Fifth in the Away series, follows 'Closer and Apart'.

Note: Someone suggested that I shouldn't bother to apologize for a mix-up that occurred in 'Closer and Apart', because even native English speakers can sometimes mistake 'ingenuity' for 'ingenuousness' (ingenuita' in Italian!), but I suspect this problem is his alone. Thus, I beg forgiveness in sackcloth and ashes for having used twice the word ingenuity with reference to Bruce. Actually, I meant that Lex found him naive. Things that happen when you're not English mother tongue. I'm very very very sorry!

Feedback: please!

Many thanks to my precious Moss and Jen for the beta.

Dedication: This is for my betas, and for the kind readers who emailed me, especially my faithful fans Nita, Brandy and Marie Rogue.

Everything was made of plastic. The plates, the cups, the cutlery, the bottles, the chairs, the tables, the vases, the rooms furniture... Like in a kindergarten.

The 30-odd plastic types are organic compounds. This means that, in every case, carbon is one of the elements of which they are composed. Hydrogen, oxygen, chlorine, and sulfur are some of the common elements which unite with carbon to form various compounds suited to use in plastics.

Sometimes he imagined he, too, was made of plastic. No feeling. No pain. No desire. No hope.

The plastic chemist gets the elements and compounds he needs from such common sources as coal, petroleum, and cellulose from cotton fiber. Salt, air, water, lime, and sulfur as also supply ingredients. The chemist puts these elements and compounds together again in just the right combinations to make the various plastics. This is why most of the plastics are called synthetic, or man-made.

He had seen his father only once, since he had woken up at the hospital, after a day-and-a-half in a coma. He was still hooked up to the IV drip. Lionel had gone to see him in his room, and had thrown a pile of magazines and newspapers on his bed, with a look of disdain. The news had leaked to the press. According to the most serious articles, Lex had been hospitalized for a severe intoxication, but the banner headlines of the tabloids read LUTHOR HEIR ATTEMPTED SUICIDE and POOR RICH BOY'S PLOY FOR ATTENTION. His worst fears had come true, and he wasn't even sure he had tried to kill himself. He hadn't thought of it, really. He had just wanted to smother that dread, the terrible anguish that was twisting in his stomach, devouring his insides, becoming more and more unbearable with every minute passing. He simply hadn't wanted to face his father.

"Do you have an idea of the amount of money I spend every year in advertising and public relations?" Lionel had hissed. "No, of course not, because you're just a spoiled, selfish, ungrateful child. With a single foolish gesture you managed to destroy years of work by my highly paid PR staff. Now we'll have to work even harder to repair the damage you did. I know you enjoy giving me such trouble, but it's time to grow up, Lex."

Lex hadn't moved his eyes from the magazines and newspaper scattered on his bed. One article contained a brief interview with Lionel Luthor. "It was an unfortunate accident," he had declared. "My son suffers from insomnia. He was just careless. He overdid the sleeping tablets by mistake. And mixed them with some beer. You know how kids are. I'm sure he'll recover quickly. Of course, I'm worried, as any father would be. Unluckily, my son's rebellious temperament worsened after his mother's death. He needs time to give the matter some consideration. This is the reason why I decided to send him off to a specialized private clinic for a while. They'll take good care of him."

His father was putting him away and he had found it out reading a newspaper.

"Is this true?" he had asked, in a near-whisper.

"Of course, son. It's my duty as a father to teach you to bear the consequences of your actions. You should be ashamed of yourself. I would give you a memorable lesson personally, if the mere idea of touching you didn't fill me with nausea. But you will learn, in one way or another."

And he hadn't touched him. Hadn't come to see him anymore. Patrick, the chauffeur, had driven him from the hospital to the airport. Harry, the Luthor jet's pilot, had flown him to Connecticut. Another chauffeur he had never met before had driven him to the clinic in a hired car.

He had been led to a small room where everything was made of plastic, as if they feared he could turn anything else into a lethal weapon.

Before the plastics are made into finished products, they are often called resins. The resins may be manufactured in syrupy form, in powder form, in flakes, or in pellets, depending upon their intended use. The resin is a plastic. However, other materials are usually added to the resin before it is transformed into objects. Wood, flour, cotton, asbestos, mica, and clay are typical fillers. Such fillers, when added to the plastics resin, might be compared to the sand and gravel added to the cement in making concrete.

