Killer Sans Crawling back into my cold dead heart when i feel the worse, which then makes me make him feel the worst out of spite. (Projecting is yummy, but being an author is yummier.)
⚠️ BIGGEST TW: sui mention, Emetophobia, and medication! check the tags for the other triggering ones. ⚠️
Killer laid across his bed silently.
He could hear every tick of the clock. The walls around him were mostly empty, white and blank. He could see every popcorn bump in the paint.
Why does this always happen?
Look I'm sorry- but an apology isn't enough.
How should I fix it- it's not fixable.
Sorry.
Why did I say that?
Why do I always say shit at the wrong time? Why can't I get along with my team? Why can't i find my life satisfactory?
He barely recognized his deepest thoughts creeping up on him, as he stood to open his window for a fresh breathe of night air, before a thought made him gag slightly.
Do it.
Do it. Do it. Do it.
He looked away from the ground.
Look at the sky.
Look at the sky and don't look down.
Look at the sky and back away.
He closes the window slowly. He could barely breathe.
He scratched his neck, gasping for a breathe through his choked tears. You are fine. Nothing is wrong. Don't look outside.
Killer rubbed away the black hate and snot and tears into a black towel.. He needs to wash this. This is disgusting.. Feelings are disgusting...
He glanced slightly at his open bathroom door, staring at the pill bottle sitting on the sink. He glared at it, as if it would cry a River for him. Stupid Bupropion, said it'd fucking Work..
He huffed, before chuckling tiredly.
'Why'd I try to get help anyway? There's just these thoughts that come and go n stuff..'
'not such a big deal.. Others have it plenty worse.'
Killer checked the time.
Morning.
He slipped out of his bed sluggishly, before straightening out, and doing his morning routine.
Teeth, medication, Clothes, and..
He stared at himself in the mirror silently. He swore he saw blood running from his Nasal cavity... Nothing.
..
Feeling nothing feels Fake, yet great at the same time doesn't it?..
The silent halls and his sparse room stared back at him in the mirror.
..
He deserved it didn't he? Being alone is easy, well, it's supposed to be easy. He shouldn't feel this tight pain in his soul.. His Ribcage.. Like it was digging itself into his spine.
He's better off than the rest of em.
Bupropion be damned, These thoughts are just an idiotic part of him looking for that desperate amount of attention.
With one last look in the mirror, double checking for any nosebleeds and possible impressions, he swiftly left his empty room.
