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“You haven’t said much about the dreams,” the psychiatrist said.
Kaiba’s eyes fluttered open, and he lifted his cheek from his hand. “I don’t dream.”
“Everyone dreams.”
“Not me.”
The woman smiled tightly and folded her hands on her knees. Something about her was infuriating, but he couldn’t place it. She was well put together with her cream pantsuit and tight, pulled back bun. Some might have saw her as severe, conservative. Maybe cold. Kaiba considered her mostly unmemorable—another appointment on his digital day planner.
Well, mostly unmemorable. Her dull-brown flats were too tight.
“You mentioned them in some of our first sessions. That you were having vivid dreams about the events surrounding your assault.”
Kaiba sighed. His focus was pointed on her shoes. “I was heavily medicated, if you recall. I don’t remember what I said.”
“And you don’t remember any dreams?”
“No.”
“What about the assault? Have you recalled anything?” she asked. Her foot bounced.
“No.” Kaiba closed his eyes. This was such a waste of time, but if he fired this shrink, Mokuba would just find him another one. There was no telling how long this would go on for. He was already cleared to go back to work, but Mokuba was convinced there was still something lingering deep inside him. That, mentally, he hadn’t healed from the assault. What was to heal that wasn’t physical? “Nothing beyond the police reports.”
“I see. You did mention a while back that some things,” she flipped through her notes, “‘triggered something that seemed like memories’.”
“Hmph. A ridiculous phrase.”
“What’s that?”
“Triggered. I’m not triggered by anything,” he said. “I don’t get scared by pointy objects or strange groups of people on the street. I’ve dealt with far worse in my life than this attack. It’s hardly debilitating.”
A small note was made. Her foot bounced again. “Would you prefer a different term be used instead of triggered?”
“I’d prefer none. You can’t term something that I don’t have an issue with,” Kaiba said. He tried his best to keep his annoyance at bay, but it always slithered into his voice. The unmemorable shrink was almost worse trauma than the assault.
“Let’s go back to the dreams. When you dream—“
“I don’t.”
“—has anything been prevalent? Or...perhaps, you’re lying in bed and you’re thinking about something. What’s on your mind usually?”
Absently, Kaiba massaged his left forearm down to his wrist. The small, tingling pains shot down every now and then. Before, it was the beginning of carpal tunnel. Numbness in his fingertips when he typed or tried to shuffle a deck. Now, another pain persisted with it. Like barbed wire constricting around his nerves and veins, radiating from his shoulder down to his fingertips. He entire arm would become hot and heavy; sometimes even closing his fist was a chore. It made the numbness attractive.
“Joseph, typically. But that’s because he’s beside me. I hear him breathing,” Kaiba said. He closed his eyes, annoyed by her too-tight flats. With no other sound in the room, the gentle in and out of Joey’s breath was right next to his ear. Just a small curl of his lips away from syllable, a word, a sentence. Something other than his nasal breathing and occasional, gentle hums.
“How is Mr. Wheeler?” she asked.
Kaiba opened his eyes. “He’s alive.”
—
Alive was relative.
They had both made it out of ‘the assault’, as it was so clinically called, alive. After six months, they had both healed almost to the point that the reminders of it were gone. At least physically.
Kaiba had recovered ninety percent of the motion in his left leg, and eighty percent in his left arm. From his last session three days prior, the physical therapist said he was doing ‘quite well’, and ‘above average for his injury’. Though he liked the logical and mathematical side of recovery, he wasn’t sure how normalcy was measured. Especially not in percents.
As far as Kaiba was concerned, he was doing better. Quite well felt like a stretch. But if it had to be measured from the moment the knife struck him in the shoulder and in between his ribs, he’d say above average fit decently.
If there was anything he remembered from the attack—that is, if he wasn’t manufacturing details based on police reports and photographs—it was the distinct sensation of his heart beating in the wound between his ribs while he lost feeling of everything south of it. He didn’t want to say it was true. It made sense, but he could have sensationalised it from the details he’d been given in the first few days after it had happened. But he had lied to his shrink: he knew a few details.
He recalled that it was a chill night, and that he was walking down an empty road with Joey. He recalled lighting a cigarette, and Joey asked him for one because, as always, his pack was empty. He begrudgingly gave one and mocked Joey’s empty-headedness and then—
—he remembered being in Joey’s arms and looking up into his eyes. Brilliant, but dark, amber eyes stared back at him. All the while, Joey’s lips moved, but Kaiba couldn’t make out what he had said. He was too focused on Joey’s quivering hand; it laid overtop the gushing wound, his rough fingertips pressed deep into it to stop the bleeding. Kaiba’s heartbeat slowed and thickened against the touch.
