Crucifixion

Scars

It had been a week since James had attempted to speak with Hannibal Lecter, and he had yet to return to the Psychiatrists' Office. His angelic blue eyes gazed down at the glass of coke he nourished in his hand, watching in mild fascination as the brown liquid swirled to the command of his movements. He had been too afraid to go back. He felt embarrassed for the way he left, and for which parts of the conversation the Doctor would surely have heard. He tore his gaze away from the drink, glancing through the window which had a clear view of the Office's front entrance. Though he was uncomfortable with a second attempt, he comforted himself with the thought that observing the subject of your fascination was just as productive; Hiding himself in plain sight in the little coffee shop across the street.

He felt like a stalker, with the hood of his blue sweater covering his head and looming a tempting shadow over his face, darkening his features to a blur. It was a warm enough day, and it didn't surprise James that people shot him an incredulous look once they saw his winter attire through the shop's window. He was sweating more than he'd like to admit, his dirty blonde locks sticking to his burning skin. He had another falling out with his father, although some would say it was plain out abuse. Whatever it was, it left James with a nasty purple splotch on his cheek, and a swollen black eye nicely stacked on top of it. He had a stinging cut in his lip, an angry burn shooting through the tender flesh each time a salty sweaty drop neared it.

''We're closing, kid.'' An old voice shook the teenager from his dark mind, his head turning to see the owner of the little coffee shop gesturing to the door. ''Right.'' James muttered hesitantly, not realizing that his thoughts had taken up several hours of his time. ''Thank you.'' He added, his voice trailing off as he drank the last bit of his coke before standing up. ''For the coke...'' He added as an afterthought, unsure of what else to say. The man would find him weird like most, he didn't doubt that. Desiring some space to berate himself on his stupidity with humanity, James scurried through the door with a hurried 'Bye!'

The sun showed no remorse as its warm rays shone down on the sweating teenager, who felt the fabric of his clothing sticking firmly to his skin. ''Of course, it has to be so warm today.'' He grumbled to no one in particular as he hurried across the street, aching for the shade of the old oak tree that stood next to the office doors. His mind had focussed solely on finding something to ease his desert-like suffering, finding it a sufficient enough a reason to ignore the risk of running into Hannibal Lecter himself. He pressed himself against the bark of the tree, hoping in vain that it would share some sort of coolness with his fragile body. Was it normal for his vision to swim? To have black spots slowly littering across his view? I don't think that the temperature favors me today. It was a last, sarcastic jab of his thoughts towards his situation, before the dots became one, black spot as he lost consciousness.

''Ugh..'' A raspy voice broke through a fleeding daze as James' eyes fluttered open. At first, the light in the room almost seemed to burn his eyes out of his skull, forcing an angry pain to pulsate through his head until he squinted. Slowly but surely, his sensitive sight adjusted to the sudden source of light, allowing him to gingerly glance at his surroundings. He was laid to rest on some sort of leather sofa, one he'd imagine would often be found filled with a therapists' patients. His awareness immediately shot op as he found the missing piece to the straining puzzle he considered his environment, daring to say he knew for sure he was inside Dr. Lecter's office. ''I am relieved to see you awake.'' He heard a baritone voice state, a lilt of a charming accent accompanying each word.

James slowly sat up on the sofa, refusing to utter the pained grunt that got stuck in his throat as he trailed his gaze up towards the desk. Behind the dark wooden desk sat, in another extraordinary custom-made suit, Hannibal Lecter. Immediately, he lowered his gaze back to the base of the desk, unwilling to stare another human being directly into the eyes. ''I deeply regret the burdening I must have provided once I lost consciousness, Dr. Lecter.'' James' hoarse and dry voice croaked out, making the boy inwardly cringe. He sounded so broken. This was not how he had planned their second, if ever, meeting to be. He failed to see the miniscule smirk of amusement that tugged at the corners of Hannibal's naturally puckered lips. ''There is no need for a regret when the reason for it is untrue. You were not a burden, although you were a worry. May I ask what made you wear a thick sweater in a weather so humid, Mr... ?'' Monotone yet slightly intrigued, that is how the subtle inquiry at the end was phrased.

''James Carnifex.'' He provided softly before he cleared his dry throat. ''I am coming up with a cold, and my body was constantly shivering as if it was freezing. I attempted to trick my brain into believing it to be healthy by suppressing the shivers with my... sweater.'' He trailed off at the end of his lie, realizing that he did very little to impress when under pressure. Normally, he was a very smart boy and would have reasoned his way out of any sort of answer without so much as a single drop of effort put in, yet in the presence of the prestigious Hannibal Lecter he felt like a toddler being scolded by an angered parent once caught on a lie.

''And did the sickness perhaps also cause the dark blue battlefield lain across your face, James?''

The teenager shuddered, not from the realization that Lecter saw his face and its state, but from the way his name was caressed by the Psychiatrists' tongue. He knew he could not confide in the man, or anyone really, about what his father put him through. It was either another year of abuse or his father in jail and he himself in an orphanage. ''It is not the bruises of the body that hurt. It is the wounds of the heart and the scars of the mind.'' James answered absentmindedly, his mesmerizing blue eyes gazing at the bookcases. He was an avid reader, declaring the beauty of the written word to anyone that would hear him out, urging others to devour a novelists' creations as much as he did. Not that anyone listened to the disturbed teenager.

''Do you have many scars in your mind?'' Hannibal stood up from his chair, slowly making his way towards the bookshelves the boy was looking at.

James took a moment to gather his thoughts, feeling the pressure of finding a neutral answer. To lie would be rude, but to tell the truth would destroy his life. Neither of those were thoughts he was fond of. ''I have a few.'' He spoke hesitantly, and it was clear that he was weighing his words very carefully. ''My scars simply mean I was stronger than whatever tried to hurt me.'' He believed that to be true, he had to. If not, then he was afraid he would not be able to bear the burden of his father's existence.

''That is very true. In theory a scar, a literal scar, is merely the body forming new collagen fibers, which is a naturally occurring protein in the body, to mend the damage, resulting in a scar.'' Hannibal explained as he took a book from one of the shelves, finally turning his piercing gaze on the boy who by now, was standing up as well. ''I believe I have seen you here before, commenting on my painting as a means of clarification.''

James nodded once, lifting his gaze far enough to meekly glance at the Doctor's chin. ''That was indeed our first meeting, I apologize sincerely for that.'' He fell quiet for a moment, only enough to moisten his chapped lips. He had to go home and hydrate. He felt uncomfortable and became painfully aware of his inapt socializing qualities.

''Perhaps you would do me the honor of another visit, one where you come prepared and in good health?'' Hannibal suggested as he strode towards the boy with a certain grace, holding out the book he had picked up earlier. ''Your lip needs to be stitched in order for it to heal neatly. Allow this medical book to be of guidance.'' James shyly accepted the book, dropping his gaze back to the floor. ''Thank you, Dr. Lecter. I will return here, if only to provide you with an explanation for my first visit.'' He breathed out softly, a red hue spreading across his cheeks. Hannibal Lecter was quite charming, and seeing this attempt at care for him made him feel warm and fuzzy. His father never gave him much love or positive attention, so the foreign feeling of warmth that now bubbled through his chest gave him a lot to think on. He had made his way to the door, shuffling through it and daring a glance over his shoulder. His eyes briefly met Lecter's, and he saw a spark of intrigued dominance in the Doctor's gaze. ''Until we meet again, James.''

''Dr. Lecter.'' James acknowledged, before he pulled his hood up and left.