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"Take off your shirt." The nurse sighed, running her hand through her hair. Maybe she didn't look it, to Renjun at least, but it would seem that she'd done this a thousand times. He wordlessly did as he was told whilst her back was turned, purposefully. Perhaps it was inappropriate to take offense at that. She turned to face him again, holding a white box with a yellow danger symbol stuck on.
"Hold still," she muttered, flicking it on and the device let out a soft whir. He closed his eyes and sighed, letting the light trace and tickle his chest. The nurse sucked on her lip.
"That should do it. Does it feel numb?" Renjun opened his eyes as she poked at his chest, the glossed nail digging into the flesh. Yes, it did feel numb, like nothing. Like the flesh didn't even belong to him- it would seem that this was working its magic already. He nodded and the nurse sighed yet again; it was a hotter day that it should've been.
"Good. Wait a second then," she put the device away and rolled out a brace looking gadget. It had multiple velcro straps and general metal structure, all painted black and cold to the touch. Her fingers gently gripped at his shoulders, guiding him into said brace so that he was in a rather unusual position, half lying down half sitting. Precariously leaning. When she let go to tighten some of the straps, Renjun could've sworn she'd left a burn mark on his collarbone, and he involuntarily shuddered.
With the straps all apparently good, the nurse turned to her desk and laid a metal tray at the bed beside him. On it: a small syringe and piece of gauze, and she picked up the syringe. It had a transparent liquid inside, which she examined and squirted a drop out. From his uncomfortable position, Renjun followed its trail onto the bed.
"Breath in," she turned to him with the syringe, placing her left hand behind his shoulder. Not once did she make pointed eye contact, and she merely stared at his chest. Renjun did as he was told, closing his eyes again.
The needle swiftly felt it's way into him as non-intrusively as a needle could, not bothering to weave it's way through capillaries and going straight at his heart. It reached its destination, did it's job, and was pulled out. Renjun had felt nothing, physically. A shock of something- adrenaline, serotonin, nostalgia- caused him to momentarily jerk in the brace, before coming to his senses. The blue ceiling light scrutinised him.
"Good," the nurse handed him the piece of gauze to hold to his chest and put the needle and tray away. "You can put your clothes back on now."
And the blue light never stopped dissecting him, even when he had murmured a thanks and made the conscious decision to not grab her hand to kiss. Even when he had left the room with all his parts intact, its icy glare followed his every step on the grey tiles. The smell doesn't need to be mentioned. His room was located somewhere along the corridor, every door identical and whispering their fair share of judgements. Look at your hair- it’s disgusting. Stop dragging your feet. Walk straighter. He’s gone. Who do you think you are?
He was gone. Who did Renjun think he was?
Deserving to live after killing his best friend? Perhaps. It wasn’t like he had a choice, that evening, when their shouts had alerted a nosy nightowl neighbour. He probably would’ve killed them too had it not been for Jaemin getting in his way, just like he always did. He’d forgotten exactly why they had argued that night- another petty fight, as you do- but if it had had something along the lines of Jaemin getting his way, he wouldn’t be surprised.
So yes; who did Jaemin think he was, acting the saint all the time and practically sacrificing himself for someone new every other week? He deserved to die, thought Renjun, resolute. I did him a favour in that way. Yes, this is just my way of thanking him for saving me so many times- I’ll save you the future heartache. A hollow sting welled up his chest just then, right around where they had injected him, and ate him from the inside out, making him sway, sway, sway.
The correctional facility had always seemed a beacon of hope. The physical incarnation of savior itself; it was able to save even the most long gone as a result of many, many years of research and turmoil. Of which, they were never told much about now that Renjun thought about it, but there always seemed to be one article or another in the news about so-and-so having a cathartic experience at the correctional facility, so much so they came out a completely “different person”. Renjun always found that last part rather odd, steadying his footing and walking straighter, like he was told. It wasn’t as if they walked out with completely different skin cells and organ cells: that would’ve taken some 7 years in the facility. But on average, people spent at most 2 or 3 here, or so the article would always say.
The feeling of foreign blood on Renjun’s hands hadn’t been unlike temperature testing milk to be fed to a kitten. It was the one of the only detailed things etched into his psyche from that evening, other than the unexpected firmness of the knife penetrating Jaemin’s flesh. Granted, it had just been the kitchen knife but…no wonder chopping vegetables had been taking longer. Another similar shock of whatever had been injected surged in his mind again, making him sway a little before deciding to sit down against the wall. Even after countless injections, he hadn’t gotten used to, or figured out what the hell was in it. This wasn’t necessarily scary, though he also didn’t remember the last time he had opened his mouth for a proper conversation. Let alone, the last time he had laughed like the way he had that night.
It had obviously been a wild cross between an affectionate and passive-aggressive laugh, but one would just call it maniacal. As Jaemin’s blood spurted onto his pyjamas and his body crumpled at his feet, he had continued to laugh so hard, he had to grip the knife harder to stabilise himself. As he grabbed Jaemin’s hair a final time (so that he was quite literally holding on by hairs), Renjun looked square into his eyes: clocked out and unfocused, so naively doubling over in the rush of chemicals in the weak body.
“Oi! What’s your number...3685! Get up!” His brain registered a vague shout from above him, and a foot dug into his side, to which he didn’t bother pushing off.
“Or should I force you?” the voice said abrasively. Renjun lifted his head from the top of his knees, allowing his legs to stretch out in front of him.
“Should I? Really…” a hand clasped onto his own, sweat and grime and who knows what, nestled between his fingers, quite liking their new home. Quite a suitable new home, they grinned up at Renjun.
He glanced back at the room where had been injected, obediently walking behind the voice, which continued to mutter off complaints. He glanced back, and thought:
“How fitting it is, to get a taste of your own medicine.”