Cry Of Monsters.

Chapter Five

His eyes open, and he is blinded. White light bores into him, and his eyes burn as if the very sun itself is on him. He tries to speak, but the words catch like stale bread in his throat, choking him. There's blurring shapes all around him, voices and noises of panic, and he feels a dull throbbing in his head. Forcefully, two men in the blue scrubs throw his arms over their shoulders and haul him up. The dull sensation gives way to a sharp, stabbing pain in his forehead that makes him momentarily sway, disorienting him. They speak like white noise, burning into his brain like a cattle prod on a confused animal. He jolts forwards, and he is restrained more forcefully, he stops trying. He lets them carry him like dead weight to his room and slump him on the bed. They poke and prod at him, his eyes and head, but he tunes them out, hearing nothing but the ringing in his ears now, and he shakes and shudders in pain. They open his mouth, shoving pills onto his tongue and rubbing his throat, willing him to swallow, as if he's some dog.

He doesn't care.

Because he's alive.

Another recovery to add to the list, but at least there's one under his belt. He sits, fiddling with said belt, after now being trusted in his own clothes. Despite all the time he's seemed to suffer through, he's not any more patient.
"Alright, David. How are you feeling?" He asks, and David rolls his eyes unabashedly.
"I'm fine, we've been over this, I'm okay now." His voice is thick with saliva, and sure, he's okay after the incident, but overall? He doesn't like to think about it, and so, he doesn't.
"The time of worry is not yet over. And that is why you are here. I wish to... Discuss some things with you."
David makes a tutting noise, pushing his tongue against his cheek, but then nods begrudgingly.
"Alright." He leans back into the chair, and folds his arms, waiting for him to begin. The doctor takes this as a cue, and sits behind his desk, shuffling through some documents. At this point, some form of paper might as well be glued to the doctor's hands.
"Okay. Well, regarding the incident, I've made a decision you deserve to know everything a little earlier than what is," He clears his throat, looking David in the eye with some form of unreadable expression. "seen as practical. You suffered a concussion as a result of a visual hallucination where you ended up fainting. Now, David I'd like to think I'm being pretty reasonable when I propose this, so I'd honestly like you to consider this." The man in the white coat sets down the paper, and clasps his hands down on the tabletop, making David shift on the suddenly uncomfortable wooden chair. "I'd like for you to tell me exactly what you saw then, and in exchange I'll allow you in on some key information around your case."
David swallows nervously. Something about the man's voice had always made him anxious, and this was not helping in the slightest.
"That sounds like blackmail, doctor." He replies, hoarsely. The man in front of him just grins, shaking his head.
"Not necessarily, David. Think of it this way; the longer you deny these visions, the longer you will remain here. I'm here to help you, David. To make you better. So help yourself, David, by helping me."
Suddenly deciding his hands had become interesting, David began to pick at the skin, inspecting his knuckles with close precision, and deciding he really needed to wash his hands for his sweating palms. The repeated use of his name was making him nauseous, like he was a traitor to his flesh.
"I... I... See him sometimes. He... Follows me." He refuses to look up, and his throat is tight, like a hand constricting his airways.
"Who do you see, David?"

His words dry up, but he wets his lips and tries to continue, already shaking.
"This man... This... This addition... He wears my skin. He feeds off me... He won't let me go... He won't let me go!" His body is suddenly out of his control, and he feels his breathing start to unhinge, body shaking. His lips tremble, and his words refuse to form.
"Calm down, David. It's all right." The doctor drawls, making no real effort to console him.
"Some nights I see him. Some nights I am him... Sometimes... Some nights... I see things I don't want to. I just want to be left alone but he won't go away..." David takes a shuddering breath, tears staining his cheeks as he sobs, nails biting into his wrist. "I want him to just leave me alone! I don't want to see those things! I don't want to be him! I don't... I don't..." he trails off, shoulders heaving with the shuddering weight of his deepest fears being spilled onto the table like the sickly black tar of his most primitive fears. Catharsis washed over him, and his panicked breaths slowly quietened.
The doctor simply nods, writing down something in black pen on some paper, and David finds it calming.
"Okay, David. I believe this will help our sessions carry more purpose. Now, I'll uphold my end of the bargain, if you're alright to continue, that is."

A gesture of agreement washes over David's body, and the doctor looks down at his papers. "Okay, now. You were found in the bathroom of a hospital on five thirty, Tuesday the second of April. The analysis shows you had overdosed on a type of painkiller, and your stomach was promptly pumped. You were very lucky, David. You were found with a deep gash located underneath your left eye, dangerously close to the eyeball itself. A switchblade was found under one of the bathroom stalls, covered in your blood, and from what the CCTV evidence shows, in your drug induced state, you had attempted to gauge out one of your eyes before passing out." The doctor pauses once more, locking eyes with David who was shaking again. "You were very lucky, David. The chances of you dying of a stroke were impossibly high."

Numbly, David sits down on his bed, letting the information settle in the lines of his brain.
The overdose.
The infliction.
He runs a finger over his scar, wincing. He knew why.
His stinging eyes find an envelope, and he can't help but smile despite it all. His fingers slide under the adhesive, pulling out the letter.

Hej, David. I heard what happened, and I just want to say, I'm sorry. That sounds really rough, and it's awful you'd have to go through that. I got worried when you hadn't replied, but as strange as it sounded, I was relieved to know you're alright. How are you managing? Has it happened again? I'd had something similar happen to me in a dream, and I was stuck in some weird purgatory between sleep and consciousness. I could hear myself screaming from inside my dream, and once I'd regained my senses I found I couldn't remember any of what I'd saw.
I apologise if it comes off as if I'm trying to only talk about me, our experiences are our own and I understand this, but I thought perhaps you'd need someone to let you know you're not lost in this. Anyways, I'm rambling again. Best to you, David - Simon H.

David finds himself relieved, yet troubled all the more with new thoughts already nestled away in his head. He'd reply soon, he knew, but not now. He was tired now, and perhaps, for once, for the first time in a long age, it would come easily.

He was right.