How ironic. Bruce was rumored to have been put away. Unfounded gossip, as he had explained to Lex, even though a bit of therapy probably wouldn't have harmed him. But now Lex was in the snake pit for real. What a pair. He had laughed hysterically for at least five minutes when the thought had come to his mind.

The first night he had pretended to take the sleeping pill and stayed awake, eyes fixed on the small window on the top of the wall. Hoping against all hopes that his friend would come to the rescue.

Bruce was a liar. He had said he loved him. It wasn't true. If he had loved him he wouldn't have abandoned him. No matter what Lex said. No matter if Lex chased him away. If Bruce had really loved him, he wouldn't have given up. He would have looked for him. He would have helped him. Trust no one. Luthors must rely only on themselves.

But what right did he have to judge Bruce, when he himself was so used to lying that he couldn't distinguish fantasy from reality anymore? Perhaps he had deserved this. He had relived the scene at the school a hundred times in his mind. Yes, he had chased Bruce away. It had seemed the only way out at the moment. He had tried to protect them both from Lionel's fury, and even to protect his father from Bruce. He knew Lionel could easily damage Bruce's life and reputation, but his friend was strong enough to hurt his father physically. Lex had had to separate them.

Now, having time to think, he had started wondering if that wasn't the only reason. If a part of him had simply tried to test Bruce. To see if he really cared. And he didn't care enough. Or wasn't insightful enough.

And then, even if he did come to the rescue, what could they do? Flee to a deserted island? His father had a point. Bruce was just a boy. He was just a boy. He was utterly helpless at the moment. He could only wait, as always. And sooner or later this too would be over.

And yet, Bruce was his friend. Lex needed to hear his voice. Needed to know that someone, out there, was waiting for him. He hated himself for the sense of loss he felt. Hated himself for missing him. Hated himself for his weakness. Hated himself for what he had done in order to contact him.

The more he saw the less he spoke. The less he spoke the more he heard.

He was alone, here. Alone again. The other patients and most of the personnel were males. They deeply frightened him, especially the older ones. He wasn't allowed to take part in the discussion groups. His doctor said he wasn't ready yet. That was okay with him. He couldn't speak before all those strangers. Crazy strangers. Nor could he speak to his doctor. With him, he wore his favorite masks: Lex the Rebel, Lex the Master of Irony. It was all a mistake, he had kept telling him. He hadn't tried to kill himself. He had just drunk too much, taken one too many pills. After all, he was a rich, spoiled boy. This behavior was expected of him. He didn't want to disappoint the public opinion, to take the very bread out of the reporters' mouths. He was simply trying to keep the tradition going.

The third day, he had asked to use the phone. He just wanted to hear Bruce's voice. To warm himself on it. To tell him he didn't mean what he had said. To tell him he was still his friend. To feel he wasn't alone.

He was told patients weren't allowed to use the phone during the first month of treatment. He had endured it for a week. He had no money, but he knew he could gain access to the phone if he played his cards well. He just had to find the right person. Every place had its Carl. He had discarded the two nurses as candidates. He felt more at ease with women, safer, but apparently he had no power over them. They weren't that easy to handle. In contrast, men were obviously attracted to him. His imperfect, abnormal body, which disgusted women so much, seemed to hold a great appeal for them. And you should be my son? What a fake you are! You freak of nature. Smooth like a girl. Girlie. Little girl.

He had picked out whom he thought could be the right man: Burke, one of the orderlies. Middle-aged, beefy, dull but greedy looks, gold chain, bracelet and watch, Tod's shoes under the white pants of the hospital's uniform. Obviously one who lived above his means. One who could appreciate a fair exchange. Take it in, girlie. This is the only thing you're good for.

Lex had sucked him off, for a half-used phone card and five minutes at the pay phone. Even now, while he was leaning against the wall, eyes closed, listening to the rings, waiting for an answer, he could still smell the stink of urine, feel the disgusting sensation of bristly pubic hair against his lips, Burke's rough, big hands pulling his head down, holding him still as he thrust hard and deep, making him gag, coming into his mouth, forcing him to swallow before finally, mercifully, letting go of him. He still could see himself crouched at Burke's feet, watching him as he zipped his pants with a satisfied smile on his face, a man who wasn't worth half of him. He remembered the nausea, his hand rubbing his mouth as if to erase that further obscenity. Remembered the sudden terror at the thought that Burke could cheat him, the thought of having undergone that torture for nothing. But Burke had kept his word.

