Chapter 3

The next events that happened were all a blur. A blur where shapes couldn't be told apart, where there was this beating sound in your ears, where the pain was gone and where you couldn't determine what on earth was going on.
When Shinji woke up from this state he found himself in a room with navy blue painted walls. On his left was a small table where his phone was lying, charging, and a window on the wall that revealed he was probably on the 4th floor due to the height he could see things from. On the wall behind the bed he was lying in was a painting of a landscape with blue and pink flowers in a garden and a lake. Such a fake scenery, it was almost a joke. On the wall opposite of the bed was a table with several bottles and some tools he couldn't determine what was. And lastly, on the wall to his right was a door with a chair to the left.
How had he ended up in a hospital?
Before he could answer his own question, a nurse entered the room, her face lightening up in a smile when she saw that he was awake.
"Oh! You're finally awake. How are you feeling?"
"I'm… fine."
What had happened?
All he could do was think about the bandages around his head. Had he fallen down? Or something worse?
"Does your head ache?"
"No… I'm feeling okay. I'm just… a bit confused. What exactly happened to me?"
"Your mother found you in the bathroom last night… there was a knife on the counter but it hadn't been used, and you were lying on the floor, apparently suffering from a blow to the head and a concussion, which is why you can't remember what happened. Do you remember if there was anyone else in the room?"
Moments of silence passed as he thought closely, but then he shook his head and the nurse left the room with an understanding nod of her head. Truly, Shinji had no idea whatsoever what could have happened in the bathroom. He could barely remember stepping into the bathroom. Of course he deep inside knew exactly why the knife had been there, he had been trying to cut himself again. But why hadn't he? Who had hit him in the head? And for what reason?
With a deep sigh he just leaned back against the pillow and closed his eyes. There was nothing else to do but wait patiently. Surprised, couldn't say he was. The fact that his mother was not present at the current scene didn't at all surprise him. He was used to that her care for him was barely anything unless he practically fell and was dying on the floor. And well, he must've been that the night before or else she would not have bothered to help him.
Indeed his mother was a cruel being. At least she was cruel towards him, like he wasn't worth more than trash.

After he had sat in the hospital for almost two weeks they finally decided to let him go and he headed home, hoping for all in the world that his mother wasn't home. And as he expected, she wasn't present and he slipped into his room. The first thing he did was turn on the computer and a mess of blue hair attacked the screen as Miku flew to the front and looked at him. He knew what was coming and covered his ears slightly.
"SHINJI! HOW DARE YOU LEAVE FOR TWO WEEKS ALL OF A SUDDEN AND TELL ME NOTHING?! WHAT HAPPENED?"
"Miku! Miku please take it slow… I hit my head and was brought to the hospital and even if the injury wasn't all that serious they kept me there for so long! I-I'm sorry okay?"
"Oh god I was so worried you moron!" she whined and span and jumped all around the screen; it was rather sickening to watch and when she finally stopped she was looking at him with sadness and worry in her eyes.
"Don't you leave me ever again, got it?"
"I promise…"
He felt so guilty even if he as usual hadn't done anything wrong; he smiled and put his hand on the screen where her hand was, wiping away a few tears.
"I'm sorry…"
"No it's okay, you didn't do anything… just make sure to bring your phone next time you faint okay?" she smiled back and then regained her normal self, beaming up at him.
"Now that you're back, what should we do?"
She looked at him expectantly and he just sighed. What a two-faced computer program, honestly. He clicked open his music composing and recording program and pulled out his guitar.
"I think I got an idea, for the melody…"
"That's great! Let me hear it!"
He ran fingers over the guitar strings gracefully as he started playing with the best he could; he had done as she had told him to, follow his heart. And then this melody hit him like lightning. Miku started singing along with the lyrics he had written while they recorded the song. As they finished she gave him a high-five, which was really just slamming her hand seemingly against the computer screen's edge. Cute. Shinji listened to the song a few times, fixing a few mistakes, adding effects and who knows what. He saved the still unfinished project and stood up.
"I'll go to bed for now, two weeks in hospital is tiring."
"Good night, Shinji. Great work today."
He turned off the PC and went to his futon, where he was fast asleep.

