22nd April, 2016

A yawn stretched my spine, a groan following close behind. My chair hadn't been the most comfortable bed, and my neck was screaming in protest – again.  This was the third time in as many months.  I really needed to start drinking more water. It was ironic, considering my profession.  You'd think a doctor would know better. But, well, I'm Ava Kent, and sometimes I'm just…dumb.  Good doctor, though.  Just a little lost in the labyrinth of this hospital, still finding my footing. I'm an introvert in a world that demands extroversion, and it takes time.

A painkiller chased away the worst of the ache, and I ventured out of my office.  Suddenly, a crash shattered the quiet.  Glass breaking?  My heart pounded.  Was it a window?

"What…what was that?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.

I cautiously entered Adrian's room. The scene that greeted me was chaotic.  Adrian, his face a mask of fury, was berating the nurses.  Not again. This was becoming a disturbingly regular occurrence.

"Ah…so you finally decided to grace us with your presence," he drawled, his eyes locking onto mine.  He moved towards me, a predatory slowness in his gait.  The nurses and other doctors cowered in the corner, fear etched on their faces.  I saw it then – a shard of broken glass, crimson with his blood, clutched in his hand. The jagged edge had sliced a deep gash in his palm.

"I was wondering where you’d disappeared to," he continued, his voice dangerously soft.

"Adrien, stay back," I warned, my voice trembling slightly.

"Away from you, Violet?  Ha!"

"Adrien, drop the glass."

"Are you…scared?"

"Adrien, last time…drop the glass, now."

With a clatter, the glass fell, shattering into countless more pieces on the floor.
"As you wish, Violet," he said, the smirk twisting his lips. "Now, answer me. Where were you? Why weren't you by my side when I opened my eyes? Did you…try to run away?"

His voice cracked on the last word, and the change in his demeanor was startling.  The red in his eyes wasn't just anger anymore; it was pain, raw and vulnerable.  His body trembled, not from cold, but from the tremors of a panic attack. The smirk vanished, replaced by a trembling lip, a desperate attempt to suppress a sob. Tears streamed down his face, a torrent of unspoken emotions.

"Adrien, don't…" was all I could manage.  My mind was blank, searching for the right words, the right action.  I moved towards him, my hand reaching out to touch his bleeding one. His hands were so much bigger than mine, a stark reminder of the man before me.

He flinched at my touch, his eyes softening even as the tears continued to fall.

"Adrien…I was in my office. Why would I run away?"

"You…you’ll run away from me…because of me! I-I'm sorry. I know I act like a psychopath. I cause so many problems, but trust me, I don't want to hurt anyone. I don't know how to control my anger. I don't know what to do…I-I…"

He collapsed to his knees, a broken sob escaping his lips. It was the first time I’d seen him like this, so utterly exposed, so vulnerable.  He looked like a lost child, desperate for comfort.

Instinctively, I hugged him. It probably wasn't the most professional thing to do, but in that moment, it felt like the only thing I could do. He buried his face in my chest, his tears soaking my shirt.  His arm snaked around my waist, pulling me closer as he wept. I held his injured hand, pressing a towel I’d found on the bed against the wound. It was quickly saturated with blood.  Had he punched the window?

"Did you…punch the window?" I asked softly.

"I'm sorry…I didn't mean to. I just…I got angry when I couldn't find you. Please…I need you. You’re the only cure for me…"

His body shook with renewed sobs.  As I gently stroked his hair, my fingers tangling in his dark locks, his grip on my waist loosened, and his tears gradually subsided.  The nurses and doctors had discreetly left the room. I hadn't even noticed.

A fragile quiet settled, broken only by his soft breathing and the occasional hiccup.  I helped him to his feet and guided him to his bed. He looked at me with a soft, pleading gaze, clutching my hand in his.
"Stay here," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. "Let me get a first-aid kit."

I retrieved the small box and began to clean his wound. "This might sting a bit, but it’ll be okay," I said, dabbing at the blood with antiseptic.

"Why do you care so much about me?" he asked, his eyes shifting from his injured hand to my face. "When all I give you is pain and a headache?"

I didn't know the answer.  Why was I doing this? What was it about him that drew me in?  Finally, I managed a response. "I'm your doctor. It's my job to keep you safe. And…you're the sole heir to a vast empire, and…"

He cut me off, his gaze drifting to the white ceiling.  "Yes, an heir…to a vast empire. But do you really think a psychopath like me can handle it? Sometimes I wish I wasn't their child. I wish I wasn't the heir. Or that I had a sibling. But if I had a sibling, would they have even kept me? Or would they have disowned me? Would I have spent my childhood in an orphanage, or locked away in a mental hospital, a complete and utter jerk, a burden to everyone, labeled a psychopath?"

He subtly emphasized the word "their," and a flicker of understanding passed through me.  I knew his parents were…distant, but his tone hinted at something deeper. I’d always assumed their behavior stemmed from his condition.  Schizophrenia was a difficult illness, and dealing with it, especially with your own child, must be incredibly challenging.
I remained silent, focusing on bandaging his hand.  He continued to stare at the ceiling, a small, sad smile playing on his lips.  Was he smiling through the pain?  Was he trying to project an image of strength when we both knew he was anything but?

"I know you're not okay," I said softly.