London Institute For The Mentally Ill (An Infernal Devices Fanfic)

IV

He always hated being sedated.

He would've preferred a head throbbing in pain than a head swimming in daze.

The moment he opened his eyes, his vision started to blur.

Instinct told him to wriggle his feet, and to his surprise the bounds are off him. He can feel his own anger flood his veins however when he realized that his wrists aren't as free. He can feel himself exploding the moment he glared at what's holding his hands back.

He is bound in his bed using two pairs of handcuffs. The links are long enough just for him to move his hands around and not cause strain, but they're handcuffs still. The cold metal bit in to his skin; it bit harder when he trashed around trying to rid the cuffs free off his bed.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." A soothing voice warned him. He glared at the source, and immediately calmed down when his gaze is met with kind eyes and a small smile.

"James." He breathed. He sat on his bed and allowed his hands to rest on his lap.

"Jem." He patiently corrected. "Really, Will. Everyone calls me that."

He rubbed his temples in an attempt to further clear his vision. It almost did the trick. "How long have I been out?" He slightly grinned at him to test the waters, "Jem?"

He returned his grin. "It's evening, maybe early morning." He shrugged. "Do the math. Either way, you managed to tick Magnus in his nerves hard enough to give you a strong dosage."

"Bitch please." He said back amusedly. "You know how I feel about him."

"I know." Jem reassured. "He can be annoying, but what he does is for our own good."

"You sound thrice your age."

"Should fit my looks, don't you think?" Jem smiled sadly. He saw him rub his wrists reflexively.

Jem has always been a calming presence to him. He is well aware of the fact that Jem saved him from daily dosages of sedatives; before he arrived shortly after he did, he's practically a madman, hitting the staff, picking at the other patients relentlessly, cruelly. Having Jem around is the best thing that's happened in this rabbit hole.

He still doesn't know what makes Jem different from others, however. Five years and he still ain't got a clue. All of them are the same, yet somehow Jem managed to make himself different.

Or look different.

Because of him, he experienced things he longed to be felt; a lightness, a humour - actual humour -, an ease.

He became dependent on Jem more than his sedatives and antidepressants so much that when he's out of commission, he can only drown further in the depths of his mind.

Jem rubbed harder on his wrists. He may have noticed that more gray streaks of hair start to appear on his head. Something is clearly bothering him. All those textbooks in the asylum library, and he can't find himself doing anything from it for the simple reason that he thinks it isn't going to work.

Damn.

He hates it when things are one-sided.

Jem knows how to calm him down, yet he can't even find a way to return the favour.

At that he gritted his teeth and trashed around once more. Eagerness to break free of his bounds flooded his veins, clouded his vision -- the desire to help.

He can hear Jem's worried voice, but chose to ignore it. Knowing that he can make his hands reach each other, he chose to claw furiously at his cuffs. A rather useless attempt, considering that all he had is his un-trimmed nails, but the pain motivated him. It always had.