How Joey went from frantic to catatonic was a mystery to Kaiba.
Roland said that Joey had been that way from the moment the paramedics arrived. He had refused to give up Kaiba’s unconscious body, clinging to it like a doll. The paramedics had to let Joey bring him onto the ambulance, and once they were at the hospital, it took three orderlies to pry Joey away. It did seem like Joey to ignore his own injuries, but if he’d stubborned himself into the unresponsive state, Kaiba was more pissed than he was relieved that Joey cared so much.
It didn’t feel real. Sometimes, Kaiba convinced himself he was in a nightmare. That he’d come home and Joey would be curled up on the couch, hooting and hollering while he and Mokuba played video games. Or he would come skidding out from the kitchen proclaiming that he may or may not have burnt another sauce pan and that they should order takeaway. Or he would just meet Kaiba at the door, throw his arms around his neck, and kiss his cheek.
When Kaiba returned home from the shrink’s office, he found Joey on the couch. Not unusual. Joey could move willingly, or as willingly as catatonics could, but it was only in short bursts, from one place to the next. That was unless someone in house had moved him. It was doubtful. The wheelchair Joey was usually placed in every morning, reminiscent of the time Kaiba spent in a wheelchair in his teens (almost six months, he thought bitterly), sat at an awkward angle next to the arm of the couch.
The blond’s body was rigid. Shoulders squared, back straight, hands in his lap. Like he was ready for a lecture. Except Kaiba had never seen him so at attention in the many years they’d know each other. He was too lackadaisical, too lazy to bother. But he always listened and replied. Usually with laughter in his voice.
Kaiba missed the laughter.
“Afternoon, Joseph,” Kaiba said. He sat in front of Joey, waiting for a response. Always waiting. “It’s Tuesday. I don’t know if you know that or care. But I went to see the psychiatrist today. She’s still trying to get me to remember. She wants to use hypnosis, like that’s a real technique from a trained professional. Ridiculous...I should fire her for that reason.”
Kaiba looked into Joey’s eyes. Glassy, dark amber.
“I don’t see how it matters if I remember what happened. I’m sure you remember. There’s something going on inside that head of yours. There’s always something dumb rattling around in there.”
Breathe in, breathe out. Kaiba lowered his head.
“I don’t see why she even says to talk to you. Or why I listen to her. She’s clearly some new age quack who doesn’t actually understand why the problem is...”Kaiba trailed off. He didn’t really know what the problem was either.
The longer he stared at Joey, the more his insides shook. His very existence was sickening. If it wasn’t for the ring on Joey’s finger, Kaiba would have left him in his sister’s care. Or his friends. They were always so cheery, coming around and talking to him, including him in everything when they knew full well that he couldn’t do a damn thing but just sit and stare.
“You don’t listen to me. You can’t...you can’t touch me. What’s the point?” Kaiba asked.
Slowly, he reached his hand out and cupped Joey’s cheek. Stubble was growing, he was going to need a shave in the morning. A shower, too. Kaiba wasn’t sure if he had the strength to do it anymore, even if his limbs had healed.
“Hm? Joseph, what’s the point? Why do I even talk to you when I doubt you understand a word I’m saying. You don’t even know I’m alive.”
Kaiba pulled his hand away and left before he did something that he regretted.
—
Another week went by, and Kaiba returned to the unmemorable shrink’s office. It had been a long fight with Mokuba, one that ended with Mokuba fighting back tears, before he finally caved and went again.
“How was physical therapy?” she asked.
“It went.”
“Do you feel like you’ve gotten a better hold on yourself? You mentioned you hadn’t felt whole ever since this happened.”
Kaiba sighed. This again. “Whole is a manner of speaking. All the pieces are there, if that’s what you want me to say.”
“I don’t want you to say anything. We’re just talking this out and seeing how you’re feeling lately. You sound a little stressed,” she mentioned. A springboard topic. A little stressed, a little tired, a little anxious. Kaiba made it a point not to give away too much to her. She was educated enough to read his body language, his facial expressions, and the little ticks that he made when he wriggled around in the uncomfortable chair.
“I’m always stressed. We have the latest version of the Duel Disk releasing. The academy is beginning its second year. There’s a lot to look after.”
“You have a lot on your plate.”
“It’s manageable.”
“Do you ever step back?”
