Something had got to be different.

Tahlia didn't even have the chance to wrap her head around her surroundings, as she attempted to keep up with Michelle who walked five steps ahead of her, like a swift panther.

The sound of Michelle's kitten heels rapidly clashing against the marble floor created an echo in the otherwise strange and empty hallway.

It had been ten entire days since Tahlia had last stepped foot in the Sanitorium.

Could things have muddled up in her head the past week?

But then, ten days was too short of a time frame for your memory to be playing tricks on you.

It wasn't until they passed by an unfamiliar stairwell, that Tahlia realized that the white hallway she was being led down, was not the same as the ones she'd treaded down for the past three weeks.

As realization dawned upon her, she stopped in her tracks, perplexity visibly settling in on her features.

"Uh, I'm sorry, but where are we going?"

The raven haired nurse paused, turning to face her for a small split second, "Come on, now."

"This isn't the way to his room. Where are we going?" Her voice came out firmer this time.

Michelle exhaled deeply.

"See for yourself, child."

With that, she started walking once again, leaving only the unabating pounding of her shoes to alloy with the perpetuating silence.

Tahlia reluctantly followed suit, not stopping again until they both reached a big glass gate. She watched as Michelle swiped her card against the lock. The door came undone and they entered another series of corridors, lit even exponentially brighter it seemed.

Every minute was turning into pure anticipation for her.

What is happening?

The nurse came to pause only in front of an ivory door, turning to Tahlia with a grave face.

"The Sanatorium expresses regret over the fact that the last three sessions you had with patient 201 had to be urgently rescheduled. We ran into a bit of..a, a situation, you see."

"Oh- that's actually fine. I got your email and—"

"We're in the hospital ward."

Tahlia fell silent. Both Jace and her had received mails that clearly said their sessions for the week were cancelled for 'administrative purposes'.

But why was only she in the hospital ward?

She clefted her eyebrows in uncertainty, leaving Michelle to continue.

"Logan Hunt had a psychotic break 9 days ago. And he injured himself. Severely."

Tahlia involuntarily gasped. A swirl of emotions overtook her stance, one being the most prominent out of them all. Fear.

"He's been stabilized now and is being kept in the infirmary. You need not worry, you can continue—"

"Wait- what!? No!" Tahlia spat, shaking her head briskly,

"This isn't okay. I-It's not safe! Shouldn't we be rescheduling? Wait for him to get..better?"

Michelle sighed, "Honey, trust me, I know. They ought to cancel your session, but there's complications with the University. The deadline for your project needs to be met and you and your friend have already missed three sessions."

Tahlia fought the urge to roll her eyes. Of course.

So what if an unhinged psycho tries to potentially kill you? But God forbid, your assignment is handed over a day late.

She couldn't believe it.

But then, there were a lot of things that sure had shaken up her belief and understanding of the world in the past three weeks.

She ran a hand through her hair. "So, I..I'm allowed to see him?" She warily questioned, glancing at the door, knowing what stood waiting for her behind the hinges.

"Yes, you are. But you'll be under observation; In case, something goes unexpected."

Tahlia tried to regulate her breathing pattern back to a steady pace, as Michelle stepped away from the door, motioning for her to go inside.

She inhaled emphatically, twisting the door handle open.

The first sight she was met with was of a very shirtless Logan Hunt gazing blankly into the wall.

She paused at the door, as her brain seemed to shut down, her feet as if, gluing themselves to the polished ground.

Had there not been the incessant beeping from the monitors, the pounding of her heart may have just about been the loudest sound to ring around the room.

She stayed rooted to the floor, basking in the sight her vision divulged.

There he was, sprawled over the spotless white sheets, various patches and ducts fixed onto his body. His eyes stared off into the indiscernible space vacantly, not acknowledging the presence of the doctor beside him in the least.

But what had caused her breath to hitch in her throat wasn't the man's divine body, but the sundry scars that adorned every ripple of his skin.

Scars.

Things would have been a lot different, had Tahlia been foreign to the concept of scars.

Little, tainted swirls on flesh, that brought with it nothing, but the incisive claws of the past.

For a second, she faintly recalled Dr. Richardson saying something about his scars the other night, but her chain of thoughts was soon interrupted by the sound of an ingrained voice.

"Natalia."

While his face remained stoic, cerulean eyes disclosing absolutely nothing, Tahlia didn't fail to gather the tinge of surprise his voice held.

She took a step forwards, fingers fidgeting for her life it seemed.

"Are you.." She bit down on her bottom lip, failing to find the appropriate words to let out.

"Alright?"

She lowered her gaze to the floor, hating the effect Logan Hunt could have on her even when he was on a hospital bed, drained.

"No." He answered, his voice rather raspier than usual,

"I couldn't sleep at night, afraid a naïve little girl couldn't prod at my mind anymore until she gets on my nerves. What else do I have to look forward to everyday?"

