Lunatics and Slaves [Private]

[Prender]

Why are things always so quiet here?


There was nothing Asher hated more than silence. To him, it always seemed to follow tragedy, which he'd already experienced far too much of. Beyond that, it was only in silence that the hallucinations came. He'd been having them more and more often, string after string of his sanity snapping with the strain of having so many conflicting realities in his mind. It was enough to drive anyone mad, he was sure, which was why Asher was so conflicted over whether he wanted his loved ones to remember or not. It would be easier for him, of course, to have someone to relate to, someone he could talk to and suffer with. But he didn't want any of them to suffer like this - he could handle the grotesque visions, but he couldn't imagine that Joanna, or any of his family, would be able to quite as well as he did.


Hence why the boy was barely startled when the wall he was staring at began to bleed. Scarlet oozed from the seams between the squares of padding, leaking down onto the floor and turning the white walls red as the fabric it was composed of became saturated with blood. This was one of the most common hallucinations. The unpleasant smell attacked his senses and he could almost feel the metallic tang of it on his tongue. It'd been a while since he had tasted it. If he remembered, the last time he'd been so unfortunate as to have blood in his mouth was a lifetime ago, when an age old enemy had knocked out some of his teeth. The boy smacked his lips together and scrunched up his nose at the unpleasant memory, and it mercifully receded into the back of his mind, allowing Asher to focus on his surroundings once more. He didn't even jump as three drops, heavier than real blood ever was, landed on the back of his hand.


Asher stared at the three crimson dots, his brow furrowed as he willed them to vanish. They refused. The blood began to trickle, down the back of his hand, joining in thin streams of red. It almost looked like a spider web. The blood made rings around the base of his fingers. Strange to think that those rings would have been of great value, had they been made of ruby instead of blood. Asher took a deep breath. It wasn't really there. It was all in his head. At least he was still aware of that - some of the others in this horrible place weren't quite as lucky. Marissa, the wisp of a girl who resided in one of the cells on the floor above him, had no idea what was real and what wasn't. She was delusional, but Asher wasn't like that. He wasn't.


The things he remembered were the truth, no matter what other people said. Everyone had the capacity to remember, Asher was sure, but he was the only one that seemed to be able to do it. Why was that? If others were able to, technically speaking, why couldn't they? Why did he have to suffer in this alone, have to be the odd one out, the strange one, the loon? Admittedly, he'd never remembered this many lives before. Normally, it was just one or two. But now? There had to be at least ten. A small number, yes, but grand in the context of what it was counting. The lives were real, even if others didn't believe it.


That was not to say, however, that he was completely sane. Asher knew he wasn't, and he'd come to terms with it. How would anyone be expected to be sane when they remembered as much as he did, when they remembered living and dying and watching those they loved die time and time again? There were too many things in his head, and they were never quiet. There was always some memory pushing itself to the front of his mind, some detail about someone he once knew popping up. There was always a steady hum. His mind was never still, never silent. Sometimes he wished it would be. What a contradiction that was, hm? To hate silence but long for it at the same time. A wry smile pulled at Asher's lips. He really was a boy of paradoxes. That was what his mother used to say, fondly patting his cheek as she passed. How he missed her.


Footsteps began to thud down the hallway and Asher jolted. When he blinked, the blood was gone. The walls were white again. Pristine. Perfect. Maddening. Was it odd that he almost preferred it when the padding became thick with blood? At least then there was some color. Turning away, Asher crept over to the door, listening to the muffled conversation that took place outside before jumping up to the window, gripping the bars with his fingers and hooking his toes over the edge of the window, dangling suspended as he peered out, inspecting the man that stood outside. Recognition dawned on him and his face lit up.


"I knew you'd come."

 

[Majestic Rose]

"And remember that!" Doctor Helsin finished her speech, some speech about ethics, and how they were there for the "common good", but Arthur learned to tone those rants out. As all of his peers had come to do. "Today is your first .


clinicals of the mentally deprived; the more severe cases you don't see at county, or local hospitals." Now that caught his attention. Arthur always liked extremes, he wanted thrill, and this was certainly being presented as very thrilling. The chatter continued, more requirements, and safety regulations. For about ten more minutes she went on about codes, and how to signal for assistance without alarming patients themselves, but they had studied this for a year or so. Arthur felt that this was getting a bit redundant. But before he knew it the doctor had left, and the few students began to go their separate ways. Arthur had managed to convince a mid-aged male nurse to take him with.