Kaiba rolled his eyes. “I let my guard down and they’ll eat me alive. It’s how it goes.”
She made a small note. Her foot bobbed. The flats she was wearing today still didn’t fit, but they were better than the last ones. “I know I’ve asked this before, but...do you think you let your guard down that night?”
“I don’t know.”
“So you still don’t remember anything?”
Kaiba’s eyes pinched closed. “No. I’m not worried about remembering anything. We went to a movie, I was attacked, and I woke up in the hospital alone. The details in between are irrelevant.”
“You’re angry.”
“I’m annoyed,” he admitted. “I come here week after week listening to you demand that I remember something, and I tell you time and time again that I don’t want to remember. I don’t need to! It was one of Joseph’s old crew who stumbled on us and felt like they needed to do something. We fought back, I was stabbed, and Joseph...”
Kaiba paused. He had jumped up at some point, emphatic. His hands shook and his jaw clenched. Slowly, he wandered over to the window so he didn’t have to look at the shrink and her terrible shoes.
“I’m still listening.”
“I’m done talking,” he said.
“Take your time. Remember to breathe, Seto.”
Kaiba held out a hand to her, disagreeing with her lack of formality. Like that would make him more comfortable. There were exactly three people allowed to call him Seto, and one of them couldn’t speak anymore.
“Tell me about Mr. Wheeler.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s pointless.”
The shrink hummed and scribbled in her notes, though the scratching went on longer than anticipated. The overcast sky became more and more interesting. “You and Mr. Wheeler we’re engaged how long prior to the assault?”
“Six months. You already know that.”
“So...it’s been a year now. Did you have wedding plans?”
Kaiba frowned. “What kind of question is that?”
“Small talk.”
Kaiba saw right through her. She wanted him to open up about Joey. Have him spill all of his emotions over her floor like some serenade of love and worship to his significant other. “Of course we had wedding plans. Who gets engaged and doesn’t have wedding plans?”
He turned from the window and stomped to the door.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m done with this. It hasn’t helped me, if anything it’s just makes me more and more anxious because I know I have to come here week after week.”
The shrink stood. “Is it Joseph?” she asked. The use of Joey’s name made Kaiba flinch.
Her and her damned informality. “Stop.”
“Does he bother you?” she asked. Kaiba hung on the door handle. He reasoned if he was going to leave, he would have. But her question hit him hard. “You mentioned that you woke up alone, does Joseph’s condition...anger you?”
“Stop it!” Kaiba pivoted to her, ready to storm right up to her face. “You don’t know us. You don’t understand how we were, or what we did, or why...why he’s...why it’s not...”
Kaiba didn’t know what he was saying.
His chest hurt, and his arm began to ache. He was very actively aware of the pains that had been inflicted on him. They were a curse, a reminder, of what happened for the rest of his life. Every time he got out of the bathtub, there were the jagged, off-white scars marring his pale skin. The knife twisting in the muscle beneath. Nothing he’d ever felt had measured up to that pain, that torment, of steel deep in his body.
“I am not angry at Joseph. I’m...” Kaiba calmed himself, quelling some of the anger and dispassion for this woman and her terrible footwear. “That’s not Joseph. What’s in my house is not my fiancé.”
“Who is it?”
Kaiba opened his mouth but shook his head instead. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Sit down. Come on,” the shrink urged, nudging him towards the chair. He rolled her hand off his shoulder and stood, defiant, in front of it. “What do you remember from that night?”
Kaiba closed his eyes.
—
The knife slowly slid out of him. Joey was in front of him, punching the knife-wielder in the face again and again and again. Until he was a mess of blood and teeth.
Kaiba swung at someone, connecting with their cheek before grabbing their neck with one hand. He swayed, and the wounds in his skin squelched with each step. He didn’t stop. His adrenaline was racing—a few more punches, the crack! of someone’s nose against his elbow—but he fell, anyways. Into awaiting arms that laid him on the ground.
“Stay alive, Seto.”
“Mmm....nggh....not...”
“Stay alive, look at me, stay alive,” Joey’s face was red with tears. He quickly wiped them away. His hands shimmered from how much blood caked them. He lowered his hand down and put pressure on Kaiba’s spurting wound. “You’re gonna make it. Keep breathin’, Seto. Keep breathin’. Hold onto me, ya feel that, feel me? That’s me. Let me touch ya, okay? Jus’ let me hold on. Here...take my hand. Take my hand...”