"C'mon. C'mon," he murmured, holding the receiver with both hands, as if it were his only hope.

"Saint Joseph Boarding School," said the male voice at the other end.

"Uh... I would like to speak to Bruce Wayne, please." Voice cracking a bit, heart racing in anticipation.

"Who's speaking?"

"Ah..." What if his father had ordered them not to accept his phone calls? "This is his cousin, Alec. May I..."

"Mr. Wayne left the school last week."

Left the school? Before the end of the year? I could get you expelled. Oh God. It couldn't be true. "Did he leave of his own free will or did you send him away?"

Cold voice over the phone. "We don't disclose such information to strangers. If you are his cousin, you can ask him."

Lex blushed. "Yeah, well. I've lost touch with him lately."

The phone went dead.

Lex cast a glance down to the end of the corridor, where Burke was still keeping watch. Lex's five minutes weren't up yet. He took out his small pocket diary, found the number of Bruce's home in Gotham, dialed it. The phone at the other end of the line started to ring.

"C'mon, Alfred."

The voice mail took him aback.

Damn. What he was supposed to do, now? Leave a message? Tell a machine he was in a mental institution? What if someone else overheard it? Besides, he couldn't leave his number, because he wasn't allowed to receive either visitors or phone calls.

A sense of hopelessness washed over him in cold waves. Calm down, Lex. Time passes quickly, and you have already wasted enough of it, considering what it cost you. He took in a deep, steadying breath.

"Uh... Bruce," he began. "This is Lex. Ah... You might have seen the papers. I just wanted to tell you I'm well..." Well? Are you crazy? You are in a mental institution. Uhm... yeah, this could confirm the fact that you are crazy. "It's not how the tabloids are saying it is. It was just an accident." An accident. It was an accident. Everything was an accident. "Look, I didn't mean what I said at school. It was all pretend. To fool my father." He felt stupid, talking to this machine, but he wouldn't have another opportunity. "I called you at school, but they said..."

An high-pitched sound interrupted his monologue. Shit. He had waited too long. He cast another worried glance at Burke, who was starting to look impatient. Checked the watch. His five minutes were almost gone. He dialed the number again, with a trembling finger. Waited nervously. Four rings. The recorded message. Another high-pitched sound. Thank God.

"Me again. I was saying that I called the school..."

"Oh, Miss Chen! I was looking for you!" exclaimed Burke.

Lex started. Jerked his head toward the end of the corridor, watching the orderly move to intercept the nurse. Shit. Shit.

"Bruce, I hope my father didn't do anything irreparable," Lex said, hurriedly. "And I hope we are still friends." He hung up and quickly stepped away from the phone just as the nurse entered the corridor.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, staring at him suspiciously. "Shouldn't you be in a session with Doctor Martin?"

"Just going," he assured her.

"I was about to lead him to the office," Burke said, joining them. "C'mon, boy, don't make me waste my time."

She bought it, or pretended to.

"Five minutes are five minutes, not six or seven," Burke snapped out, when they were alone again. "You almost exposed us. Well, I won't ask for a surcharge, this time. Consider the extra minutes on the house." A leering smile curved his fleshy lips. "I hope she's worth it."

Lex hadn't told him whom he was going to call. He didn't bother to correct Burke. He wasn't worth it.

He followed Burke to the doctor's office.

"Here's your patient, Doc. He's eager to start," Burke announced with a brief laugh, then withdrew, closing the door behind him.

Lex sank down in the couch under the window.

Doctor Martin was sitting as always behind his desk, casually dressed, paternal-looking, a serene expression on his bearded, still-young face. He smiled, encouragingly.

Lex looked at the big garden beyond the glass, without really seeing it. He simply couldn't stop thinking he had just sold himself for a conversation with an answering machine. It wasn't going to end, this horrible nightmare. Every day the situation worsened a little. He had started hoping at school, and then... what had happened? Suddenly, it was as if he had received the gift of comprehension. A stunned awareness flashed into his mind. An icy sensation crept through him, a cold, growing anger that annihilated the sorrow, the memories, the affection, the sense of guilt. His father. Yes. His father had ruined everything. As always. He had taken that small bud of happiness he was trying so hard to cultivate and had trampled on it relentlessly. His father hated him. His father was trying to destroy him.