"Alright, kid. Just remembered to keep back from the patient, and observe. Last time one of you students nearly made a patient code, and guess who had to chart all that?" Arthur nodded, but wasn't really paying attention. He knew he was here for observations, and nothing more. His very assignment was to judge which disorders the patient exhibited and why, followed by a treatment plan with medications. After that, they would be told their actual conditions, followed by treatments they were undergoing, it's progress, and why they were right or wrong on their judgment. It was thorough, and detailed. It had to be.


"Room C38. Be careful. This one's a biter." Arthur made the note on "Symptoms", "Now, to which deg—" but once the door was open, he could tell. "Pica..." Arthur muttered, seeing a chewed pillow on the floor, and a gnawed-looking mattress. Not strong enough to actually rip it apart.


"Mr. Anderson..." The nurse called, pouring a small amount of pills into a paper cup, keeping his eyes persistently on the patient as he was doing so. The patient was sitting on the bed, reading something. The book wasn't chewed, so maybe it would indicate that it was more of a manic symptom. Arthur made note.


"Whose your friend?" Anderson mumbled, looking up. He had a kind face, freshly shaven, and clean cut hair, almost as if he had cane out of an office building. Professional. "He's a student. Some big assignment."


"Oh, I know all about those. I used to be a teacher you know." He added before setting the book aside. It was a decently sized book.


"Oh, really? What was your subject?" Arthur inquired, a gentle smile on his lips.


Mr. Anderson looked around,


"Now, don't tell anybody this,"


Arthur and the nurse exchanged glances, but the nurse continued to pour another set of pills into the same cup. It seemed he wasn't counting them.


"But, I personally tutored John F. Kennedy." He huffed proudly, to which Arthur continued his smile.


"Now, now, I don't think that's awfully true. Considering how old you appear." The patient looked like early twenties, and couldn't have possibly been around in that time, so it was fair enough to reorient him. But at that, the nurse quickly sat the cup on the nightstand, taking quick strides back to Arthur's side.


As he was doing that, Anderson's face grew grimmer, although he made no noise. Progressively, his lips tugged downwards, like a cartoonish clown.


"Now, Mr. Anderson. He's just a boy. And between you and me, he's in the...shall we say...special tier." The nurse sympathetically patted Arthur's back, to which Arthur shot him a confused glance.


Mr. Anderson breathed relief, as if an anvil was taken off his chest. "I expected as much!" His voice was loud, and his expression was kind again. Too kind. "Why, old Ronald used to be rather slow! You know him, Reagan? I tutored him!" The nurse nodded, "Yes, yes, and he was a fine president! Thank you for your service!"


Mr. Anderson nodded, smiling all the more.


"Now, we have to get going. Be sure to take your vitamins!" And as quickly as they entered, they left. Closing the door behind them.


"Okay, kid. Your textbook bullsh*t isn't going to work in the real world." The nurse mumbled under his breath, setting the pill bottles back onto a rack, and locking a thick plastic cover over them; which was placed by each patient's doors. A convenient way to store meds.


"Huh?" Arthur looked up from his notepad in the middle of the hall, having just wrote down: "Bipolar, or some other role degenerative disorder", "What do you mean?"


"The patients like it if you play along. It keeps them happy. Remember, this isn't some clinic for the milds, these people are never getting better. So drop the saint-like dreams, and come into the real world."


And just like that, all the ethics lectures left him. These people weren't getting better. This was a state mental institution. These were the most helpless.


"Alright..." Arthur muttered, defeated.


They continued down the long white hall, conversing about the next patient.


"The guy thinks he's a psychic, or something. Almost made a CNA cry because he told her that her mother tried to get her aborted. I don't know if theres any truth to that, but the lady quit a couple days after that." Arthur furrowed his brows, trying to think of any possible illness, or disorder.


But before he could continue that thought, they had reached the door, and were greeted by him.


"I knew you'd come." The patient said, he looked sickly, and certainly in need of help. But he also seemed a lot more passive than Anderson. Perhaps he'd take this one up as his patient during this trial.


Remembering what the nurse told him, he played along.


"Why yes, I have been expecting you too." Arthur smiled, his deep brown eyes bold. The pale white lab coat with a green undershirt provided him a nice blending in with the sterile-esque feel of the hospital.


