Zemyx Fanfic: Everybody Lies

Chapter 1: Accident-induced Arrival

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              Even without opening his eyes, he knew exactly where he was. The mercilessly bright light, made harsher by the fact that it was being reflected off a thousand white surfaces- crisp white sheets, blank white walls, perfectly maintained equipment- that, coupled with the sickening scent of unnatural cleanliness made the place unmistakable.

              He kept his eyes pressed tightly shut, cursing silently. He lay still for a moment, sucking in a slow breath and letting it out in an irritated huff which quickly turned into a grimace of pain. He couldn’t even take a breath to calm himself; when he tried, he could feel his chest strain against bandages wound tightly around his torso, and feel a twinge of pain vibrate through his chest.

               He opened his eyes ever so slightly, scowling at the plain white ceiling. The glaring white of the room felt like two fingers poking him heard in each eye. He tilted his head to the left, peering through his lashes at the glass window. From what he could tell from the quality of the light glaring through the glass, it was midmorning. He must have spent the night here.

        Groaning, he squeezed his eyes shut again and slowly slid his way up the bed. Bracing his back against the headboard, he sat up. He immediately took in a hissing breath through tightly clenched teeth- sitting up had been a bad idea. There was a burning sensation curling around his chest and he had to lean back against the bed as his head swam dizzily: he barely managed to swallow back a wave of nausea that rose in his throat.

                He kept his eyes closed and took a few large gulps of air, while the memories of the previous day- the reason he was here- came swimming into focus. Through a sort of fog he remembered….he could hear someone shouting, feel sharp blasts of pain, and the feeling of being thrown end over end… Why? He thought bitterly. Why did it have to happen again?

               A sharp noise cut into his memories. He started, and suddenly he was back sitting in a comfortable bed, the pain he felt was dull, and the only sound was of someone opening the door to his hospital room. The boy looked around, and recognized the man as one whom he had spoken to many times before.

               The hospital’s therapist, a serious, somber man by the name of Saix, had always struck the boy as odd from the day they had met. It wasn’t just his appearance that was startling, although this certainly didn’t help; the man had scruffy, wild blue hair, sharp yellow eyes, pointed ears, and a large scar in the middle of his face the shape of a giant ‘X’. He had always wondered where Saix had gotten the scar, but had never had the courage to ask him. Mostly because the therapist’s personality was anything but warm and comforting. The man, in fact, seemed just as prone to fits of rage as any of his patients, and when he was worked up enough, was more prone to destroying property (and people) then any of his patients on their worst days.

             “I’m glad to see that you are awake, Zexion.”  He said evenly, stepping fully into the room and softly closing the door behind him. “How are you feeling?”

            Zexion shrugged indifferently. Every talk they had was the same; Saix would pry, and Zexion would lie. It never came to anything, and nothing ever changed. Saix moved closer to the bed, pulling up a chair and sitting down.

              “Well, Zexion,” he said, “This is the sixth time you’ve been in the hospital in the last few months. Care to talk about it?”  Zexion managed not to roll his eyes. Barely. Maybe Saix knew it, because he turned so that his gleaming yellow eyes bored into Zexion’s blue ones. Zexion blinked, breaking eye contact, and turned to stare out of the window without really seeing it.

               “I’m clumsy,” he mumbled, shrugging again. “I guess.” He chanced a look at Saix; he didn’t look convinced, but then again, he never was.   

                 Saix knew he was being lied to, but if it bothered him he didn’t show it. He looked perfectly calm as he said, “How did it happen this time?”

               “I fell,” Zexion replied, “…down the stairs.”

                Saix gave a curt nod, then, pushing the chair back and standing up, said, “Well, I suppose that’s that then.” He hesitated, looking down at Zexion; the boy’s blue-gray hair fell down to hide half of his face, while the other half was partly obscured by bandages running around his forehead and down his cheek. His cold blue eyes were impassive, and impossible to read. Saix sighed. “If there’s anything you want to talk about,” he said, “you know where to find me.”

                Saix turned to leave, but stopped with his hand on the doorknob. As an afterthought, he marched to the window and drew the curtains shut, leaving the room in comfortable semi-darkness. With that, he turned and strode from the room, leaving Zexion alone. He watched Saix go, and, as his footsteps faded away, let out a sigh and looked around his hospital room. It was absolutely identical to every other hospital room he had ever stayed in. The room was nothing special to look at, so he decided to take some internal inventory instead. He thought back and, yes, he could remember everything that had happened the previous day, up to when he had passed out. And even after that he must have been semi-conscious because he vaguely remembered the paramedics being called and then after they arrived, being pulled onto a stretcher and into an ambulance. They must have given him something after that, because he was pretty sure he passed out again. He seemed okay mentally, he decided, but how about physically?

                He was so heavily bandaged that it was hard for Zexion to tell exactly where the damage was, so he set to work. He wriggled his toes and fingers, rotated his wrists and ankles, flexed his arms and legs, rolled his neck and shoulders, elbows and knees. He even arched off the bed to twist his hips. All in all, it was better than he had expected. There were some nasty bruises blossoming in places, and his face, ribs and right shoulder were sore and aching and pretty busted up, but it didn’t appear that anything was seriously broken (everything was facing the right way, anyways). But then again, he’d have to walk around some before he knew how bad the damage was. The doctors probably wouldn’t like that, but Zexion had learned a long time ago not to trust doctors to give him what he needed or to tell him the truth.

                He groaned again and leaned back against his pillows. The simple act of sitting up and talking with that shrink had completely drained him of energy. As much as Zexion wanted to get up and stretch his legs, he had to admit that he was too exhausted and sore to really go far. He slid down the bed and wriggled under the covers again. He may as well try to get some sleep. He rolled onto his right side, so that he was turned away from the window and nuzzled his face into the pillow. He was sure with his throbbing head and chest it would take him a long time to get to sleep, but without another thought, his eyes slid closed and his breathing evened out and he was asleep.

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