Not My Valentine

A Long Story Just Got a Lot Longer

Nica could try to force open her eyes. She isn't sure if she truly wants to or should, but she could.

What will be awaiting her if she does? Another body drenched in red, a face slack with the finality of death, and a horrific injury that will sear itself into her retinas? A struggling figure bound with duct tape? The glint of a metal nail file? Red lips and a sweet smile with thinly veiled danger lurking beneath?

Will she be so lucky as to find herself alone? As alone as she can currently get, that is?

Eyelids still shut tight, Nica tries her best to navigate her way through the heavy fog in her brain and deduce what might be happening around her.

There's sound. A television. A clock ticking. How long has she been out this time?

Although it's been a frequent feeling as of late, her head isn't pounding. She's resting... comfortably? It doesn't feel right to say that. Yes, Nica isn't aching, she's on something soft and leaning against something warm, but comfort comes with a feeling of safety that Nica's far from having.

She can smell a familiar perfume and, faintly, cigarettes. Anxiety begins to tighten in her chest.

Goddamnit.

"You awake, sweetface?"

No... Please, no.

The voice is so close. Right beside Nica, practically.

...

She finally opens her eyes. Everything is blurred at first, but she recognizes that the room she's in lacks the awful, nauseating green of the hotel room. It's not familiar at all. Where the hell has she ended up now?

"Nica? Why are you crying?"

Sharp nails lightly skate across Nica's cheek and brush an errant strand of hair out of her face. She can't help but tense slightly. Her gaze travels up.

Tiffany Valentine. It's not a surprise. What is unexpected, however, is the position she is in. That both of them are in.

As if burned, Nica straightens and pushes away, falling off the couch she had apparently been sitting on and knocking into a coffee table on the way down.

"Ugh..."

The next thing Nica knows, Tiffany is on her feet and offering her an outstretched hand.

Nica only stares. What, is this Tiffany's way of ensuring that Chucky isn't in control right now? Is it just an attempt at some sort of fucked up joke at her expense?

"Nica, honey? You alright?"

Nica draws in a shuddering breath. "...Where are we?"

"Home?" Tiffany answers as if it were obvious.

"You and Chucky live here?"

"Who? Where did you get that name from?" Tiffany tilts her head ever so slightly and crouches down beside Nica. "Nobody lives here but us and the kids. This is our home. You didn't smack your head just now, did you?" She reaches out to cup her cheeks and check her over, but Nica flinches away.

Her brain is slow to process what Tiffany just said. It simply doesn't want to. She was quicker to grasp and accept the fact that a doll that "randomly" came in the mail was killing everyone around her one by one, which was objectively more insane.

Us?

Kids?

That definitely isn't right. Nica must be confused. She must've been stabbed with an awful new cocktail of drugs before this. Seriously, where is she?

Pictures hang on the walls. Nica with her arm around Tiffany's waist and three children standing in front of them, one of which she can't see very well from where she sits. Nica and Tiffany dressed in white and standing under a wedding arch, holding each other close with big grins on their faces.

Unopened mail sits on the coffee table. It's addressed to 'Nica & Tiffany Pierce'.

There's a wedding band on Nica's finger and Tiffany has a matching one.

Nica is reeling.

What the hell is happening?

Pain begins to creep into her left arm. It's a familiar pain. A scary one.

What the hell is happening?

Nothing makes any sense. Less so than usual.

When did her vision go? Everything is dark again.