I'm tugged down the halls, the guard's boots hitting against the ground aggressively. My mind is still a blur, running through everything that just happened. That boy triggered something in me. I went insane again, just like with Dib and Keef. And his arm...
I lift my hand to my face as I'm dragged through the detention center. The blood has dried already, sticking my fingers together and becoming cold and stiff. I force my fingers apart, staring as the gore strings between them, falling back to my palm flimsily after a few seconds of attempting to stay up. I can see the nerves and veins in the clump, like worms slithering through mud, dried and hard.
Suddenly, I'm shaken out of my thoughts as the guard shoves me into a room. I turn back and growl, no longer concerned with the whole 'good behavior' thing. I'm pretty sure that won't work anymore. The guard closes the door behind me, leaving me alone in what looks like just another cell.
"What is this?" I demand, not bothering to hide the anger in my voice. If I'm going to be forced into a room, I want a good explanation.
"You're dangerous to the other children," the guard says, his voice muffled through the door. "This is solitary."
Solitary? Well, any chance I had of shortening my sentence has just been thrown out the window. This is a big deal. I'd committed a violent crime while already being in a detention center for committing a violent crime. I am totally fucked. How long will I be in solitary? Will my 'life' sentence be extended? Shit, this is bad. What's happening with me? What's causing me to go crazy? I'm not me anymore. Not all the time. I need to fix this.
Until I hear the guard walking away, I lay on the bed, waiting for a chance to figure out what's wrong. I can't just do it manually, I need to have my Pak scan me. Any strange brain waves or something wrong with my body and it's systems will be reported then.
When the guard- finally- leaves, I stand up and check outside, using the little flip hatch on the door. I have to stand on the tips of my feet to see through it, but once I know the coast is clear, I back up, activating my Pak's scanner. It detaches and flies around me for a second before tethering itself back to the wires behind me.
Nothing is wrong with me. Not physically. It's all the same. This is all me. I'm the only one who can control it.
"But... I can't control it," I mumble to myself. That's the thing. I know that I have to, but that doesn't mean I can actually do it. I breathe deeply, closing my eyes. I need to relax. Stress won't make this any easier. I tap my hands against my legs, and my left hand sticks, reminding me that I still have the viscera clumped in my palm. I lift it again to my face, hating that I still have it, and that I attained it in the first place. I scrape it off with my right hand's claws, not managing to get it all off, but most of it has ended up on the floor. I sigh. I can't even wash my damn hands.
Wait, yes I can. The paste injection device is still connected to my Pak. God, have I really forgotten about that the whole time? I feel so stupid, but decide to blame my ignorance on the forgotten two-week trip that left me disoriented.
A few minutes later, the guard returns to escort me into the mess hall. I feel strange walking through the halls without the other kids, but at least I get to eat dinner normally. I'd missed lunch because of the whole arm incident, though I'm not hungry. I don't get hungry.
Sean is sitting at the corner table when I walk in, but he doesn't notice me until I sit down next to him, placing my tray of food in front of me. The kids in the few surrounding tables retreat to the farther seats in the room. Sean, however, stays put.
"I heard people talking about you," he says, seemingly not concerned that I could hurt him at any moment. "Did you really rip his arm open?"
Flinching, I nod. "Yeah. I don't know what happened. I... well, again... I was just sitting one second... then the next I was on top of him." Just like with Keef.
"That sounds a little bit like Schizophrenia," Sean says, biting into a pile of potatoes. "You know, not knowing why you did it? It could be another personality you didn't know you had."
I nod, but don't agree. I doubt that it's schizophrenia. Humans just paste labels on to someone to make them understandable.
"I heard you pulled out his nerves," Sean continues, poking at some ketchup with a fry. I wonder if he notices that he's eating what looks like blood while asking me this.
"Uh-huh," I answer, lifting my hand again, where some of the blood I couldn't get off has turned crusty and brown. There's still a few worm-like clumps stuck to my fingers. Sean grabs at one, pulling it off of me and holding it in his palm, staring at it in awe.
"That's kinda cool," he says, tilting his head, still looking at the severed nerve with wide eyes.
"You're weird," I say without thinking, then, surprised at my own words, look over apologetically. "Uh, I didn't mean it-"
I didn't mean to.
