he meets his eye.

The predatory smile that creases his face makes Zed whimper and the man’s whole stance speaks of vulpine grace and danger. He balances on the balls of his feet and gives the appearance of waiting to dart any which-way. Fingers like talons twitch towards his coat, something hidden under there… but what? Worst of all is his eyes, hungry and dead. They are a flat black and seem to gather light and his gaze is as keen as a honed knife. A thickening of the crowd hides him for the barest moment and he is gone like something half seen that makes you doubt your own eyes. Zed does not doubt. That stare has put the fear of the Light into him and her searches franticly for the man.

“Zed? Zed, look at me!” Luke shakes his shoulder gently. “Christ, I should have just got you out, nothing more said… look at you, you’re shivering!” He looks down at his hands, still holding his light-sticks, to find them quivering. He swallows hard, mouth suddenly dry,

“C-can we go back?” he is too afraid to be shamed by how childish his voice sounds.

“Not a problem, I’ll call a taxi and we can be home and dry in no time.” Luke lifts Zeds chin and brushes his hair away from his face. “Kay?”

Zed nods quickly, his eyes darting through the crowd, searching. His mind races, asking questions that he can’t answer; why? What does he want? Where... where have I seen him before? He wants nothing more than to run from those eyes, eyes like pools of black ink, eyes like a hawks’ swooping on a mouse.
YOU ARE MINE! I WONT LET HIM HAVE YOU! NOW WAKE UP!

The words crash into his head like thunder and his vision blackens. Numbness creeps up him limbs. Looking down he can see blood on his hands, on his bare stomach. Warm wet on his face too. He wants to scream but something has a grip on his throat. He scrambles frantically away from a silhouette of a slim man. He can’t escape! Can never escape!
Help me Luke! HELP! He comes up against bars against his back, metallic and icy cold. He can’t speak, can’t see. A wave of black crashes down on him, crushing and suffocating.
Click.

[Angel]