"Do you feel like speaking today?" Doctor Martin asked.

Lex bit his lip. Turned to him.

And spoke.

*

The young man approached him in the recreation room.

" The words on the computer screens are green. The aliens are green," he whispered with a conspiratorial air. "It's something that makes you think."

Lex didn't even know why he bothered to reply. "The letters on the computers screens aren't green. You can choose the color. As for aliens, I'm not sure they're green. In X-Files, they are generally gray."

Suspicious, the guy stared at him for a while before finally turning away.

Lex turned his attention back to his pocket diary, resuming his scribbling and doodling. Doctor Martin had encouraged him to keep one. He said it could help him to put his ideas in order. Lex had never kept a diary before, for fear his father might read it. His small notebook had just been filled with quotes from the books he read and few e-mail addresses and phone numbers. But after the latest session with Doctor Martin, he had felt the need to give some form to his thoughts.

The scene in the doctor's office had replaced the school one as a form of mental masturbation. He was playing it over and over again in his mind, still in disbelief. The world had stopped for those moments, his body and mind in shock, as he betrayed his father, washing their dirty linen in public, staining the family name. Again. He had felt despicable. Had suddenly felt the urge to justify Lionel and blame himself. After all, it was at least partly his fault.

He had talked of Jim as an example. See? It was because of himself, his freakish body, his behavior, the signals he must be giving off. He would have spoken of Burke, too, if it hadn't exposed them both. But Bruce? No, he didn't want to drag him into the mud along with him. It had been different with Bruce, as though Lex's body did have an effect on him, too.

His father didn't hate him. How could he think that? His father wouldn't be that relentless if he didn't care at least a little. His father wasn't trying to destroy him. And he had put him away because... because he was worried for him. There. Yes, Lionel wasn't perfect. Wasn't like the fathers in the TV shows. Was too severe. Was never satisfied. Was wrong in many ways. But he had his reasons. He acted in good faith. He was trying to make a Spartan of him. He was trying to make him strong. And sometimes he simply lost patience with him, because Lex wasn't as he had hoped. He wasn't a warrior. Wasn't brave. Wasn't unbreakable.

Doctor Martin had shown understanding. Had said Lex had made great progress, telling the truth. Had said he needed rest. Had said they would continue discussing the matter during the next session.

All Lex could think was that if Doctor Martin had known him better he wouldn't have been that sympathetic. He would have realized how disgusting and horrible he was. He probably thought it already. He pretended to understand, because that was his job.

For a while, after having left the doctor's office, he had wandered around in a muddle, anxious, expectant. Because certainly something was going to happen. What he had done was going to change his life, he just didn't know whether for better or for worse. At first, he had feared social workers, his father, or even the police would suddenly storm into the clinic. But a day had passed and nothing had happened. Part of him felt disappointed. He wondered if the lack of reaction was because of professional confidentiality. Wondered what Doctor Martin planned to do next. Perhaps he had figured out a way to settle things. No, it wasn't possible. But, maybe...

"Time for your sleeping pills," announced Leon, the young black orderly, laying a yellow plastic tray on the white plastic table beside him. On the tray sat a small plastic cup and two blue pills. Two tablets instead of one. Terrific. Doctor Martin must eventually have decided to heed his complaints.

Satisfied, he put away his notebook and tossed the pills down his throat, chasing them with the water.

He turned his attention to the TV, trying to concentrate. He wished he could switch to Discovery Channel or MTV, instead of having to watch this stupid Mexican telenovela. But the remote was under Nurse Morales's firm control. They said it was in order to prevent quarrels between the patients. He suspected it was because she didn't want to miss a single episode of her soap operas. Truth be told, the other patients looked enraptured, too. No wonder, since they were nuts.

Within the hour, Lex was completely absorbed in the vicissitudes of the charming rogue Juan Del Diablo and his beloved, chaste, passionate Beatriz. He was upset when Burke turned off the TV, announcing it was time to go to bed. He saw Nurse Morales switch it on again, while he and the other patients were herded out of the recreation room. She gave him an understanding smile, as she mouthed: "If you miss something important, I'll tell you tomorrow." He was surprised, and felt pathetically grateful.

