"Hey, honey! Get you anything?" One of the overly chipper nurses calls over. 

His eyes shoot to her, his body remaining still as he assesses her like prey watches its potential predator. "I'm fine. Thank you."

"All right then, Adrian, just let us know!" The nurse heads back to her station. 

Where a very skinny boy leans over the counter, grinning rakishly at her. He's clearly asking for something and judging by her face, it is not something he's going to get. 

He eyes the boy before limping his way awkwardly towards a chair near a window to sit in.

"...only the new boy that gets your special attention, Becca?" Adrian can hear him say, in a very flirty voice, as he goes past. 

Adrian is left alone for the most part, until about an hour later, when the psych who admitted him drops into the seat next to him. "Morning, Adrian. How're you feeling?"

His eyes flicker to the man, conveying in a single glare that he feels like he's trapped against his will, and he isn't feeling particularly friendly.

Zevran takes it in stride. "Noted. I'm sorry that you're not happy, but I promise we are only here to help you. I'll just need to ask a few questions, then I'll be out of your hair. Do we have a deal?"

His jaw tics with annoyance, but he nods in acquiescence. "Fire away, haven't got anything better to do with my day."

"Agreed. Someone needs to step up the recreation in this place, for godssake." 

Zevran opens up a clipboard, pulls a pen out from his pocket. "On a scale of one to ten, how are feeling about..." He goes down a list of questions, mostly pertaining to Adrian's mood.

He snorts derisively but answers, the summation of answers coming to the conclusion that he has little to no self worth, belief in his future, and he is angry as all get out. He has lost his future, his sense of self, and now he is somewhere strange, unappealing, and all alone. He just wants his brothers, and his leg back.

Zevran notes all of this, the hopeless note in Adrian's voice, and the underlying anger under all of that. God, but does a small part of him identify with it. 

"We'll have a proper session later in the week, if you feel up to it, but in the meantime, are you experiencing any thoughts of self-harm or suicide?"

"Right, 'cause I have a choice in this. But no, I promise I'm not at all tempted to try and amputate this stupid useless leg."

"Keep in mind we don't know for sure yet, that it is 'useless'. The surgeon's still got to have a look. We'll let you know when the appointment's coming up. And I am gonna hold you to that promise." Zevran writes down a few more notes, then closes his clipboard. 

"As promised, I'm out of your hair. But, if you do want to talk, about anything, let me know. I'm just over at the nurse's station."

"Uh huh... I'll be here, can't be anywhere else."

Zevran holds back his usual spiel about 'being here to help', considering Adrian looks two seconds away from punching him. Slower approach. 

"Dr Kinoch will be by later, just to check up on you. No personal questions, cross my heart." With that, Zevran's up and gone. 

He doesn't acknowledge the doctor anymore, turning back to stare out into the world he is being kept from, his hands fidgeting anxiously.

Someone coughs from behind Adrian.

He turns to see who it is and squints, annoyed. "Excuse you."

He points to himself, looking mock-indignant. "Honestly, one day in here and you think you run the place."

"You coughed, would you have preferred I say Robitussin?"

"Oooh! He has jokes! Well, then, that changes everything."

The boy flops into the seat next to Adrian.

"Uh huh..." He looks at his current conversational partner suspiciously. "Is there something you want?"

He points at Adrian's leg. "Odd thing to do to yourself."

"Yup."

He desperately wants to tell this guy to fuck off, but for some reason, he can't bring himself to.

The boy tilts his head, like he's waiting for Adrian to say more, and then the corner of his mouth lifts, in a smirk that is somehow both superior and sympathetic.

"I have some knowledge of the matter," he says, conspiratorially. "And generally, people don't go straight to trying to chop their leg off. Unless they're proper mental. And you're not."

"Thank you for that sterling observation, guy I don't know, but, as previously mentioned, I don't know you, thus you don't know me, so saying what I am and am not as if you're an authority on the subject isn't really any of your business. Now if you'll excuse me, I was busy staring into nothingness."

He turns pointedly back to the window.

"Not trying to score points with you, matey, merely pointing out that I don't think you did that."

His whole body tenses in fear at those words, his head turning slowly to look at this stranger in terrified awe. On one hand, someone who might actually believe him, on the other, someone who would know his father's secret.

"Got your attention, did I?"

His choice is made, he lands on outright denial, blood before self, as always.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

He levers himself awkwardly up from the chair, trying to get away from this guy whose name he still doesn't know.

"So, how does the leg match up with the bruising on your arms?"