A sound of a bird tapping on his window awoke him at 6 am. He considered getting up and going to school, but just lied back in bed. Right now he didn't want to go to school. He didn't want to see his classmates, or talk to them, or hear their gossiping. Honestly, he just wanted to cover his ears and scream out in pain. But who would hear those screams? Who would see his pain? God? No, there was no chance God was with him after all this. Friends? What friends, he thought.
Miku? She wasn't even a human, and despite her being strong-minded, she didn't understand anything of what he was going through. She wasn't capable of understanding the darkness that clouded his heart and made it beat weaker. She wasn't aware of the clear black stains on his soul. She wasn't aware of the utter darkness that lured in every corner of his entire being. And why would she know? He surely had never made any show of it. And what would the point be of that, anyways. She would just try and change him, and that was not possible. He was rotten to the core and it had always been too late to save him. If people knew they might have cared about him, then they might have shown him worry. But he would know why they were doing it; out of pity. The last thing he wanted was god damn pity. It was pathetic. He sighed deeply as these thoughts overwhelmed him when he was lying there on his futon, wanting to go back into the calm blackness of sleep; the place where no one would ever bother him. With most of the energy he had, he sat up in the bed and let his head rest against his palm. A warm feeling met him. Was he having a fever? His head started spinning and he lied down again on his side. With tired eyes, he watched the birds flying outside his window, and he observed the clouded sky. It was all so… depressing to look at. Honestly, it couldn't fit his miserable mood any better; he was feeling grey, grey and foggy inside, like if someone had filled him up with raining clouds, and they were just waiting to fill him up with water and drown him from the inside. For a moment, he hoped for that to happen. Another 30 minutes passed with this and when he wouldn't be drowned in his internal rainy clouds, he sat up again, this time a bit slower. The spinning feeling didn't come this time and he swung his legs over the edge of the futon, swinging his legs for a moment before he stood on his bare feet on the cold wooden floor. With agonizingly slow footsteps he headed out of his room to the kitchen. So far no sign of his mom, only a note on the table that said she would be back in a week. A week, that was quite wonderful. Then he could at least be free from her and the hatred she seemed to harbor for him, for her own son.
He let out a puff of breath and looked around the kitchen; his stomach felt like it had been turned and twisted so he just filled some water in the boiler for tea. In this condition, he was sure he wouldn't eat anything. After he had made his tea, he went into the living room. There was this slight urge in him to watch a movie, but when he found nothing interesting, he instead grabbed a CD case from his collection and put it in the big surround-sound music player they had in the living room. The songs of this particular CD was sad, melancholic and just gave a whole new meaning to the word "gloomy". It was perfect with his body that had slowly lost all color and life. While his thoughts drifted off to nothing in particular he drank his tea, the music echoing quietly through the room. His gaze settled boringly at the window, where he could see birds flying past, buildings, and if he looked downwards, the cars that drove around on the streets far below. The moments passed like that until he had finished drinking and the CD had reached past the last song; he got up from the sofa and put the cup in the dish washer, before he looked around. This was really not a good life, was it? Wouldn't anyone come pick him up?
"Won't someone come save me…"
The words were a whisper that left his lips without him knowing, and he walked back to the window. With slow movements he opened it and sat at the edge, ready to jump out. But he didn't jump out. He just sat there. He just sat right there, for what seemed like an eternity, until it was getting darker and he got inside again, closing the window behind him. No. No one would come save him… never. He wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly realizing how cold it was outside, and walked over to the sofa where he lied down and wrapped himself in two blankets. His gaze settled on the table that was placed just beside the sofa, and he closed his eyes after a few moments. His head hurt, and his heart twisted and turned and wriggled around inside his chest. The feelings were tearing him apart from the inside, and no one saw. No one noticed. No one cared. He let those thoughts take over his mind as he lied there, with his eyes closed and his hand clenched at his chest.
The thoughts would never stop; it had always hurt, right since the day his father had passed away from cancer. His mother only seemed to care about herself from there on, like her love for her son had been artificial and nonexistent. Shinji had grown up like this, with a mother that probably wouldn't care much if he jumped out of the window, or slit his wrist and died. She didn't seem to give a shit about him.
He opened his eyes for a few moments, tears clouding his vision. He was lonely, and most of all he was just another person in the crowd. But he wasn't just anyone. He had a heart, and feelings, and pain, and no one seemed to care about stuff like that. After a little while, his eyelids started to feel heavy and he closed them, slowly drifting into an uneasy sleep.