He could feel the approving glance of his guide.


"Would someone as special as you like their pills?" Arthur pushed on,


"Yes, yes, only the best of the best for the best!" The nurse chimed in, obviously benefiting from the polite tone set.

 

[Prender]

Asher raised an eyebrow at the response he got, looking half offended, half amused. He didn't like that they humored him. One would think it would make him feel more at home, or give him the illusion that there were people here that he could connect to. But it was all a lie, a ruse. They were trying to play him. If they made him feel like he had someone to relate to, maybe he'd stick to sharing his prophetic bullshit with that one person alone. How silly.


"Come now, Arthur, give me more credit than that," Asher laughed, tilting his head as he scrutinized the older male with shockingly bright amber eyes, "I'm not so dumb as to think that you remember me like I remember you; if you never did before, why would you now? I suppose there are always variables, things that shift every time a new one comes into existence, but this has a steady factor in all the others. I can't imagine it changing now. After all, the universe isn't prone to giving me mercy. But I'm fine with that. If I take all of the suffering, there's less for the universe to distribute among the innocent, and we both know I'm far from being one of that number. At least, I know. You would have, in the lives were I was bitter and violent, but you hardly cared then, so I doubt you'd care now."


At the mention of pills, Asher scrunched up his nose. He didn't like the pills, not one bit. They made his stomach churn, considering he rarely ate and was thus swallowing them on an empty stomach. He decided to elaborate on his opinion verbally before either of them had the chance to respond to his first spiel, bouncing a little bit as he hung from the bars.


"I'd really prefer not to take them, but that's not an option. You're just asking so I feel like I have a choice, but I don't, learned that the hard way," he mused aloud, readjusting his white-knuckled grip on the bars, "People get angry if I refuse them, though I don't understand why. They're supposed to stop the hallucinations, but they're not doing anyone any harm. They give the room color, and give me some entertainment. They also serve the kind of justice that I am too moral to serve." A sly grin formed on his lips at the thought.


"When Mr. Verolomen left from his weekly check-up -" At least, that was what the brute of a doctor liked to call it when he visited at night, dismissing any nurses that may be lingering and entering the cell once he knew they were alone. "- his head fell off and rolled after him when he walked away, and his big stupid beard got all dirty from the floor, and there was a nice trail of blood that followed him down the hallway. Did he find it again? I hope not. A man like that doesn't deserve a head." He gave a long and exasperated sigh.


"But back to pills, because pills are what started this entire conversation, aren't they? Yes, I'll take them, even though they make my stomach hurt and the visions blurry," he submitted reluctantly, before a smile pulled at his lips once more, "I'll play patient, because that's why you're doing, isn't it? Playing doctor. Just like being a kid again. You always wanted to be a doctor, right? Well, not true. You like art for a while and your mother, who may as well have lived on the moon, was all about it, but big bad papa bear said no, no, no! And then you decided to become a doctor and you're happy enough but how would you have been if you'd been an artist? I guess we'll never know. Anyway, pills, pills, time for yucky pills, let's just get it over with and this day may still be a good one!" With that, he dropped down from the door, sinking to sit cross-legged on the cushy floor, waiting for the door to swing open and permit the two men to enter.

 

[Majestic Rose]

At the mention of his name, Arthur grew quite confused. Had he mentioned his name? Maybe he was wear a name tag, or something, but he was too shocked to even look for it, all he did was listen on. "Well, I do not remember you." Arthur put it flatly, but the patient continued to assert that he had. Reluctantly, Arthur quickly played around with his childhood memories. There were some troubled kids at his private school, but he couldn't remember any of them, hell, he could barely remember the name of the school! Saint something...


But then he went on rambling about the universe, and time, and all that fun stuff.


Arthur had to remind himself to write notes:


"Patient exhibits dementia, perhaps a cluster of dissociative personality disorders as well.".


Finally, the patient stopped. Thankfully. As he was just about to ask a question, he started up again. Causing him to shoot a glance over to the nurse, who was looking rather numb in the mind. Day dreaming. Obviously blocking the kid out. He went on to describe hallucinations, and Arthur made note: "Patient reports vivd hallucinations--Wouldn't rush schizophrenia or BDD at this point."


And then, at the mention of his mother, and art dreams, he stopped. His pen clacked to the floor, and Arthur looked to Asher with some sort of awed gaze, as if Asher had brought some corpse back to life.


