It had taken time, but the flesh had finally stopped swelling. Leaving a thin face with tightly pulled torn skin, cracking the wounds open every so often delaying the healing process.
   The pain was still there, so was the memory of it. It struck when a light bounced off something from the corner of his eye, refreshing the scene again and again. Or sometimes it was a certain noise, or the smell of the same disinfectants that his mom used in their bathroom at home, or even the cold chills that still managed to seep into his body even now that he was under the cotton blankets.
   Leaning back against the pillows, he stared above him. Not really seeing the ceiling though. His mind focused on the psychologist he was about to see.
   He scoffed loudly, the sound echoing in the bare room. Eyes darted around him. It was weird here. Quiet at times, and very… disturbing mostly. There were too many questions in the silence. Thoughts ran too much when nothing else was around to occupy the mind.
   He sighed now. Willing his mind to shut off for the moment and to just rest. He wasn't doing anything physically here, but he was still tired. Always constantly drained.
   Pinning it on the atmosphere, he turned slowly and faced the wall and window. With the curtains drawn he could see across the parking lot and into the building across the way.
   Lips twisted awkwardly as he though of the workers going to their 8-hour jobs, supporting families and themselves. With a constant supply of bills to be paid.
   Closing his eyes he almost wished for such normalcy in his hectic life, but stopped himself when he realized the endless work he'd be enduring. With music, he was on the constant go seeing new places while re-seeing others. It was great. It was just the price tag that was on it that made it all insufferable at times.
   The constant going and stopping only to go again, the repetitive hotel rooms, the bus bunks where everything closed in on you at once… the screaming fans who loved only your face and voice and nothing more.
   A groan tore from his lips. In his haste with curing his face from being the fantasy object he had forgotten about his voice.
   A slender hand touched his throat. Fingertips danced over the rings of his esophagus. A new plan started forming.
   "Good morning, Taylor."
   Cringing, Taylor rolled over in the narrow bed, his eyes narrowing at the intruder. "Morning? Yes. Good? Not yet. Not foreseeing it getting any better either." He announced bitingly.
   The young man smiled brightly, "Well, I'll try and remedy that for you."
   Noticing that he didn't even flinch at the sight of his face, Taylor's curiosity piqued. He knew it was going to be a long session. Now he was questioning, just how long it was going to be before this man was gone and out of his life. "Who are you?"
   "Doctor James Hilton." He smiled and saluted, "At your service, sir."
   Taylor rolled his eyes, Three days top. He predicted. And this sucker's history! A smile twisted his cracked lips again, "Sit down." He murmured pleasantly.