Click.
He sits up with a gasp, soaked in an icy sweat, and shakes uncontrollably. Firm grips on his shoulders, firm but not threatening, keeps him from running in panic. After a moment he stares around him in bewilderment.
Luke? No… not Luke, never Luke again. “James?” the grip lessens and the owner of those hands nods, sitting on the side of the bed.
“The dream again?” James is a young Latino with smooth olive skin and golden brown eyes and, at that moment, garish pink pyjamas. “It must have been bad, you made a mess.”
Zed untangles his hands from his bed-sheets and stares at them blankly. Dark stains on the cover mark where his hands had been and fresh blood adds to them, dripping from his fingers. He has clenched his fists so hard that his nails have torn open his palms. He looks at James in complete confusion and unconsciously raises his hand to his mouth. His roommate grabs his wrists with a hiss and pushes them down firmly. The bafflement on Zeds face begins to fade and is replaced by anxiety and pain, and that is dim and old.
“Don't you dare! I’ll call the Matron if you do,” the personal joke makes Zed grin, if weakly, and a quick reply comes almost automatically.
“If you do, I’ll give her your hair straighteners!” James makes an amused grunt but his face is more relived than amused. He walks to the bathroom and rummages in a cupboard for the first aid kit. Zed goes to rub sleep from his eyes then drops his hands with a sigh, Six months… I thought it was over, dammit! I want to forget but if I do who will remember? He shakes his head to banish the thoughts as James comes back with a towel and some bandages.
“Sit!” he orders curtly and points to the one chair in the room and Zed clambers out of his bed to comply. James’ touch is familiar and comforting as he cleans the wounds, this had been a daily ritual once, when the dreams had come every night. Cool numbness spreads through his hands as the bindings pull tight. With mumbled thanks Zed flexes his fingers experimentally.
“Pull yourself together or we’ll be late, well, more late.” James begins tugging his clothes on, jeans then a green t-shirt with the number ‘69’ on the back. Zed glances at the clock and winces, they are late, very late. They’ll be luck to get anything worth eating at this rate. He looks quickly around the small room with its narrow institute beds and bile green bed sheets, at the peeling paint on the doors. A thin spear of milky dawn light dazzles him as he opens the curtains, yet another shade of bile, and he pulls open drawers to look for his shirt. He hurries to pull it over his long hair and it snags on his leather choker for his trouble. It was a gift, seems like an age ago… It is a slim band of black leather with a tiny silver cross hanging from the front and a delicate pattern of swirls and arcs in silver wire all the way around.
His room-mate unhooks his shirt for him and hands him his armsocks, simple black and red gloves up to his elbow with the fingers cut off, to hide those bandages. Once again Zed mourns the fact that none of the rooms have locks on in this damnable place as James clicks the door shut behind them.
He avoids looking at James’ face as they walk down the corridor, he’s going to leave soon, leave Zed alone to the mercy of boys like Jake and Mat. That makes him feel guilty, wishing that he could stay, because and asylum in nowhere you should wish on anyone but he can’t help it. Can’t help wishing that they could stay together.
They pad side by side down the corridors, Zeds bare feet make small ‘pat’ sounds and James’ feet, even in shoes, make none at all. They leave each other to their thoughts.
If I could go with him…no. I can’t. too much to risk. But he likes looking after me. No! He has his own life, a NORMAL life, and he deserves it more than I nee-
Do we really care, honestly now? Does he care that much?
He stops dead, the voice crashes in his head and repeats over and over and over again. He clamps his hands over his ears but it doesn’t help. He refuses to listen, tries to shut it out, denies it. As suddenly as it came it cuts off, leaving only a dull ache and a feeling of hollow emptiness behind. He blinks at the hands holding him up and wonders why and when they got there.
“Christ Zed, you scare the crap outta me sometimes!” the words are angry but his tone is all concern. “You ok? Maybe you should go to Matron Lan after all…”
“Ahh! No! She’d have me in Solitary, pumped full of God knows what in no-time…” he grimaces and sighs unsteadily. “it was Him, he was louder this time. You know those drugs don't do anything except make him angry anyway. That and the dream…”
James finishes for him “you’re scared, aren’t you? It’s because of the hearing, isn’t it!”
“No!” he denies it vehemently, turning away, then goes on with a lowered voice, “you have every right to get out of this God-forsaken place.”
The date is January the fifth, the day when the Lords and Ladies decide whether James is fit enough to be released. Zed hates that nickname - Lords and Ladies – it reminds him of his helplessness in this place. In truth they are the administration for the Westfield Asylum for the Mentally Unstable. Known as “our corner of hell.” to most. He hates that nickname too, even here is better than dead.
Zed cant see his face but he knows the uncertainty that paints it. If he could he’d take Zed out of here and not just for the redheads’ sake. They are each others only family now and James needs that even more than Zed does.
“I… I cant deny it can I? I’d just be lying, fine. I want out, this place is sending me more mad than when I first came here, but. But! I want your friendship just as much.”
Zeds face flairs, in both anger and embarrassment. “you wouldn’t… Not for me don't you DARE!” he whips round to face James, and has to look up at the taller boy “you’re my friend and that means we look out for each other, so I will not let you do that! If you stay here and Matt or, heaven forbid, JAKE gets his hands on you it will me my fault, I’ll not let you do this to yourself! Not for me, for your honor or any other fool reason!” He drives his point home with sharp jabs to James’ chest, pushing him all the way back to the corridor wall. He pants slightly, he didn’t take a breath throughout his whole tirade, and steps back in confusion. James is smiling warmly and those gold-brown eyes shine with suppressed laughter.
“You won’t let me? You won’t let me? Don't make me laugh! Right now you can do bugger all to change it one way or another!” He lifts Zeds chin and frowns slightly. Zed begins to blush, he’s never been able to brow beat James, and he opens his mouth to say something but then closes it again when he realizes there is nothing to say. James seems to change his mind about something and his hand slides down to Zeds arm and he begins to lead him towards the canteen. He lets himself be lead and keeps a thoughtful silence all the way to the big glass doors to the canteen; even then James breaks if first.
“Look… I promise not to deliberately mess up, kay?” Zed looks up at him with his bright blue eyes wide in surprise.
“how ‘bout non-deliberately?” James doesn’t look at him but stares through the glass, no doubt already looking for a table. After a moment he nods with and amused smile.
“Sure, why not, I promise that too. Ah, there, by the window.” He pushes open the door and walks forwards a few steps, scanning the crowd, before motioning Zed to follow.