"Yes, Mister Overland, time for your pills." The nurse seemed equally shocked, but was a lot less expressive. He, unlike Arthur, had experience with this.


"Er, yes, yes." Arthur agreed, bending to pick his pen up.


Overland? He had to know one. Maybe his brother or sister knew him, and thats how he knew all this. Yes, yes, that had to be it.


Convincing himself that his siblings knew the man (which was an idea as absurd as the patient reading his mind), he followed after the nurse, who was taking the pills out of the box by the door, just as Arthur was having a mental crisis.


"The pills wouldn't be so bad if you ate. I could have Arthur," he gestured towards the student as he was unscrewing the orange translucent bottle, "bring you something. Lunch is scheduled in the next hour."


Arthur nodded, remembering his abnormal psych professors words: "When the patient turns against you mentally, the best thing to do is agree in word, not in action." But, the nurse had just told him to forget everything those controlled classrooms had taught him; that the books, and lectures weren't real.


Regardless, he went with his professor's judgment. However fatal that would prove, time would tell. "Yes, If you don't mind, my peers and I will be asking you and your fellow patients questions," Arthur swallowed, looking down at the cross legged boy. The way his shaggy, improper hair fell on his face was, in an unprofessional sense, cute. The contrast of jet black, and pale white was too good in this moment, and for some reason, bits and pieces of memories flooded in. Had he known this boy? No. No, no. That was absurd. Maybe it was a book, or a movie. After all, the memories involved outdated things, such as the clothing he pictured his body in--it looked as if he were a renaissance child!


Yes! He and his sister used to watch plays performed by the local acting guild, it was from one of their productions!


Arthur remembered feeling his heart race, and his pulse pump so violently in the memory of that beautiful boy. What a wonderful play. That's all it was.


Noticing the awkward pause, and witnessing a med student staring at a patient intently, the nurse jumped in to fill the blank space.


"What he is saying, is that the students will be picking a patient or two, and observe them for this study. I think he would like to pick you, Asher." The sound of pills clicking into a cup followed the end of the sentence.


Arthur snapped out of his gaze,


"Yes, of course! What do you say, Asher? Can I call you that, Asher?"


Arthur felt a little belittled by the nurse, so he felt as if he had to make up for it.

 

[Prender]

Asher grinned at the look Arthur fixed him with after his comment on the man's adolescent ambitions. They always had that reaction the first time. After a while, they learned to hide it, to act as though they weren't alarmed by how much he knew. By all means, he shouldn't know half the things he did - for example, he most certainly shouldn't know that the wife of the nurse who had accompanied Arthur was having an affair, at least not before the nurse knew, but he did - but they always found ways to explain it with their silly medical science, because the truth was too much for them. They couldn't explain the truth, couldn't figure out how such a thing was possible, and since they couldn't understand it, to them, it didn't exist.


What a ridiculous mindset. People believed in things they couldn't explain or understand scientifically all the time, such as the different gods various religions spoke of or the way it was told the earth had formed in various cultures. Honestly, how was it easier to believe that the earth had formed on the back of a cosmic turtle than it was to believe in past lives? But no, little loony Overland was the one spouting this nonsense, a boy famed for his imagination and storytelling. Of course they believed that his imagination had merely overwhelmed him, that was all this was. The stories he told got lodged somewhere in his brain and he began to believe them, that was what everyone who had known him thought. Stupid people.


He tilted his head as the heavy door creaked open and immediately caught Arthur's eye, a coy smile forming on his lips. In a past life, his face may have flushed at the way Arthur looked at him. Perhaps he would have lowered his gaze, shy and humbled, but not now. He knew that Arthur found him attractive - and that wasn't arrogance, it was merely fact. He'd fallen in love with this man time and time again, had his beauty expressed in fond whispers more times than he could count. Arthur found him breathtaking, just as Asher considered him awe-worthy, but with a good few centuries of life tucked under his belt, Asher had learned how to be subtle with his admiration. Arthur, it seemed, didn't have such practice, as he simply stood there for a moment, staring.


