AGAINST THE WORLD || MARKYONG [#2]

Sharp Edges

"I'll be your psychiatrist from now on, Mr Nakamoto. You're coming with me to Ward Four so you can't distract your crush anymore," said Doctor Ryu, stepping inside of the small room. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be. Give me your hands. I might even consider allowing you to interact with others again if you behave."

"I thought Ward Four was containment only?" asked Yuta, raising an eyebrow. He'd heard Sicheng talking about the fact with another psychiatrist.

"There's been a change upstairs. It's been deemed unethical to lock people up full-time, so I've been instructed to change the rules around. That doesn't mean you can throw the other patients around like rag dolls, though. If you cause trouble, I'd happily appeal your admission and have the court reconsider sending you to prison. I've heard there's an empty cell in the local prison that Qian Kun left behind," said Doctor Ryu, grinning.

Yuta furrowed his brow as he looked at the older man. "Something happened to Kun?"

"He's being transferred to Ward Four under my care. He's on suicide watch, thanks to a stunt he pulled in prison. You'll be reacquainted with your old friend."

"I wouldn't go that far," Yuta snickered. "Just get me up there, Ryu. I can't stand to look at your ugly face for much longer."

"I wouldn't get so mouthy if I was you," said Doctor Ryu, slipping the handcuffs onto the patient's wrists. "You might regret it down the line."

—

Taeyong's mind was engulfed in a thick haze as he lay inside of the padded room, staring up at the ceiling. A dull pain was throbbing over his entire body, and his eyes were threatening the close at any moment. His straitjacket's sleeves were stained a deep red, and beside him, the knife was resting on a patch of blood-soaked fabric. His body was weak. He hadn't eaten in several days, and his throat was uncomfortably dry and itchy from the lack of water. He knew he wasn't going to survive much longer. He was already on the edge of life and death, waiting to fall over onto the other side.

He let his head fall to the side, closing his eyes and letting out a relieved sigh as the action left him in complete darkness. His breathing was slow and unsteady, with each breath feeling more and more like a dreadful burden.

Taeyong didn't even hear the door click open. He did, however, recognize the pungent scent that rushed into the room. It was familiar to him. It reminded him of his father. He could recall that the scent was present almost every time his father was in a fit of rage, when he'd hit him and his mother. Taeyong let an eye crack open, only to see Doctor Park looming over him, a bottle gripped in one hand and the knife from the floor in the other.

"Why the hell won't you just die?" he yelled, lowering himself onto his knees. "I need you to die, you stupid child! Why are you doing such a terrible job?"

Doctor Park reached out for Taeyong's arm and tugged in his sleeve, revealing the fresh cuts along his wrist, and the tender skin that remained. He forcefully pushed the patient's arm onto the ground and clenched his fist as Taeyong turned to look at him. Doctor Park threw his bottle and the knife aside before wrapping his fingers around the patient's neck, applying pressure to his jugular as he gritted his teeth. With a sudden burst of energy, Taeyong tried to pry the older man's hands from his neck, clawing at this iron grip, but in his weakened state, he could hardly put up a fight. He struggled for air, letting his hands fall limp as he looked at Doctor Park above him.

His hand grazed against something sharp.

Taeyong reached out for the knife, struggling to get a substantial grip on the slick blade as he stretched out his arm as far as he could. His vision was fading. Pulling the knife in his direction, he managed to get a grip on the handle, and clutched it in his hand. Doctor Park had his eyes clenched shut, but he didn't lose sight of his goal. He pressed down harder on Taeyong's neck, still feeling the patient's rapid—albeit weak—pulse.