Momentum [(UNDERTAKER X READER)]

#22 - All Alone

The following days passed by the blink of an eye. I couldn't do much more than bury myself in work, and my mind was completely blank most of the time. I didn't cry much more after that day, but I couldn't laugh either.

Undertaker had tried to joke about less morbid things, and I really appreciate him for that, but not even when he tried tickling me before I went to bed last night made me laugh. If anything, I just let a faint smile appear. Each day made his worry more evident.

Every night he cupped my face with both hands and kissed my lips before whispering good night and leaving me to my sorrow. One day when I woke up and opened my door, there was something on the floor.

A small glass vial with something amber colored inside, and a note.

It said 'Use it if you need some more sleep.'

I opened the flask and instantly recognized the scent. It was the herbal mixture he gave me some months ago, back when I was having nightmares.

My stomach churned. This could mean either that he gave up on me, or that he understood that not even his company was enough to soothe the numbness I felt after all that disgrace. Since I doubt that after all his affection and attempts at making me feel better he would just give up on me, I could only imagine he didn't know what else to do, and was deciding to let me have my space.

Forget everything for some time.

So I drank it all and left the empty vial on the floor, closing my fingers around the note and keeping it with me. I closed my door and quickly drifted back to sleep.

I can't even tell how many days went by like that.

All I knew was that I was being kept asleep by regular doses of the concoction left at my door, and even with it I had more than one nightmare with the child and his mother. They blamed me for their deaths, and my deceased family shamed me for what I've done. I couldn't wake up, but it wasn't exactly horrifying, it was just sad. So I'm pretty sure I cried during my sleep what I couldn't cry awake.

I also don't know if it was just my imagination, but I could swear that I felt fingers brushing my face more than once. Whenever I felt it, I heard something inaudible, a muffled voice, rumbling close to my ear.

At some point I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't just sleep myself away anymore, my mind wouldn't go blank enough from work or sleep, and one morning I brought the vial, untouched, inside my bedroom, and left it beside my bed.

But there was something else waiting for me. My clothes had finally arrived.

They were left neatly folded over the two-seat and it was easy enough to bring them all in by myself. It was not morning but it was still day, so I just assumed the mortician was working on bodies and didn't ask for his help.

I couldn't, even if he had nothing more to do. I felt guilty about simply abandoning him alone after all the support he gave me, guilty about involving him in all of my problems again and guilty about having him all worried. Worried enough to provide me with drugs.

So I dressed myself in something new, a pair of plaid-printed pants, my new heeled boots, a white linen shirt and the green vest. It was a good surprise to notice that, inside the green vest, mrs. Hopkins had made slim and discreet pockets to hide two daggers if I wanted to do so. It was quick to access - the vest was sealed with only two buttons - and I tried it with two pencils from my writing desk to check if it popped out a lot.

It didn't. Only if someone paid uncomfortable attention to my chest they'd notice that something was wrong but not even like that could they imagine it was something hidden. They'd think it was just some weird support structure in the cloth itself.