In his room, he took out his pajamas from under the pillow. Before undressing, he pulled out his pocket diary. He reached to put it on the nightstand, but then changed his mind. He sat down on the bed and opened it.

The black letters stood out on the white pages as if they were written with blood. He felt them burn as if they were branded on his skin. My father hates me. My father fucked me. They seemed unreal, even after he had uttered them out loud. And then, those other appalling lines that made him feel disgusted with himself... How could he have written them? He doesn't touch me any more. What if he hates me so much that... so much that... He snapped the small diary closed and threw it against the opposite wall. Covered his face with his hands, rubbing it hard, giving a moan of frustration. If he had any hair he would have torn at it, would have pulled it out by the roots.

He had felt better watching TV. It had taken his mind off his problems. Perhaps he should continue to do just like that. Switch off his mind and sprawl before a TV screen the rest of his life. It would be so simple, so peaceful, so mercifully devoid of stimuli. If only his father would let him.

The mere thought calmed him down. This, or the sleeping pills were taking effect. In any case, he greeted the sensation with relief.

He stood, picked up the notebook and placed it on the nightstand. Wearily, he pulled his light gray sweater off over his head.

A knock at the door. The usual round.

"I'm in," he said.

He jumped when he heard someone yank the door wide open. Jerked around, and didn't even have time to realize what it was happening. As the door slammed closed, Burke and Leon were suddenly on him, seizing him with strong hands, slipping him in a... what was that? My God. A straightjacket. Lex struggled desperately to wrench away from their firm grip.

"Let me go!" he screamed, in a blind panic. "I didn't do anything!"

"Yell as much as you want, boy," said Burke. "Nobody will hear you. Soundproof walls, remember? Look at this, Leon. He's like a girl. Can you believe it?" he added in an amazed voice, stroking a hand over Lex's naked chest.

Lex tried to wriggle out of their grasp. No way. There were two of them, and strong. Despite the rush of adrenalin caused by the aggression, Lex's body grew weaker every passing second. Two pills instead of one. Shit. Shit. It wasn't Doctor Martin's idea to change the prescription. It had been a fucking trap.

Burke's fingers caressed his back. Lex shrank. Felt that strange, childish moan, the same one he had heard when Bruce had forced that kiss on him, grow in his throat and escape his mouth.

"Do you hear him?" Burke exclaimed. "The boy is mewing. Miaow, puss, pussy." He laughed, amused by his own obscene sense of humor.

Lex managed to feel ashamed of himself. Even then, even as they were crossing his arms on his chest, pushing him against the bed, tying the long sleeves on his back with surprising ease, as if they had done this a million times before.

Cheek pressed into the blanket, Lex again gave that pitiful, shameful mew, as he felt the brute's hand seize the waistband of his sweatpants.

"What are you doing?" Leon's concerned voice. "You didn't tell me... Don't you know who his father is? If he tells his father we'll get fired! We'll get arrested!"

"Coward," Burke accused him, calmly. "If you're afraid, fuck off."

A pause, and Lex chanced it.

"Leon! Please!" he begged, in a broken, desperate voice.

Burke hit him hard across the back of his head.

The sound of the door. Opened and closed again. No! Lex was alone, now. No one could help him. He writhed, sandwiched between the edge of the bed and his aggressor's massive body.

"It's between us two, now," Burke informed him, his voice oozing anticipation.

He gave the sweatpants a sharp tug. Lex jerked.

"Leon's right," he stammered, his mouth dry. "You're going to pay for this. You won't get away with it."

Burke chuckled, scornfully. A rustle of clothes. Oh God. God. Lex felt the callous hands run over his naked buttocks, rudely grab his hips, spread him. No! Say no. Please. No. Why couldn't he say it? It's your fault. You deserve this. It was his fault. He had started this. He had blown him. He may have given him the idea he could have more.

Without warning, without preparation, the man pushed inside, splitting him open. Lex tensed against the searing pain. Clenched his teeth, clutched his hands inside the long sleeves, stuck his nails into the flesh so hard he was sure his palms were bleeding.

Burke was further in, pounding deeper and faster and harder.

He could bear it. Yes. You can make it, Lex. Just relax and wait. Shut down. Shut it all out. This will be over soon. This too. Even this. Fade away, Lex. And wait.

Lex stared at the flowers engraved on the Plexiglas (acrylic plastic) of the decorative panel hanging on the opposite wall. The colors were very bright. Yellow and red and green.

