𝐇(𝐀)𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 | yandere! dazai osamu

15 / 15

Your head feels like something is pounding against it from the inside, and your entire body hurts. It felt as if by waking up, you had broken the very tenuous bubble above you—and your agony slid down your blood like molten hot lava. Though was it really yours if it vanished as fast as it formed?

Your limbs didn't seem to co-operate with you; they fall back on the bed when you lift it up, experimentally and strenuously, as your eyes flitted weakly from the ceiling to the wall to your feet.

'Where am I?' Your head throbs even harder at that question. You try to sit up—you put a hand to your head and audibly groan at the sparks of pain that electrified your body. Your throat closed up when you tried to cry out—a vicious cough throbbed through your lungs.

But realization slowly pops over you. You sprint downstairs, feet skidding and sliding against the floorboards as you raced down the carpets. Everything was a blur to you. The wallpaper knew of your plight and remained apathetic to your running. You miss a step and you're thrown down the staircase, each collision against the harsh wood eliciting stunned stars to swim in your vision. You roll into a heap at the very last step, before you look up.

You think you have mastered this house. You've looked into every crook and nanny, encountered the consequences of your selfish actions, battled through the personifications of your own trauma, met face-to-face the face of a Bodhisattva that pinned you down in the dark thorns of your mind, looked straight into the heart of darkness of this place and came out the other side. You have solved a mystery that no one had ever bothered to solve, leaving it to rot in the decrepit nightmare of suicides under this roof. You have found a key to the core of this house, twisted it, and walked into Bluebeard's lair.

Yet it turned a back to you, lurched you off, slapped you in the face, and trampled upon you. This house is a bad dream in it itself.

You can see a very familiar body underneath the chandelier. The weight of it has crushed and penetrated the rotting floorboards, glass, and crystal shards spat all over the floor. You cautiously walk towards it, circle around the dome of the chandelier before something in your stomach churns.

Putting a hand to your forehead, you let out a wail at the sight. You swallow the threat of vomit edging your throat before sprinting forwards and grabbing an arm desperately reaching out, limp against the floor. You grabbed an arm, specifically your arm, and yanked—yet it remained unmoving. A sickening crack snapped in the air, and the arm remained stiff and cold.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," A smooth, velvety voice called out. Your head turns to the direction and a man's standing on the top of the staircase. He makes a move to step down, but freezes in his tracks when your throat lets out a squeezed, hurt noise, like a deer caught in a beartrap hearing a wolf coming closer and closer... A flash of fear, before dissolving into resignation, across his face. "Your body's crushed; your ribs have most likely pierced your inner organs. Give or take a few minutes and you'll be pronounced dead from internal bleeding."

He says this all so casually, so coolly, as if he was talking about the weather.

When he walks closer to you, his nearness paralyzes you; his nearness meant wounds, his closed parameters meant acceptance of your own fate. You back away.

"Why me?" You croak. "Why? Let me go. Let me go!"

He tilts his head at you, wavy brown locks falling over his unsettling too perfect face. "Then go," He steps over your corpse. "But the reality outside is different to our shared one. Once you go through that door...it's a separate reality. The only me is me now. Take that as you will, belladonna."

A cold, souring twist in your stomach sucks the life out of your knees, and before you know it, you're buckling under your own weight, before stumbling backward and onto your bottom. He hurries over to you, half in concern, half in distress, but you put your arms up to wall yourself off. Dazai watches you cry, break down into little pieces in your own arms, let out the most heart-wrenching sobs that it sounded like you were choking on your own cries with every breath. You bring yourself closer, gather up the fragments of yourself as close to your center as much as you can before Dazai comes in and began to nip away your shell, the layers, peel back the echoes of your cries to get to the crier.