[Angel]

A scant five minutes later they are seated with a stack of toast between them and a jug of juice.
“who’s judging you?” mumbles Zed around a mouthful of toast, managing to spray crumbs everywhere. James throws a napkin at him before answering.
“Last time I checked it was the Witch of the Waste,” A certain Mrs. Burgess, well deserving of her title, “and the Iron Man.” Mr. Hodgings. A grey haired bull of a man with horn rimed spectacles and a namesake glair. Zed winces,
“Tough crowd…” Zed has had a fair few run-ins with one or the other at various times and none ending well for him, even the Matt incident, no –especially- the Matt incident.
Their conversation drifts from one subject to another, did you hear that such-and-such got caught sneaking honey-cakes to their girlfriends, nothing important, but comforting nonetheless. James keeps checking the clock and fiddles with the hem of his shirt, a nervous habit, but as the time wears on he stops and rests his hands on the table, relaxing somewhat. When the time finally comes he looks calm and confidant, he even manages to flirt with the nurse that comes to collect him. That disappoints Zed a little, but he doesn’t know why and doesn’t spare the time to find out. He wished his room-mate good luck and manages an encouraging grin but his chest is tight.
He finishes his breakfast in silence then makes his way towards his therapy session, stealing himself for an ordeal. He is so engrossed in his dread that he doesn’t hear the rough laughter and growling voices coming down the corridor towards him.
They move in a pack, centering on a brute named Mattrim. It is led by a spindly man with ice-fever eyes, eyes which have latched onto Zed.
A sharp gesture from the heavier man shuts off the fawning babble and he comes on alone to where the tall man waits. A few words and the pack circles around Zed, standing stock still and wide-eyed, trapped. His heart pounds against his ribs and he backs to the wall.
“G-good morning Matt, Jake.” He bows in shaky respect. Matt laughs and steps closer, uncomfortably close.
“Well, well… If it isn’t the little queer! How’s your bed-mate? I heard he’s going to fail his hearing, stay in here forever. Heard from a nurse, I did. Are you going to cry your little white heart out? Boo frikin hoo!” a sneer creases his piggy eyes and Jakes hands flex like talons. Against his better judgment, and an animal voice in his skull, he opens his mouth.
“Shut up, you LIAR! He’ll get out and, and he’ll be fr- ahh!” Crash. Jakes back-handed slap sends him sprawling on the hard floor.
“Did I say you could speak, you red-headed little Garbledygook?!” Jakes voice is dry as the grave and just as cold.
Zed lies on the floor, blinking to clear the silver spots from in front of his eyes. He can taste iron from a split lip and his head swims.
Why can’t you keep our mouth SHUT? They’d kill us without thinking, and find it easier too. Let me out, let me deal with them!
Zed shouts refusals that echo wetly in the space between his eyes. He fights the other him and forces him down but it takes most of his strength. The man fades, grumbling.
Well, fine! BE stubborn, you see where it gets you.
To his assailants the effort of fighting him down looks life abject terror. Matt crouches down next to him and drags him to eye level by his long amber hair.
“You want I should cut your hair for you? Or maybe I should settle for your face?” Silver flashes in his hand and a razor blade flashes across his fingers.
Zed whimpers and shuffles backwards but is dragged back by his scalp. His eyes are wide with fear and his chest is tight with his heart making a pounding rhythm in his ears.
Thinking his victim suitably quelled he touches the clod blade above his right eye. The whites show all round his eyes and he begins to shake. The brawler presses harder, notching it up agonizingly slowly, and a hot trickle clouds his vision red. An alarm shout from a side corridor makes Jake and Matt’s faces twist in anger.
Matt jerks his wrist almost desultorily and paints a line in fire from Zeds temple to his cheek. With a coarse, low curse Jake snakes a hand out to stifle the younger boys scream. His face burns with the pressure and, in an odd moment of clarity, he feels his shirt beginning to stick to his shoulder with slimy warmth.
“Matt! Go, you damned fool; I’ll clean up your mess…” Zed doesn’t notice the rest of the pack leave; his whole attention is on the monster holding him. The cold indifference in his face makes it all the worse, there is no chance of pity or mercy, not even a spark of human compassion. Empty, the corridor is strangely empty now, cold and bleak. It makes Zeds muffles groans echo eerily. Above Jakes hand his eyes dart wildly, as wide as they can go, and look for something, anything to help him out of this torturous grip.
Tap, tap. Tap, tap. Foot steps? Who? Zed tries to cry out but Jake shifts his grip to his throat and slams him against the wall. Silver lights flash in front of his eyes and he scrabbles at Jakes arm desperately.
“I could kill you. I could hide you in the basement for Matt to play with when ever he wants. I can make you disappear. But, that would mean all sorts of hassle for me so here’s the deal,” He leans forwards and whispers ominously in Zeds ear. He stops resisting and hangs limply with closed eyes.
The tapping of footsteps comes closer and Jake drops him to the floor. Zed knows that he’ll obey those words, no matter how much he will try to disobey, he won’t be able to.