Each filler used in plastic-molding compounds affects the characteristics of the molded product. Plasticizers are sometimes added to make a resin flow better in the forming process. Coloring agents are often added to the resin so that the object will be colored throughout.

"I've got a message for you," Burke panted into Lex's ear. "Hold your tongue, little girl."

Hold your tongue. Little girl. Little girl? Little girl?!

"This place belongs to him, didn't you know?" Burke went on, as he kept thrusting. "The personnel belong to him. Even the doctors. Don't try again to betray him. Remember, he's always a step ahead of you."

Remember, son. I'm watching you. I've always been and always will be a step ahead of you.

Couldn't be. Couldn't be. Every time he couldn't believe what was happening, tried desperately not to believe, tried to delude himself. Lied to himself. It was becoming harder and harder.

I would give you a memorable lesson personally, if the mere idea of touching you didn't fill me with nausea. But you will learn, in one way or another.

Every place had his Carl. And apparently Lionel always found him before his son did. What a match, daddy. What a thrilling chess game. Or would you say 'arousing'?

"So, as you see, I'm not going to pay for this. Actually, I'm going to be paid for this." Burke laughed outright. "Though, believe me, I would have done it for free. A beautiful boy like you. A true rarity."

He doesn't touch me any more. What if he hates me so much that he will not touch me ever again, not even to beat me? Not even to...

He could cry now, couldn't he? His father wasn't there. Nobody was there, except for a freak of nature and an even all-too normal monster.

Most birds bravely defend their young. No matter how large the enemy may be, from a hawk to a man, the parents will try to drive it away. Some birds try to draw the enemy away to a safe distance by pretending to be injured. The killdeer drags herself over the ground, fluttering her wings and crying piteously. She keeps just ahead of the intruder until he is some distance from the precious eggs or babies.

Nobody was there.

A lump formed in his throat, but he didn't cry. Desperately wanted to, but couldn't.

He didn't feel, didn't feel anything, even as the fucking went on. Didn't feel the pain anymore, only the deep, dull, stunned grief over his broken soul.

He bit his tongue, hard, until he tasted blood, until is sight blurred as tears filled his eyes. He felt them spill from the corners, roll down his cheeks, wet the blanket. Relieved, he cried and cried and cried.

Finally, the body over him stilled. Burke grunted and pulled out.

Lex held still, trembling, the sticky warmth of blood and semen dribbling along his naked legs. He heard the older man tidy himself.

"Remember, boy. Hush," Burke said, a mean smug smile in his voice. With one sharp jerk, he loosened the straightjacket.

Lex heard again the sound of the door opening and closing. He got rid of the straightjacket, stumbling on his feet. Trying to choke back the nausea, he used a cloth to clean himself. He should have waited until the morning, when he could use the shower, like the other patients. The alternative was to asking Burke for permission. He wouldn't do it, not even if his life depended on it. Lex felt his gorge rise. Threw up on the floor, then stood still, staring horrified at the vomit stain. He pulled his pants up, went to the drawer and dug out a towel. Took the bottle of water from the nightstand. Wetted the towel and started to clean the floor. When he was satisfied, he looked around. It was a mess. He picked up what had fallen on the floor during the fight. Tidied up the room.

Right. Better. Much better. Can't live in this filthy disorder. Can't live. Can't live. Wait a minute... He realized his notebook was missing. Looked for it everywhere. Leon or Burke, probably the latter, must have taken it. Bruce's number, he immediately thought. Then a more shocking thought came to his mind. His father would surely see it, and read everything he had written about him.

He doesn't touch me any more. What if he hates me so much that he will not touch me ever again, not even to beat me? Not even...

From a drawer, he took out the black sweater Bruce had given him and which, luckily, Thomas had put in his travel bag. He pulled it on and crawled onto the bed. He crouched on the pillow, back against the corner of the room. Pulled his knees to his chest, holding them tight.

He didn't feel the pain. No. Didn't feel. Didn't feel.

A dull, monotonous sound. It took him a while to vaguely realize that it was the back of his head knocking rhythmically against the wall. Realized it, but didn't stop.

He sat there for what seemed an eternity, rocking himself slightly, staring into nothingness, his head's back hitting the wall, harder and harder. Feeling nothing.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king's horses,
And all the king's men,
Couldn't put Humpty together again.

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