But a gaze that spoke of appreciation for one's physical form and a gaze that spoke of love were two very different things, and when Arthur gazed at him with love, Asher's face always flared with color. It always had, no matter when or where they lived. A good majority of the time, their sort of love hadn't even been legal. Had that stopped them? Of course not, don't be ridiculous. That was why Asher had such faith that this cycle of love would never come to an end. Nothing had stopped them before, so why would anything stop them now? The institution could try as hard as it liked to keep them separated, and Asher knew that Mr. Verolomen (he refused to think of him as a doctor) would be opposed to the idea, but let him try to keep them apart. It wouldn't work.


"That's quite alright, thank you," he said lightly when the nurse offered to have Arthur go and fetch him food, "I don't trust the food at hospitals. I'm afraid Mr. Cullen is to blame for that. They're not even aware of three quarters of his murders, you know, and everyone assumed I was set to die, anyway, so when he slipped a little bit of arsenic into my soup, no one was any the wiser." He gave a long sigh, seemingly talking to himself more than either of the other men at this point, if the low volume of his voice was anything to go by. "At least he got arrested in the end. Admittedly, not for my murder, but for plenty of others..." He trailed off, lost in his thoughts, before being drawn out of them when the nurse spoke once more, explaining why Arthur was there.


"That would be delightful," Asher replied in response to the offer, ever smooth, ever calm. No one would guess the way his heart pounded at the information. It seemed fate was already at work, subtly nudging them together. Asher had always assumed that Arthur would arrive as another patient, and that was how they would meet. Fate really did work in mysterious ways. "Of course you can," he laughed when the man asked if it was alright to call him Asher, "Mr. Overland is my father, not me. I much prefer Asher. You could even call me Ash, if you so desire."

 

[Majestic Rose]

Asher's ramblings of someone poisoning him further confused the young med student. He had never met someone so...open. Perhaps he was in a manic state, but Arthur hoped not, because it would be harder to press answers of out of him later. A thought crept into his mind. What if he just stayed here for a while longer? He was taught to fully exploit open windows like this, and exploit he will.


"Well, I do have some snacks in my car. Would you eat that?" Arthur always kept some chips in his car, and if he was lucky, some chocolate. Hey, a man gets hungry, alright?


But Asher's paranoia about being poisoned was common in people who're paranoid about being hurt by something external, rather than internal. It was a small assumption, but it could lead to something much larger.


Then the boy suggested he could call him "Ash", not "Asher". It felt odd to call someone that, and it conflicted with Arthur greatly. It was great to have an informal relationship with patients—but this wasn't a facility for the average mental health patient. At this place, they were already deemed destitute. "Why not just Asher? Don't you like that name? I think it's a lovely one for someone like you." Arthur smiled playfully, okay maybe he was treating him like a younger patient, but Asher certainly did look young, so why not? Plus it was good to get a feel for what age Asher was mentally.


The nurse set the cup next to Asher on the floor, it was half full. The cup did look like it was holding a little too much, why did he get so much?


"Alright, we can't be here all day." The nurse's eyes were still flat, and expressionless. His voice as sterile as the floors.


"Actually, I wouldn't mind staying a bit longer."Arthur turned his gaze to the nurse, who was at his right side.


They both exchanged a glare, one Arthur didn't exactly know why he was receiving. It was quite normal for a doctor to request extra time with their patient, why not now?


"Alright." And that's all he said. His shoes made a heavy thumping sound as he left, door banging shut behind him.


A few seconds passed before Arthur spoke again.


"Why do you get so many pills, Asher? Did you request that or something?" He moved over to the bare spring bed, it's flat mattress lounging over cheap springs.


A depressive groan sounded from the bed as he sat on it, squeaking like an injured duck.


"I hope you don't mind me sitting here, but, do you really need that many?"


Of course Asher probably didn't know why he received so many, perhaps his family had requested it, or the facility knew Asher rejected so many pills that it was best to just provide more than enough.

 

[Prender]

Asher shrugged, idle, nonchalant. He wasn't as expressive now as he was when a child, that was for sure. The hospital did that to people. He'd watched it happen, with people who had been there for much less time than he had. Twelve when he'd been committed, though he'd been in a different wing back then. The first two floors was an institution for mentally unstable children; the top three were dedicated to those above eighteen. Asher remembered the thrill when he was first brought upstairs, finally able to leave the too colorful rooms and big fake smiles behind. No more hey, kiddo's or slow down, buddy's. He'd be with the big guys now. Unfortunately, things were much the same upstairs as they were down, but with older faces and less sickeningly sweet voices.