When she flickered her gaze up, she found his eyes peering at her intently, amusement laced in the blue depths.

Tahlia tried to suppress a scoff, letting out a harsh expel of breath as she finally started inching towards the bed slowly.

"I'm not naïve." She blurted.

Logan only sniggered in response. Of course.

She set her things on the side table, cannily taking a seat on the chair beside his bed. It was only then, that she could take in the exhausted appearance of his face, up close.

Dark circles engulfed his eyes, the shade bridging over to the upper part of the hollows of his cheeks.

He looked spent. Yet divine.

She glimpsed at his torso, not being able to ignore the scarred canvas. The seared swivels on his torso were unmistakably burn cicatrices.

A few fresh incisions and bruises stood out against the array of healing old charred marks.

'He injured himself. Severely.'

She tore her gaze away before he could catch her staring, glimpsing at the balding man in the white coat that stood a few feet away from Logan, his eyes focussed on a little piece of paper.

Slowly, she hit the recorder on, finally coming close to gathering enough dauntlessness to look up at him, look him in the eyes.

"Good evening Mr. Hunt."

His cat-like eyes merely observed her, saying nothing.

She ought to begin the interview with questions like, how was your day, or, did you eat well; but seeing how he was wounded and bed bound in a hospital, Tahlia decided to skip on those for good.

Her mind flickered to the ten day old conversation between Dr. Richardson and her.

Should I tell him I know about Ian?, she thought.

But then, letting a critical word slip like that, barely a few days after a murderer had had a dangerous episode, perhaps didn't seem like the smartest idea in the world.

So she settled on trying to get it out of Logan, all by himself.

"Describe your childhood."

She knew he'd blocked his memories, but still.

He remained wordless, merely looking at her.

She didn't like it.

"I believe we left off at my turn."

Unbelievable.

Tahlia knew by then that it was pointless to try and negotiate with a psychopath, therefore she settled on an exasperated expression and an vexed nod of the head.

"What are you doing here?"

His voice was smooth and low, unbefitting of an injured and bleary patient.

"What do you mean? I have a college assignment with you, remember?"

A snicker left his mouth at her words.

"I'm mentally deranged Natalia, not retarded."

Tahlia cast her eyes down to her lap, "You shouldn't use that word." She mumbled.

"What are you doing here? Here, with people like me; People you pray you never have to encounter in life."

He paused, connecting his gaze to hers.

"Natalia, you look like I could as much as say boo, and you'd fall straight from your chair, shaking like a leaf."

Her heart scuttled.

She looked at Logan, her eyes moving from there to the unbothered doctor beside him, then settling back to Logan.

"You underestimate me." She kept playing with the hem of her top, voice toned down.

"You didn't choose this, did you?"

Logan's face was kept impassive, yet the deep undertone in his voice made Tahlia wish she could hide herself behind her palms.

Her fingers dug into each other painfully, "I'm good at what I do."

Logan remained wordless, having perceptibly caught on to her quivering tone.

His eyes, however, spoke sentences to her.

I call bullshit.

"Now," She cleared her throat hastily, glancing down at his bare stomach, at the gashes,

"How did you get these?"

He smiled, "Oh, these. Ask him." He motioned with the slight tilting of his head towards the doctor.

"They electrocuted me a few days ago. I honestly thought I almost died."

At this the doctor finally turned towards them, looking at Tahlia's aghast guise.

"That's just not true, those are old scars. Besides, electroconvulsive therapy is only administered under effects of anesthesia, and it doesn't leave open lacerations, Mr. Hunt."

His voice was passive, bored even.

Logan's smile widened, as if the Doctor had cracked some sort of a sick, deranged joke; much like himself.

He turned to Tahlia, "You believe me, don't you Natalia?"

She let out a dissonant exhale.

Only if Logan Hunt wasn't such a pretty pathological liar.

The doctor scribbled something with force on his clipboard, as he turned to face Logan.

"Your vitals seem to be fine, you n-"

"You know, Doctor, I don't actually give a fuck." Each word was spoken slowly, softly, emphasized to cut deeper.

The doctor sighed, probably too accustomed to it by now.

He turned to Tahlia, shooting her a quick, forced smile,

"You must be Miss Meyers? I'll send someone in, they'll be with you shortly. Please, excuse me." Without as much waiting for a reply, he turned on his heels, leaving the room swiftly.

Tahlia couldn't blame the poor guy.

Then, it was just him and her.

She felt a chill of fear travel down her spine, wondering if plastic ducts were a good enough substitute for metal hand cuffs.

She discreetly looked around her periphery to see if there were any sharp objects, things that could be used as weapons.

Don't let him get to you

"Describe your childhood." She said assertively.

The complacent look from his face vanished almost immediately.

