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[[ PREVIOUS, @getblammed ]]
"Well...I already have what I want." The stranger grinned. "This body, though he's fighting back still, is easy to control. Fits like a glove. Like it was mine to begin with."
The stranger stood.
"I like you, Pico. I don't want to scare you. Nor do I want to hurt anyone. I just want a happy life here. Like anyone else."
[[ PREVIOUS , @getblammed ]
It was then Pico realized the humming had stopped. He couldn't even hear BF's usual footsteps shuffling around.
It was unsettlingly quiet. He knew BF was here somewhere, but he couldn't figure out which room he was in.
Pico felt a hand touch his shoulder, sending a jolt of surprise through him.
I had my first nightmare in a while.
Zombies. Again.
Benjamin furrowed his brow, hugging himself as he sat up.
Pico was asleep next to him.
Ben looked around the cheap motel room. It didn't do much to ease his nerves.
Putting on a black jacket over his hoodie, he decided to step outside.
It was just before sunrise, birds chirping as they were waking up from the brightening sky.
Zombies. Of all things to have a nightmare of.
He's heard that it symbolized being nervous about something.
If that was the case, then when was he never nervous? Why does it show up now when they're doing a little better?
He felt his heart rate increase ever so slightly and took a deep breath. This isn't anything, Ben.
He stared at the concrete, feeling his own neck for his pulse. His hands were freezing against his warm neck.
Slowly, he calmed himself down.
"I don't know what it is. People just... don't make sense to me. I can't find the words to explain it, y'know?"
Boyfriend fidgeted, nervous about his words coming out the wrong way.
"...I feel like I shouldn't say anything. I don't want to make you upset just because I'm too stupid to figure out how to say it."
Boyfriend looked at the floor sadly before laughing in a half-hearted manner.
"Don't worry about it. I'm just being stupid like usual."
He waved it off.
"I felt like my brain wasn't my own anymore. "
"It's drifting, floating around like a balloon detached from my head."
"Not literally, duh, but it just feels like it."
"A part of me really wants to snip the string keeping it here. Y'know when you see a balloon and want to watch it go high into the sky and disappear? I have that urge right now."
"But another part of me knows that if I do snip the string, I won't act like myself anymore. Because that's my brain?"
"Does that make sense? No?"
"Sorry. I'm bad at describing things."
cw\\gore, body horror
My ribs are growing, jutting through my skin. My jaw aches as I groan, mouth uncontrollably watering as the pain makes it impossible to close. My nails contort into claws, and my spine pops and snaps as it elongates.
I let out a shuddering breath, starving.
I cry as my hair falls out in clumps, falling to the floor with my tears. My clothes are stained and are eaten by moths, baggy enough to hide my disgustingly disfigured body.
I feel my stomach tearing open, guts spilling out. I grab at my innards desperately, trying to keep them inside me.
Blood. So much blood on my hands. My clothes. The floor.
Before I knew it, I was swimming in a sea of it.
---
Pico jolted awake, gasping and shuddering. Pins and needles prickled his skin, images of what it would be like to peel it off horrifying flashing through his mind.
He felt sick.
Deep breaths. Deep breaths, Pico.
He gripped his blanket in his balled fists, trembling as he tried to count and take his mind off things. To keep himself grounded.
1...2...3...4...
He kept counting, wincing as his mind flashed with the sensation of peeling off his fingernails.
5...6...7...8...
Calm down. Calm. Down.
It's ok.
9...10...11...12...
Pico took a deep breath.
He looked at his nightstand, taking note of the empty bottle.
He needed refills soon. It was only going to get worse if he didn't get them.
Pico couldn't breathe, chest tightened as he felt his skin prickle with unease. It was nauseating how his mind seemed to be over activated, imagining his fingernails falling off one by one, or his skin softening to a sludge.
He was tense, hands balled into fists as he gripped his shirt and paced in an effort to calm himself. He needed a distraction.
