Number 4, Dark. Demyx wonders if Dusks don't have it so bad after all.
Right now, for instance. He'd returned hours late from a mission he'd almost botched completely - his first real mission since his breakdown, worse luck - because he had trouble understanding what people said. If he hadn't finally confessed to the world's inhabitants, admitted that he had trouble hearing and they'd have to speak loudly and clearly so he could understand them, he would have botched it, and having to admit his handicap to succeed - well, it hurt his pride. Not like he had much of that left. He certainly hadn't admitted it to Saix - the dressing-down he'd received had been bad enough and then some without being able to hear all of it. The worst part, though, was the look Axel and Roxas had given him immediately afterward - the "you've been getting high again, haven't you" look. Sometimes he wanted to grab them both by the collars and give them a good shake and yell "I'm not a fuckin' druggie, okay?! I don't DO that shit!" until they got the message.
Of course, if he did that, what impression would they get? That he was losing his mind without the assistance of drugs. Which he was. He just wasn't going clinically insane. Yet.
And it didn't help that once he got back to his room - when he would have liked nothing better than to sit down on a pillow and play sitar until he felt a little less like nothing, or flop on the bed with the stereo on and let the music wash his troubles away - he couldn't. He didn't even have the reassurance of knowing that avoiding music was halting his hearing loss - the results of his last audiometry test had been "inconclusive", as Vexen put it; a little worse than before, but not so much worse it couldn't have been a slight variation on the audiometer's part.
So instead of letting music heal that empty hole which seemed to be taking over his whole chest, Demyx just stood there in the dark room and stared out the window, watching without interest as a pair of Dusks wandered past on patrol.
Dusks are so lucky. They're not smart enough to worry about anything. They don't have to deal with shit like this. He sighed and looked down at his feet. Maybe it would have been better if I'd been created a Dusk. Blind instead of deaf. Mindless instead of stupid. No useful hands instead of just no use at all.
Fuck, I'm no more than a Dusk already, I'm just smart enough to know it.
Well, why not? He slid thick rubber bands over his hands, forcing them into an odd spindle shape that approximated a Dusk's hands. The headband he wore for bone-conduction tests went over his eyes, with some difficulty. Then...well, that was it. He just stood there, blind, partly deaf, with useless hands, and no real idea what was going on around him.
Like the lowest of the low. Only I know it.
Dark wet spots started to appear on the front of the headband, but he didn't realize it. If I have to be nothing, why do I have to be aware of it?