A Whole New Life

Ulquiorra sat up in his bed, gently touching the spot where there was always a black, gaping hole in his dreams. It always ached, a deep, core-shaking ache that he could still feel once he woke up. He massaged the spot until the pain slowly edged away, thinking of that other him and the strength he could feel when he slept. He wasn't really that strong, and he knew that he never would be, but during his dreams he was someone that everyone else feared. He was in control; control of himself, control of others, control of how people thought about him- he was in control of that world, that Hueco Mundo. It was his only respite from this world where everyone else was in control of him.

If his body didn't demand that he spend at least a few hours awake each day he would sleep forever, just to feel like he was a person worth being. Because obviously, the other him was one. He sighed. He wished he was like that, that he was somebody the people in here would be afraid of. Then he could intimidate his way out of this crazy place, and he wouldn't have to take all the pills, and even if he couldn't get away they would at least let him outside. They wouldn't now, not since they let him out a month ago and he'd seen one of the monsters. He'd screamed (at a rather high pitch) and fell to his knees with his hands over his head as it swooped at him. He could feel the wind of its flight displace the air not an inch above his scalp. They had locked him inside after that, pumping more meds into him that made him feel dizzy. Since there weren't any windows he couldn't even see the sun.

He sighed, running a hand through his stringy hair. He felt gross. He took a deep breath and slowly slid off of his thin mattress, supporting himself on the metal bedframe as he got used to putting weight on his legs again. It had been at least a week since the last time he'd tried to get out of bed. He made his way shakily over to the green-painted metal door, trying to stand on his toes to see out of the small square window through the metal mesh in it. A male nurse was walking his was from not too far down the hall.

Ulquiorra sat back on his heels again, knocking on the inside of the door. It felt so weird, having to knock to be let out. Most people only knocked to announce that they wanted in- only pets scratched to get out. His opinion of himself sunk that much lower. He knocked again timidly, and the nurse called, "Alright, Ulquiorra, I'm right here. I'm going to open the door now, so please step back." Ulquiorra did, and the door swung open. They could only be opened from the outside.

"What do you need?" the male nurse asked, not cruelly. His pink-red scrub shirt was embroidered with the name Bob, but they all were.

"Um, can I take a shower, please?" Ulquiorra asked, fiddling with his fingers. He found that he couldn't look Bob in the eye, but he'd never been able to make eye contact with people to begin with.

"Certainly," Bob said, reaching out and taking Ulquiorra in a firm but tight grip, leading him out by the elbow. "I'll take you."

"Thanks," Ulquiorra said quietly, letting Bob direct him. He wasn't going to question it or try to bolt but he knew that Bob's hold on his arm wasn't going to go away, so he just went with it. As he walked down the long hallway, green doors uniform on either side, starch white walls, depthless tile that made Bob's steps click, he began to shrink more into himself in a feeling of nervousness.

It only got worse as they kept going. It was all so unnaturally perfect, empty silence buzzing in Ulquiorra's ears, and even though Ulquiorra knew that behind every door there was a person like him he couldn't detect any sounds of life. It was like everyone had become husks of who they really were who didn't need to eat or talk or be human- and Ulquiorra knew that he was becoming one too. The hallway seemed to get narrower and narrower.

Bob led him around a corner and stopped, opening a door. "Here we are," he said, his voice fracturing the silence. Ulquiorra was grateful. He hurried into the bathroom, hustling out of that creepy hallway.

It was awkward for him to have Bob watching him as he showered, and he tried to hide as much of his skinny self as he could from those calm eyes. He scrubbed himself down, rubbing until his pale skin turned pink. It felt somehow renewing to wash all of the dirt and grime that had previously been caked on his bony body down the drain with the lukewarm water and suds from the peach-scented soap. All the time Bob just watched him.

Ulquiorra's arms began to feel raw from the thorough cleaning, the rough mesh petals of the puff irritating the tender skin of his neck and collarbone. He roughly rubbed the cheap shampoo into his greasy hair, forcefully rejecting his filth and not much caring who it decided to land on when it was evicted. He shampooed three or four times, desperately needing to be clean even as the water became cold, until he finally felt like all the sweat and muck was off of him. He turned the water off and timidly reached for a towel. Bob handed it to him, and he swiftly dried off before tying it around his waist to hide himself from the nurse. He stood there inelegantly, clasping the top of his forearm with his other hand and trying not to look at Bob.

"Do you want some clean clothes?" Bob asked. Ulquiorra suddenly realized that he'd been wearing the same shirt and pants since he got here a little over three months ago.

"Y-yes, please," he said. Bob opened the one standing storage table, pulling out a new set of things to wear. He pushed through the items a little, trying to find something that would more or less fit the small boy. He handed Ulquiorra a dark grey t-shirt and black sweatpants. The only thing that wasn't too big for him was the boxers included, the rest of it hanging off of him oddly.

Once he was dressed, Bob took hold of his arm again and led him back down the hall. It wasn't any less odd or lifeless than it had been 30 minutes before, much to Ulquiorra's dismay, and once again he had the feeling of looking his fate in the eye. And he didn't like it. He would admit, the closer they got to his room the faster he went, wanting just to get into the safety of that bare little nook that was his cell. He wasn't a particularly paranoid person, but at the moment he would much rather have had to deal with his own silence than someone else's.

He jumped and gasped as the door to his left was suddenly banged on by the person inside, her face filling the window. For a second he was sure his heart had stopped. "Doc," the lady cried, "Doc, I need meds! I need meds! Why won't you listen to me?" By the end she was screeching, but Bob just led Ulquiorra on at a normal pace like he hadn't heard her. Ulquiorra looked back at her.

"Is she an addict?" he asked, turning from the gut-wrenching sight of the screaming, locked up woman to look at Bob. He didn't want to have to see her agonized face.

"She's a hypochondriac," Bob said simply.

"She could get put in here for that?" Ulquiorra asked, horrified.

"She thinks she has cancer," Bob said.

"Well- have you had her checked?" Ulquiorra asked.

"She thinks she has prostate cancer," Bob said. Ulquiorra looked at his shuffling feet, the sweatpants rolled up to his ankles.

"Oh," he said quietly.

They walked on in complete silence, the type of silence that settles heavily on you. Ulquiorra wished that Bob would say something, but the nurse was quiet and content-looking until they reached Ulquiorra's room. "Here you go," Bob said, opening the door and smiling. "If you need everything else, just let me know."

"Okay," Ulquiorra said, walking through the door. "Thanks." Bob just nodded jovially and closed the door. Ulquiorra sat on the bed, wondering if this place even made the workers here go mad.

What sort of a person smiles in an asylum?