The door was closed with a slight slam after he wished goodnight to his. Coworkers? Friends? Oh, ew, certainly not that... perhaps it doesn't need a name. They're just three shitty people, stuck under the power of one of the most horrifying, disgusting, gut-wrenching monsters in this multiverse.
Killer's smile dropped right as the door was finally shut. First dropped his expression, then dropped his body, right onto the mattress on the floor. He didn't bother moving the balled up blanket in the corner, his head glued to the cheap pillow.
His room is the closest he can call to being a safe space, despite it being the absolute farthest from it. The only place where he can let the mask slip. A mask of complete nonchalantness about killing people for Nightmare's needs, a mask of being the only person remained who has at least a sliver of energy inside of them. It was so easy to get through the day with the usual behavior he always put on, but every time as his door closed for the last time in the 24 hours of the day, the exhaust hit him.
He was tired. So. Fucking. Tired.
Tired of this dirty work. Tired of this unhealthy soul that he doesn't have time to fix. Tired of being alone. Tired of having to regulate his thoughts and emotions as to not attract Nightmare into his room to torture him with his own mind once again.
Yet sometimes, one thought kept slipping into his head. It was so persistent, so quiet. Like a soft whisper of a desperate child in an abusive household.
I want to be saved.
As it crossed his mind, Killer's hand lifted on its own, and slapped him on his head with full force. The bandaged hand hovered in the air a bit after the slap, and slowly lowered back onto the mattress in a shaky manner. There we go. Now he has a headache to worry about. It's better than these thoughts.
He can't sit there and do nothing. He has to save himself rather than wait. He has to make the first step towards freedom, towards healing, towards Color. He's just out of reach...
Yet his hand keeps lowering down and down. Soon enough, he'd be too drained to make the first step. Every day, it gets harder and harder to get up. Every day, he snaps and yells at least once. He can't do this anymore. But he has to...
I can't do this anymore.
