Delirium (Creepypasta x reader)

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You woke up gasping for breath.

It felt like something was constricting around your throat, blood pulsing desperately through the compression. You pawed at your neck to pull whatever it was off - but all you could feel was your own skin, swollen and tender and warm with inflammation.

You rolled over and slid onto the floor with a hand gently clasped over your neck, blankets pooling around your legs.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Feel the air rush into your lungs, rattling in your throat. You coughed weakly, fighting the urge to choke as a jolt of pain almost made you start gasping. As saliva pooled in your mouth you tasted iron.

Shuffling out of the mess of blankets you got to your feet and went to the bathroom, one hand against the wall for support. You hoped your neck wasn't as bad as it felt.

The mirror spelled out the extent of your injury.

Bruising mottled your skin, turning what wasn't red into greens, yellows, and purples, specifically around the front of your neck. A smattering of dark red petechiae trailed from your neck to your collarbones. It hurt to swallow. Each breath was full of stridor like phlegm was stuck in your throat, reedy and thin.

Shit you mouthed in shock.

"I can't..."

You let your thoughts trail off, silence filling the void as you grimaced, still tasting blood. You ran the sink and cupped a hand beneath the stream, bending to collect some in your mouth. Swish, spit, repeat. Watch as pink tinted water splashed against the porcelain. The third rinse came out clear, and you prodded around with your tongue, searching for a rip in your cheek and gums that would have caused this.

You found nothing. Your gaze returned to the mirror.

Any hope of explaining your condition away was denial, plain and simple. It was obvious, deliberate strangulation.

The word repeated over and over in your head as you stared at your reflection and the carnage that now marred your decolletage. It looked dreadful. Disgusting. You willed the person in the mirror to change into someone else, but of course that wasn't going to happen. It was you. It has happened to you.

Maybe- maybe you had done it with your blankets while sleeping? Maybe you had twisted so far that they had caused this. It was feasible, right? Tight around your neck for a few hours, but not so tight that you woke up or died from lack of oxygen? That was possible right? Right?

You wanted to cry. You wanted to scream. You wanted to knock everything off the counter, rip the shower curtain off its rod, punch holes in the wall to let out the utter fear and hopelessness that sunk deeper into your stomach as you stood there, silent.

Making sure to stay quiet, you went back to your room.

You laid on your bed and clutched at your head, tucking your legs into the fetal position. It felt like bugs were skittering beneath your skin. There was the insubstantial urge to run - not to anywhere in particular, just away. Away from this chaos, this crumbling tower that had become your life. You could hardly think straight most of the time recently, lost in a fog and just going through the motions. It was nearly impossible to think about tomorrow, much less the next week, and especially not the upcoming semester.

You were at the bottom of a mountain, staring up at the peak, knowing you had to climb it empty-handed. Just imagining the amount of effort exhausted you to the very marrow of your bones. You wished you could sleep for a month. You wished you could sleep for a year until all the uncertainty and pain and fear went away and you could start fresh.