[Angel]

((I'm going to shorten the length of my posts since I have less time (exams) but to make up for it, I'll post more often. ))

With a jarring thud his feet hit the ground. Jake is already loping off silently and Zed collapses slowly to sitting. He cradles his burning face and blood begins to seep between his fingers. The front of his shirt is already sticking wetly to his chest and his sleeves soak up more, almost hungrily. The sensations bring up memories, seeming fresh now, of other blood and other pains.

The cause of the suddenly empty corridor rounds the corner in a white uniform. Marcus! Thank the god or heavens, whatever is watching that its him! Of all the orderlies the one, one! who will stay quiet and not make trouble.

"Zed... you fool." The orderly pulls his hands away from his face and gently brushes Zeds long hair from his face. He blinks at the unexpected comment, rather unlike the retiring man, but half way it turns into a wince and he looks down. "hmur... you're going to need stitches in that. Up you come, kid."

Usually Marcus' attitude is of few words and fewer opinions but Zeds surprise fades quickly into anxiety. He has to tell someone, but can he? Fear still makes a heavy iron ball in his stomach.

The problem is solved by Marcus himself, who pulls him up and presses a waded up piece of cloth over Zeds face. He jerks his head back slightly, automatically, but the orderly has a hand behind his neck and keeps him steady. Zeds thoughts are muzzed by pain and fear but not so much that he doesn't realise it.

"I know you didn't do this to yourself." He begins to open his mouth but is over ridden. "Even you can't do all this to your self." He gestures to the angry red bruises coming on his throat and one on his wrist too. He wonders how he got that.

The orderly sighs and begins to lead the boy down the corridor. Half blind and having trouble picking his feet up, he follows placidly. After a short silence he finds his tongue again.

"You can't tell anyone, he said he'd kill us! Please, we don't like it but it's the best way!" the faint look of grim satisfaction makes Zeds mouth snap shut again.

"Oh so you CAN keep our mouth shut! fat lot of good it does now though."

Zed grimaces at Ragged but it is half hearted and he knows the voice is right.

"so I was right," the man's voice makes his thoughts echo and distort.