He turned his face away from her, going back to staring at the plain wall, much like earlier that evening.

"Logan, I need to know." She stressed.

"What happened? What happened to your family?"

What trauma did you go through?

He tilted his head back to her side, keeping his face emotionless, as if studying her.

As if she's the one to be observed.

As if she's the crazy one.

"Logan, did your parents hit you? Were your s-"

"My father wore the most outrageous pair of copper rimmed glasses."

There was a moment of pure stunning silence.

Tahlia was positively stupefied.

Was it real?

Was Logan Hunt actually opening up?

"My mother.." He continued, eyes staring off into a random spot down on the bed.

"..I think she had red hair. But sometimes I also see it as dark."

She was transfixed.

Tahlia didn't know whether she was hallucinating or not, but she could swear there was a ghost of a smile on his face, "I do remember her laugh."

Seeing the pure little upturn of his lips, almost brought a tiny smile on her own. At that time, there existed no murders, no psychopaths; only a real symphony of marvel.

"And then I remember fire."

Tahlia imperceptibly flinched as the faint smile disappeared from his lips, his features morphing into something so stoic. She reeled in the sudden change of atmosphere.

"10 years ago. It all burnt down. All of it. Every last bit."

He stared into the same spot, desolation spilling from his soul.

Her eyes raked down his body, the charred skin. She could barely hold her breath any longer.

She looked unquestionably damaged, feeling a little shred of sympathy for the man that sat across her.

Her mind conjured up an image of a young boy in a ring of fire, wrecked.

While her vision may have been an exaggeration of reality, it may not have been very far from the horrors that Logan Hunt could have been subjected to.

She looked at him.

Could this have led to him fostering a murderous alternate personality?

But then, psychopaths are born, not created.

Ian may have very well been a result of whatever went down in that fire, but Logan? Logan had always been a twisted boy.

She gulped as she felt something in the pit of her stomach again. Fear.

But only this time, she wasn't afraid of Logan.

She was afraid for Logan.

He was like fire, ironically enough, in a debauched sense.

He destroyed everything around him, consuming himself in the process as well.

And he had no control over it.

"Don't look at me like that."

His harsh voice rained down on her suddenly, making her flinch by a fraction.

"Like what?" She peered into his eyes.

"Like you've seen roadkill. I don't need your pity, Natalia." He set his gaze back up to the wall.

"I don't pity you, Logan." She replied truthfully.

"Then what? Do you hate me? Do you hate the thought of even standing next to a ruthless monster?"

She remained quiet.

His mood swings were going to give her a positive whiplash.

"Fucking ask what you want. Whether I've always dreamed of becoming a killer, or did I grow up playing with knives and torture devices. Just do it and get it over with." He spat, not bothering to look at her.

"I-"

The door opened creakily, as an old lady in the asylum uniform entered the room.

Without paying heed to the tense atmosphere, she sat down on the stool at the door, flashing a toothy smile.

"Oh, don't let me interrupt. I'll be here quiet." She placed a finger on her lips to mimic her words, making Logan roll his eyes and mutter something under his breath irritatedly.

Tahlia turned to him, exasperated, again.

"Look, Logan-"

"Get it done with and go home, Natalia. Go cry to the mother you never had."

Her eyes widened, throat shrinking up.

"What did you just say?"

Tahlia gritted, the feeling of familiar agony carving it's way into her lungs.

A cruel smirk found it's way on Logan Hunt's cold lips.

It was as if a bulb went off.

A nerve was struck, and he'd sensed it.

The shaded region of his face seemed to turn darker, all of a sudden.

"It's not surprising. You're so easy to read Natalia, anyone can look through you and tell Mommy didn't give you enough hugs." He incited, like a spark.

And indeed, his words set a fire.

She stood up, her lips quivering at her predicament. "You..You b—"

His deep laugh rang throughout the room, cutting her off.

"Why don't you enlighten me? For someone who digs like a pest into other people's histories, you sure seem to be vague about your own." He spat venom; straight up, unflinching venom.

"SHUT UP! You don't know anything about me!"

She yelled, not caring if anyone heard it, if anyone else was in the room.

"Oh, but I do Natalia, I do." He grinned like a madman. The madman that he perhaps was.

"What did she do Natalia? How did she break you?" He cooed patronizingly.

Her eyes teared up, the moisture making it's way from the inner corners, all the way down to her cheeks.

She was taken all the way back into the past. A place of hurt, pain, tears and death.

Tahlia felt sick.

She snatched her file with torrential force, proceeding to dart out of the room, ignoring the fading voice of the woman shouting for her behind.

Who was she kidding? Trying to see if he was different?

Logan Hunt was made to destroy. He had no weapons here, so he did it with his words.

Tahlia had decided she hated him.

She hated Logan Hunt.

✴✴✴