He was right about the big guys, though. There were about three other patients he'd seen that were his size or smaller. Everyone else towered over him. He wasn't scared of them. The good patients, the ones that were nonviolent and behaved well, were allowed a free period in the recreation room once a week. Asher had taken to spending these periods with Ralph, a brute of a man who was under the impression that he was a king - a grandiose delusion, that's what the doctors called it. Beyond that, Ralph also saw colors when he heard noises, and had once told Asher that his voice was spruce blue. ("Very pretty," the giant had told him, patting him on the shoulder and not seeming to notice the way Asher's knees had buckled under the weight of his hand, "Pretty indeed. A good color. Sit with me, will you, child? You interest me.")


"I liked Asher just fine," the boy said slowly, voice absent due to his mind wandering, "But hearing certain voices say it have made it much less appealing. All the voices I like call me Ash." His gaze flickered to the nurse as he left, waving at the man's back before the door slammed closed. He then took note of the cup of pills left beside him, giving an irritated sigh at the sight and reaching to pick it up. He glowered down at the tens to hundreds of pills that filled the cup, all the way up to the halfway point. Orange. Like Tic Tacs. Maybe, if he pretended that was what they were, they would be easier to stomach. He looked up at the question, blinking a few times before offering a tight smile.


"Because, if they gave me the right amount, I may get better," he told Arthur, the slightest bit of bitterness creeping into his voice, "And they can't have that, no, no, no. They want me to be sick forever. Well, I doubt the nurses care, but Mr. Verolomen would be quite upset if I was ever allowed to leave. I am his favorite patient, after all." He crawled over to the wall, sticking his fingers down in the crack between the padding of the floor and the padding of the wall, separating the fabric enough to pour the pills down in between them, almost as if he was pouring seeds into rows of dirt. "These things aren't even what I was prescribed, you know. They put on fake labels. These could be Tic Tacs, for all we know."

 

[Majestic Rose]

Arthur very much doubted those were fake pills, and also doubted that the staff were giving him the wrong meds. Sure, maybe once or twice he got the wrong ones, but it couldn't be constant. That was just wrong. And plus, why believe a patient? This man was rightfully out of his mind. That was just one of the things Arthur reminded himself. This man was unstable in someway. Don't let anything get to you.


But another thing that blissfully led him away from his thoughts about his own mental health was that of Asher wasting medication. This is not over the counter stuff, at least, for someone this bad, it shouldn't be. This medication was in the hundreds—maybe even thousands. It was pretty expensive stuff. To think he was wasting it when hard working families could barely afford their own child's plan was simply too much. Arthur held it in though. After all, Asher wasn't aware of his own actions...at least he was told so. To him it seemed that the boy had all his faculties, to some degree of course, but he surely wasn't bad enough to be here. Maybe severe Aspergers or some other personality/behavioral trait, but it wasn't something to warrant this treatment.


He made notes duly.


"Tic tacs? Do you like them? I actually used to pretend they were pills when I was young. Although it got awfully messy when I'd swallow a whole lot. Haven't thought about doing that to pills before." At least at the time. Yes, Arthur had a seclusive life. He was always...or usually, at least, he felt like he was alone. It was his biggest fear, and something he thought true at every moment. Even when surrounded by everyone he felt incomplete. Like a large part of him was missing. It wasn't until HighSchool where ending that become a tangible thought--had he attempted? Maybe. The answer was unsure. He'd spill out his mother's nerve medication, downers naturally, and have a handful ready to chuck into his mouth. To swallow it like water was a wish that never came.


He always backed out, and maybe that was best.


Arthur attempted this several times, but hadn't tried in sometime. It had been a year since that weekly occurrence.


"You know, you'd be my favorite patient. You're fun--and not like the others who want to bite your head off. What do you like to do anyway? I mean, before you ended up here." That wasn't a question he was supposed to ask, but he wasn't told not to, so why not? Arthur did see Asher's confinement as a mistake. Maybe his family was ashamed of him, and shipped him off somewhere where they didn't have to bare him in mind. It was a fate too common.

 

[Majestic Rose]

(Still interested?)

 

[Prender]

[Ah, yes, yes, sorry, I've been quite busy.]


