"So how are you doing, Grey?" Georgette's chipper tone made Grey growl and roll over in the bed. Some of the glass still in his skin dug a little further in, but he didn't care. Turning his back to someone was a sure fire way of indicateing he neither wanted to talk nor deal with them. Unfortunately Georgette was an idiot...and a persistant one.

The psychiatrist set down his folder on the side table and dragged the very seat the young girl had been sitting in up to the bedside. Grey saw it all through her eyes. The screeching of the chair legs on the tile floor irked him slightly. He wished he could just wave a hand and remove her from the room...

Actually, in a very violent sense, he could...but... I won't kill. Not again. Not ever.

Georgette sighed and sat down in the seat. There was a prolonged silence. She wanted him to say something, but he wasn't going to. He wasn't in any mood to react to anything. He was just sick of being picked apart. Sick of hearing what people thought of him whether he wanted to or not. Geogette started to speak again. "What are we going to do with you, Grey?"

She actually expected a response? Grey blinked under the bandages and thought about the crispness of the sheets.

"You show no response to antidepressants," Grey rolled his eyes under the bandage. Here came the list... "These sessions don't seem to help either. It's only been an hour since our last meeting. Why do you do this, Grey? Your parents have told me where you came from. Is it something from your old family?"

Where they think I've come from...

"Damn you!" For once, she actually cursed. Grey blinked in surprise under the bandage. He must really be aggrivating her now. "Speak to me!"

In a moment, he saw it all. Her failed patients. She was using him as a chance to redeem herself for all her past failures. The only reason she wanted him alive was to feel better about herself. Typical. Grey stretched his fingertips under the hospital sheets and concentrated on the warmth of sunlight on his skin. He knew the room must be glowing a faint rosey pink from the heat...

"Stop trying to help me," He growled, shutting his eyes tight. "No one can help me."

"Is that what you think? Is that-"

He wasn't listening anymore. Under the covers, fingernail over fingernail, he'd undone the stitches in his left wrist and let the blood pool. The blood leaked under the sheets, so crisp with starch it didn't even stain through but more pooled. The sun warming on his cold fingertips, the blood chilling as it escaped his body, it trickled over the side of the bed and dripped onto the tile floor. The sound of it lulled Grey into his state of unconciousness...the closest thing he had to a dreamless sleep.

spak, spak, spak...

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Perulei:
We have concluded after a psychological investigation that Grey is no longer well enough to stay with you.

He will be transfered to the psychological ward of the hospital, where he will be kept under surveilance and tended to by our nurses. His counciler, Georgette Williams, will continue to visit each thursday and you may visit between four and eight PM on weekdays.

We extend our deepest feelings to you in this time of crisis.

Sincerely
-Parisian Medical Center

Grey did not like the strange room he was being kept in. Maybe to the hospital staff it looked inviting, but to him, it was simply cold. Cold, and new. New meant difficult to navigate. Why hadn't he thought of this happening sooner? Damn...Forget things constantly and injure yourself on a regular basis and eventually they're bound to lock you away. Grey scowled as he walked the edges of the room again, fingertips on the wall. He needed to learn its shape, the locations of things on his way to the bathroom or the door. The bandages were still wrapped around him, but only his forehead now. A blood streaked bandana through which his oddly coloured hair poked and brushed in his eyes. It didn't matter how long his hair got, in his eyes or not. He couldn't feel the irritation if it brushed the eyes themselves, and with his vision, he saw the heat imprints through the strands. Shaking his head quietly, he took an automatic step over the protruding leg of a table. Silently, he congratulated himself. He was begining to remember the shape of the room. He wouldn't need to ask for someone there to navigate.

It was almost a week since he had been brought here, but for the first few days he'd been under constant supervision. It wasn't until his wrists had healed and closed themselves up that they'd let him go. Even still, they'd kept his nails trimmed short. All sharp objects were removed from the room or bolted down at such an angle he wouldn't be able to put any major vein under. No high ledges, nothing to hang a coiled blanket from. No exposed heating, nothing he could possiably soffocate himself with. The sheets were too thin and porous, there was no pillow. The room was suicide proof. Grey had the odd sensation he'd heard of places like this before...in a book someplace maybe. One of the banned ones that the people in his class who were actually older than him talked about. Very old, about the human race after its collapse...The Handmaid's Tale? Is that it?

A book about mind and mass control. Grey growled to himself and retraced the wall back to the bed where he sat, curling his knees up to his chest and thinking. They wanted everyone to ignorantly continue with life, regardless of what they saw, heard or felt. The Voices in the psyche ward were the worst of all. Confused, shouting, incoherant, screaming...The images they sent made no sense and confused Grey. His nightmares were worse than they'd ever been, and he woke up leaning against the wall, clawing against the slick painted surface. Sessions with Georgette now were reduced to her observing his behavior. He no longer spoke to anyone. He was tired of speaking.

Head in his hands, he was barely paying attention when the door opened. It was the mother and the daughter. He hardly blamed the father for staying home. He was damn sick of dealing with Grey's abnormalities. He blinked, regarding them. There was a strange smell in the air...something that was nearly familiar to him, nearly comforting. He keened slightly in his throat at the sight of them, the mother shutting the door behind them as they entered.

In a flurry of motion and general annoyance, they began to speak to him, fuss over him. For the most part he ignored them, more curious about the origin of the strange smell. It seemed to be coming from them in general, but more so from a small box under the girl's arm. When they finally stepped back, he motioned for it. The mother smiled and motioned for the girl to hand him the box. The sides of it were course and he saw from their preception it was cardboard...He also knew what was inside already, but still wanted to see for himself.

"We found her at the vet's office, thought you might like someone to keep you company. We talked it over with the doctors. They think it might help..." The mother smiled faintly, weakly. They were grasping at straws. "They said animals sometimes help bring people out of their shells."

Grey reached into the box and ran the tip of a slightly glowing finger over the fur of the kitten. The tiny animal was only light rose...very cold. Maybe sick. Her fur was soft and downy under his hand, barely something he could sense. Spreading out his hand, Grey pressed down a little on the kitten's back. It flattened out its paws and squeaked, Grey released the pressure in response. The cat intruiged him.

"Her name is Marie," the daughter told him cheerfully.

Marie...Grey scooped the kitten up in one hand and moved her to his lap, trying to place the scent. Why was it familiar? Why did he like it? Looking up at the mother and daughter, he spoke for the first time since he'd broken the car window. "Can I be alone with her?"

The mother nodded quickly, he could see beads of warmth on her face. Crying? Just because he'd spoken? Humans were so strange... "Yes, yes...Anything you want. Oh my Dear, anything."

With a shuffleing of feet, they left. Grey wasn't watching, he was looking down at the little kitten. Moving her box to the floor, he placed her on the bed and lay on his stomach, watching her. "Marie....Marie the cat. What's inside you, Marie? Let's find out..." Speaking in barely a whisper, Grey began to explore her thoughts. He needed to know what was so familiar about her.

It was a desperate neccsity now.