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How I got to be in this place is a pretty long story. But we all like long stories, right? Sometimes Humans joke around about us, say that even though we talk like Japanese we act like Russians. We talk with a pretty distinct accent, Hekshanians, but our long stories aren't just for the sake of words. We gotta tell what we see, what we feel and what we find. It's the way we are. And, like it or not, that's the way this is gonna be.
I guess now that I look back on it I could have been more careful with everything I did. But sometimes in life you get to that point where you just stop pretending to care and give up. The cops can bring you home a few times and when you come too, even though you know you should feel bad, the only thing you're regretting is your hangover. Like you've been bad, but not evil. And if you're not evil, why should you be sorry? Let me rephrase that. If the only person you're hurting is yourself, why should you give up on hurting?
It must have been the third time that I got sent in for an evaluation. I think the social worker was secretly happy as shit, because it meant that taxes would pay for me and not her. I didn't work, work was for people who intended on living past their 20th birthday. Didn't mean, though, that I didn't have money. And people say theft is a bad thing, really...
Now granted, happy as she might have been when the paperwork came in, she sure wasn't happy when she found me. Put yourself in her shoes for a minute. You're coming in from a hard day of working for a kid that isn't yours, and you head upstairs to check on him and see if he's doing anything productive only to find him sitting on the bed lotus position with bloody gashes all over his arms. And they ain't the kind you can explain away easily either, because they're deliberate. Words and shapes, like "Love" and "Apathy" and a serpent coiling around one arm. And the first thing into your head is I just washed that bedspread too. Sure, it wouldn't be so bad the first time. A bit of a shock, but kids are prone to phases and idiocy, right? But when it happens again, and despite all promises and attempts to take away the knives it happens AGAIN and this time with something as simple as a thumbtack...well...what're you gonna do?
There's a lot more cutters than it seems like. I just got unlucky. And I was a little overly cheerful about the whole thing too. I didn't really have much of an option when it came down to it, because once someone's forced to look, they notice other things. That I wasn't eating, but I was drinking. That no matter what hour of the night you got up, I was up too. That I was alternetly going out more and more or hiding reclusively in my room without coming out. Basicly just the signs of a very upset individual. Course, I'm myself, and I said I was fine. But when you've already had half a bottle of vodka, no matter what you say, you eventually wind up being thrown in that car and driven somewhere. And know something else? That out of it, you don't even mind.
I figure my first impression on the shrink must have been a fun one. Slumping down enough in my chair to really be lying in it, pushing my fingertips together and following them one after the other with my eyes, not listening to them talk at all. I'm not really sure what went on, or what I said, cause it was a while ago. Plus I don't really care. What it came down to was I was diagnosed with some sort of anxiety disorder and some big fancy clinical name for being unable to deal with major changes in my life.
And who doesn't have those things?
Guess it was enough, though, because in a few weeks I found myself picking up a few things from my room, rubbing a hangover out of my forehead, and moving into a little building in Ki Daminki, ready to be treated for my "disorders."
I gotta say, the entire thing was pretty damn trippy. And that was the first thing I said when I walked into that place.
Name: Kyotoshi Lypha
Sex: M
Hair: Bl
Eyes: Bl
Age: 17
Diagnosis: Anxiety Disorder
Refered By: Gretchin Marx
Notes: Subject is to be kept under careful observation. History of self destructive behavior including self inflicted damage with a carpentry razor blade. Excessive use of alcohol noted. Patient suffers from insomnia and possiable anorexia. Family shot in masscre 48-49-09. Sister reported missing 23-51-09.
That was peice of paper that was clipped to the end of a bed as Kyotoshi entered the room, duffle bag under one arm and a pillowcase full of random items in his free hand. He didn't pay much attention to it, just looked around himself curiously. The room was mostly stark, patients were expected to bring their own supplies. Besides, this wasn't meant to be a long term visit. Two weeks, at the most. A ciggerette out lazily, drooping from Kyotoshi's lips, the ashes on the end slowly building up. Swishing his tail, hooded eyes finishing their sweep of the room, Kyotoshi threw the duffel onto the bed where it bounced a few inches up and to the side, the springs creaking inside the matress. With his now free hand, the yellow furred alien removed the cigerette and tapped it lightly, the ashes scattering to the floor in a grey snow. He blew smoke lazily between his lips, looking up and above cautiously. A smoke detector caught his eye and he hurried to the window. Nice introduction that would be, setting off the fire system.
Claws gripped onto wood and the felinoid tried to ease the window open, but it refused to move. Craika, he muttered mentally, striding quickly across the room to open the door and fan his arms at the smoke, trying to guide it out. A frustrated glance at the window forced him to take another drag from the cigerette and blow the smoke outside his room, dropping it on the ground and extinguishing it with his foot before closing the door behind him. No locks on the window, but it wouldn't open. The hell was that all about? Were people here so crazy they'd try something funny with a window that wasn't even on the second floor? And temporaries?
Dropping the pillowcase onto the bed next to the dufflebag, Kyotoshi sat down beside his posessions. Okay, so the room was dull, cold, and essentially a prision. That was okay, he could cope. Tossing the folds of the pillowcase to the sides, he reached into its soft, well-worn depths and pulled out a little silver flask. Kammi had given it to him after she found it in a shop down in North Tek, probobly a month or two after his sister was gone. Mechanically, he reviewed the term in his head. His sister. No name attached. Not left, not dead...just gone. So he was allowed to do what he liked. And what he liked was the silver flask. Unscrewing the cap, Kyotoshi took a quick shot of the contents, pushing aside the oncoming need to wince as the cheap brandy bit his tongue and heated his throat and stomach as it coiled downward. It tasted like earwax, and he squinted his eyes against it. The aftertaste, though, wasn't so bad. Looking around again, he took another shot before capping the flask and pocketing it. He'd have to go out on a grocery run or something later...That much might last him two days...if he was strict with himself. Real strict.
Feeling the comfortable numbness creeping outwards and over him from his stomach, Kyotoshi ran a paw through his unkempt blonde hair. It was starting to get spikey, losing it's "momma's boy" look it had always had when she was still around. The silver flask hung from his other hand and Kyotoshi looked down at it a moment, thinking. No way they'd let him keep it here. He'd have to be smart. Yeah. For now, he'd just keep it on his person. Dropping it soundlessly into the large pockets of his jeans, Kyotoshi turned his attention to the remainder of the bag's contents.
Most of it was nothing. A few books, another flask of brandy, a pack of smokes and one of his pocket knives. A blanket from home, the beat up blue rug from the hall. He took the rug everywhere, he couldn't explain why beyond the fact that it made him feel at home. A sketchbook and a book of blank lined paper were also in the bag, accompanied by a pencil and a black felt-tipped pen. It was one way to keep his sanity, Kyotoshi figured. Distract himself.
But what would they take, and what wouldn't they? That should be a no brainer. Testing the matress, Kyotoshi found it was bolted to the wire bedframe. Muttering under his breath he flicked the knife open with an expert flash of his wrist and opened the bed along its seam. He could hide things inside, it wouldn't be so rough. In went the cigerettes, the extra brandy and the knife. As an afterthought, Kyotoshi placed the book of lined paper inside the matress too, and laid beside it "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland." The book was like a religious testiment to him. He never went anyplace without it.
Content that he'd hidden his illicet posessions well enough, Kyotoshi flopped onto the bed, folding his arms behind his head and staring upwards, awaiting what would come. The ceiling was a myrid of cracks and imperfections and he let his mind wander across them- all the easier with the brandy sleeping lazily in his veins. What would come, what would come...