Their fingers knit overtop of the wound. He went cold to the feeling of Joey’s hand slithering inside of him. Any other time it would have been welcomed, but not in his abdomen, not bleeding on some sidewalk two blocks from the movie theatre.
Kaiba fingered Joey’s ring. “I’m...beating...”Kaiba said. “I’m...alive...”
“I know, I know. Stay with me, okay. Stay alive...” Joey repeated. Again and again. “I’m so sorry, Seto. This is my fuckin’ fault, I’m sorry...please...stay alive. Hold onto me please. Please! Hold on.”
—
Kaiba opened his eyes and shook his head.
“Do you remember anything?” the shrink asked.
“No. I don’t...”
An unknown expression rippled on her face. Another note was made. Somehow, Kaiba knew the lie didn’t quite roll off of his tongue. He put too much pause in it, but he didn’t care.
He stood up and left, with no intention of going back.
—
For the longest time, Kaiba sat in front of Joey searching for words. The apology rung in his ears. The pure guilt that he had heard was something that he couldn’t shake. Never once had he thought that this was Joey’s fault, even after finding out it had been Kane’s crew that had done this to them. Thugs stuck in their middle school rut, jealous of what Joey had managed to make of himself.
It probably wasn’t even that.
They may not have even recognised Joey. They were a couple walking alone on a dim-lit street. A perfect target, too blind in their own euphoria to see someone coming for them. Kaiba had wore a nice coat, shoes, slacks. Whatever they saw. Knowing their motivation wasn’t going to change Joey’s pleas. And it wasn’t going to change the constant ‘stay alive’ that replayed again and again. How long after he passed out had Joey said it, clung to him, begged him?
He’d never been at a loss of words with Joey. But then, the empty shell before him wasn’t his Joey. It was someone else. Something else. It stole his lover’s skin and masqueraded in quiet.
Too quiet.
By nightfall, Kaiba gave up. He was hungry, tired, aching. He just wanted to sleep. By tomorrow, whatever he remembered would end up feeling like a bad dream.
He took Joey upstairs with him, and then took a shower. It should have been the both of them in the shower. They were more efficient that way. But after staring at Joey’s blank face for so long he couldn’t take it anymore. Once he climbed into bed, he would hear the blond’s breathing all night.
It was a miracle Kaiba didn’t smother Joey. A lifeless body wouldn’t be any different.
Kaiba stepped back into the bedroom. The wheelchair was abandoned close to the bed, and Joey had crept up into it, sitting on the edge. Wilful only when he wanted to be annoying.
“Lay down if you want,” Kaiba said.
Joey didn’t respond.
It was a quick routine at the vanity. Towelling off his hair and rubbing lotion over the scars. They were softening day by day, but they were too jagged to ever fully go away. His hand rested on the gash over his ribs. The thick heartbeat lingered there. He was alive, with Joey’s hot palm pressed against him.
“You don’t remember,” Kaiba said. He sat on the bed beside Joey. “Whoever you are, you don’t remember what happened, or else you would know that I’ve been talking to you all this time. That I survived. Is that what you thought, that I had died on you and this is how you respond? You’re so...pathetic Joseph,” Kaiba hiccuped. He wondered if he would react the same, losing sense of self if it had been Joey instead of him. Thinking that Joey had died. “Pathetic and stupid.”
Kaiba manuevered Joey onto his spot on the left side of the bed. Until he pressed Joey down, he would remain upright, gently swaying to his heartbeat.
Heartbeat.
Pursing his lips, Kaiba grabbed Joey’s hand and rested it against the scar on his ribs. The inactivity made Joey’s skin cold, but familiar roughness of his skin was still there. Even if it was Kaiba forcing Joey to touch him, it was the most erotic feeling he’d gotten in months. His skin was parched of Joey’s leathery, worked hands and fingers. He only recalled the slickness of the blood and the thickness of his heartbeat. He’s forgotten what an actual touch felt like.
If this was all he could have, he would take it.
Kaiba revelled in it for several moments, expecting nothing. Eventually he would lay Joey’s hand down and force him onto his side to sleep. He didn’t expect anything from this very out there experiment, his own form of begging Joey to recognise that he existed. Alone.
“I’m alive,” he muttered. So soft he didn’t hear himself.
Joey’s hand pressed harder against the scar. Slowly, he leaned forward until his head rested against Kaiba’s shoulder, and his face buried deep into Kaiba’s collarbone. The very faintest feather-touch of Joey’s lips scrapped across Kaiba’s skin, and hot breath dripped down his abdomen.
“....hey....”
Kaiba embraced Joey. No more words were necessary.