The words fly through my head before I can register what's happening. Tears spring to my eyes, and I hear the sickening crunch again, screaming, seeing blood, watching Dib and Keef flying across the room, the bone revealed under the boy's gore-
"Hey, hey," I hear, and I open my eyes to find Sean staring at me with concern. "Are you okay? You..." he hesitates before pointing to my cheek. "You're crying."
I lift a tentative hand to my face and wipe at my cheek, feeling tears come away on my fingers. "I'm..." I shiver again at the thought of everything happened. "I'm fine." The words even sound like a lie. I can tell Sean doesn't believe me, but he doesn't say anything about it and gets back to his food.
"So, you're in solitary, huh?" he asks instead. "That must be kinda boring."
"Yeah, the room is even more bare," I say. "And dark. The walls aren't bars. Just cement. Makes the cells look heavenly," I joke, trying to cheer myself up. Forget. Forget what happened. It's in the past. You can fix it. I nod at myself, not caring if the others look at me weird. I can fix this. I can fix me.
---
(Dib's P.O.V)
My eyes open slowly, unable to register anything of what I see; it's much too bright. I try to lift an arm to shield my vision, but my muscles ache and my arm drops back down onto a soft surface.
"Dib," I hear Gaz say. Gaz? Does Gaz live at Zim't house with us? I can't remember ever seeing her there. Or... wait...? Is this even...
I open my eyes fully, looking around. The bright room should have tipped me off; I'm not in my room. The walls are bright white, and the sheets on the bed I'm laying in are a soft blue. I'm in a hospital. With a splitting headache. Jesus.
"Gaz, why am I-" I stop mid sentence. My throat is dry and raw, like I haven't spoken for longer than I should have. I cough, which makes it worse. Gaz hands me a glass of water.
"You were out for almost two weeks, Dib," she says. Her voice is softer than usual, and she actually sounds concerned, which is new. I lean my head back into the soft pillow behind me.
"Two weeks?" Well, now both Zim and I have forgotten two weeks of our lives.
Wait.
Zim.
Keef.
The dance.
"Oh no," I groan. "It... it was Zim. It was Zim, wasn't it?"
"Normally I'd say you're insane," Gaz says, a smile playing at the edge of her lips. Then it drops. "But, yeah. It was. I thought you two were all good."
"We were. I don't know what got into him. Ever since he left to find that anonymous sender, he's been acting weird... Maybe that has something to do with it." I try to push myself up, wanting to figure everything out, but Gaz places a hand on my chest and pushes me back down.
"You're not going anywhere," she says. "You're really hurt, Dib. Zim really hurt you."
"What did he do exactly?"
Gaz sighs. "He sent you into a wall. You got an open fracture on your skull. It won't be healed for another two or three weeks. And you need. To. Rest," she growls. Seeing her being protective of me is strange but sweet. I'm glad she's getting past her destructive habits, but that doesn't change the fact that Zim could hurt someone else. Maybe he already has.
"What about Keef? Zim was all over him before..." Before he almost killed me. I don't finish saying it.
"Keef is dead." Wait, what? "Zim killed him. He's in a detention center now for twenty-five years. He's been there as long as you've been here."
Zim killed Keef. That takes a moment to sink in. Zim actually killed someone. Directly. Of course he'd caused deaths before, but this one was hands-on. Personal. Intentional. The thought terrifies me.
"Why would Zim kill Keef?" I ask, more to myself than anything. Gaz, however, answers.
"I dunno. You tell me."
I take a moment to think about it. "Keef... Keef was asking me to dance."
Gaz rolls her eyes. "Great. Now you're gay and popular. A couple months ago and neither of those were true. You're like a whole new person," she says dryly. Then she sighs, "Sorry, I'm still working on that."
I shrug. "I'm used to it. But, I think Zim might have gotten jealous. But that's no reason to kill someone, right?" I ask, hoping that I'll get some other idea, one that- hopefully- involves the whole thing being an accident.
Instead, Gaz says, "I don't know about that. One time a guy went on a killing spree because he woke up and his wife's breath stank." Usually I would laugh, but the implications of the story scare me. Gaz continues.
"Jealousy doesn't sound too far-fetched compared to that, huh?"