"My arms are from football, its a rough sport. My leg has nothing to do with it, I used a broken bottle to do it, relieving the pressure I was feeling from popularity and the need to win and succeed by making sure no one would ever rely on me like that again," his response is a little robotic, almost practised, but very believable.

The boy turns around to look behind him. "Could've sworn there'd be a teleprompter there-" he turns back to face Adrian. "That sounded excellent, you campaigning for something?"

"I'm going for the role of 'father's greatest failure', why the fuck do you care?"

"Empathy, mostly."

"Anselm!" Calls the nurse. 

Anselm winces-

"-sorry, Anders. I meant Anders." The nurse recollects herself. "If you can't be civil in the group areas, you need to go back to your room."

"He's fine."

It's not exactly welcoming, but he doesn't want the dude to get in trouble.

"Am I now."

"Anders, you've been warned, all right?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Well, now we're almost properly introduced, nice to meet you Anders, my name is Adrian."

"Oh, no, it's all right, really, we don't have to do that thing where we pretend we're going to stay in contact after we graduate."

"Yeah, well, I don't like having a conversation with someone whose name I don't know."

"Oh. Yeah. Right. That. Sorry, not used to having people not already know my name. I'm in and out of here, you see."

"Wow, fame really goes to some guys' hea-" Adrian's witty comeback is clipped off by a wince of pain, his hand clutching at his thigh as tears come to his eyes. "Fuck."

"Woah-" Anders is quick to stand, to hold Adrian's shoulders. "Chair- sit down, here-" 

"Adrian! Hang on, I've got something for that." The nurse rushes over with some medication. 

He tries to stay polite as he growls slightly with pain, refusing Anders' help as he gets himself back into the chair. "I'm fine, I don't need that drowsy shit."

"You don't have to suffer with it, Adrian, don't be afraid to take it. You're safe here, we won't let you go through this alone."

Anders bites his lip against what he wants to say, which is, they'd rather drug you into oblivion than actually do anything about it. 

He stands back away from Adrian, physical cues noted. 

Sitting down hasn't helped, and he knows he has to just accept what she's offering. Doesn't mean he's going to let her know he's losing, so he takes the medication and swallows it dry. "Fine, if it'll make you go away."

"Gone, I promise." The nurse takes Adrian's foul mood in stride, and once she's sure he's taken the medication, goes away. 

He pouts, upset at having to admit to his pain, even to himself, especially in front of a relative stranger. "Say a fucking word about it and I will hit you with my cane."

"I will say nothing to anyone about anything ever," Anders swears.

"What the fuck were we talking about?"

“How famous I am around here?”

"That, or you were telling me your name, strange guy I just met."

Anders leans in close, and winks. "Anders, handsome."

AH! Adrian panics briefly, hoping the immediate reaction of attraction to this very flirty guy doesn't surface obviously enough for anyone to see, but he is very drowsy, so anyone with their face close to his would see the truth, he is very very interested. Instead, he schools his features into something like disgust and leans away from the personal space invader he has apparently gained.

"Woah, dude, I have issues, but they aren't that bad."

The feeling Anders gets is like bile rising in his throat, while ice slips down his spine, and rocks fall into his stomach. 

"My issues have nothing to do with my sexuality. And neither does anyone elses." 

"Look, I... I'm not gay, so just. Leave space for Jesus, okay?"

Anders laughs hard. Painfully. 

"Leave space for Jesus. I was beaten for Jesus. He should make room for me." He storms off, knocking over chairs in his way.

Adrian tries to feel bad, but all he feels is relief, he can't have a pretty boy in his space, his life is already wrecked in almost every way. So he's glad, because he's already being beaten, been beaten, for his mother's transgressions, he doesn't need to be beaten in the name of Christ too. Who needs friends so long as you're still alive right?

Right?

Adrian is left alone for the rest of the day, though the nurses do come through every so often to encourage him to go to group sessions, or offer him recreation. 

Unless he's forced, he'll just sit, brooding, staring out the window, wishing he was anywhere but here.

There's a knock on his door, and an apologetic Anders.

"Hey. Sorry. Didn't mean to make your shit any harder. But also, maybe tone back the homophobia?"

"Why are you saying sorry?" He knows if someone tossed shit at him like that, he wouldn't bother cosying up to the piece of shit. He doesn't trust himself to make contact with this Anders guy so instead resolutely stares at the ceiling, stretching his injured leg out on the bed.

"Because I've also said some shit I don't mean to make someone stop talking to me. And...considering you're in here, I made the assumption it was the same thing."