"And sometimes, when you got older, you wished the Tic Tacs really were pills, didn't you? And, sometimes, you grabbed a case of your mother's pills instead of your Tic Tacs, and whether or not that was an accident is really up to interpretation," Asher put in, filling in the blanks of the story that Arthur told him. How many times had he heard a story just like this one? There were always details that were different, of course, considering pills didn't always exist, but there was always a situation in which Arthur considered killing himself with something of his mother's. For the past couple of lives, it had been pills, but in lives that were more distant in the past, it had been a variety of things.


At the last comment, Asher snorted, righting the cup when there were only three pills left in the bottom. Possibly more than he needed or should take, but it didn't particularly matter to him. He wouldn't take them at all if he didn't fear they'd have a way of knowing he wasted them all. He dumped the three into his hand and glanced up, a mirthless smile on his lips.


"Your reasoning is very different from his," he commented dryly, "He couldn't care less about how I behave. Thank you, all the same. Your opinion is very important to me." He trailed off, wondering if he should reveal the next bit of information. He supposed that he'd already given Arthur plenty of reason to take off and never come back, sharing details that he shouldn't have known and rambling on about how little he trusted the institution that had been working so hard to take care of him. (What lies.) Asher feared that telling Arthur about their shared history would be the last straw, but he shrugged the fear off, figuring that fate would find away for them to end up together, even if Asher were to frighten him with the next bit of information.


"We are soulmates, after all. I would be quite offended if you favored another patient over me," he said lightly, popping all three pills into his mouth and swallowing them without water, a skill he had developed during his time in the institution, "All those lives spent together, only to have someone else catch your fancy now. It would be a tragedy, really. But of course, you don't remember, no one ever does. I restart every life greeting those I love like I've never known them. It hurts, you know, having everyone I've ever come to adore look at me like a stranger, but I've learned to live with it." He shot Arthur a smile, pumped with as much false cheer as he could manage. "I had to adjust after a while, and either way, I usually end up happy."

 

[Prender]

[Little reminder! ]

 

[Majestic Rose]

Arthur looked down at his clipboard as Asher elaborated on his attempts to take his life...what? How did he ever know that? It was too real to be a guess, too visceral to be a lie. There was no way he should know that. But Arthur kept a straight face. All he could do was pretend to not hear.


The only thing Arthur could think is that this was a joke. Maybe he was on tv now, maybe this was some stupid comedy run on cable tv. That, now, that was more likely than this guy knowing that off the hook.


Arthur remained quiet, and then he went on one of the worst topics ever...soul mates? What?


He looked up, and he simply couldn't keep a straight expression. It was plain for all to see that Arthur was simply creeped out—but, at this point, Asher was probably used to this.


Usually when a patient does this, it is best to resuscitate them back into the modern day, back into the real world. But, could this be true? He knew everything after all...but no. This was real crazy. No textbook could ever show him such a profound case like this. So he made note quickly, opting to play along. You can learn a lot like that anyway. He wasn't sure about how truthful he should be, though.


So, why not completely? He seemed to know a lot anyway. No sense in making him more aggrivated than need be.


"Oh? Well, I do have a serious obsession with short boys. I mean, usually I'm taller than most people, just look at me! I'm like a giant at this point. Used to not be so big in highschool but I just kept growing. Now, you on the other hand." He smilied cheerfully. Arthur had to put it all out on the table so Asher couldn't just flip his mind like he had done previously, but his mind has changed a bit...he wasn't thinking too much about the forum or leaving.


"I mean, if we are soulmates, I hope I treated you right in the past." That much was about as truthful as he could get. Did he believe Asher? No! Never. The boy wad mad to be sure...but...did he find the boy repulsive? Granted he wasn't in the best of shape right now, Arthur could see a good chunk of beauty in him.


Licking his lips quickly, toying with the idea, he decided maybe exploring the limits was the best. After all, no one makes break throughs by staying tame. Right?


"And, well, lunch is soon enough, and I mentioned eating together. So...how about we change it. If we're soulmates, let's make it a date, yeah? And don't worry, I promise I won't keep you out too late. I'm a gentleman." And for some reason, all of that made him feel better. He knew it was insane to call a 'date' eating in a mental asylum cafeteria, especially with a patient, but this boy interested him enough to want to delve deeper...and if he believed they were soul mates, then...well, why not?


"I'll just get some food from my car; it seems like the food here doesn't work well, huh? Still. It's a date. Maybe we could just eat in here? Or, maybe, just maybe I could put in a request to have you out on campus. Would you like that, ash?"