Red Looks Better On Liars- Schlatt X Quackity

7~ Te Amo

Tw: blood, abuse

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He stands there, not a single word leaving his mouth, his jaw lying slightly agape, breathing quietly from his nose. The air around us was thick. Thinner than one would assume, though nonetheless thicker than comfortable. I slowly nod, stepping away from the door the man seemed to be guarding, guarding as if his life had desperately depended on it.

I don't walk entirely away, still, far enough he would assume I had gone upstairs.

He stands there a second more, his hands folded slightly as he watches the stairwell. He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes for a second, and turned to the side, running his hands through his soaking wet hair. The snow had dampened his clothes and hair as well as my own. My brain had just forgotten about the freezing cold surrounding me.

I watch as he pulls something from his pocket, a small box. I watch a bit more intently, curious about what he had been doing. I watch as he grabs out a cigarette, reaches into his other pocket and grabs a lighter. He ignites the small stick, a reddish-orange color filling the dark and somber room. I watched as the cigarette illuminated the mass amounts of blood caked onto his face.

He takes a deep breath in, the light flickering a tiny bit, as he exhales out, bits of smoke exiting out of his nose as he does so. His hand jitters as he holds the cigarette, shivering as the water drips off his face. His face lay emotionless, a blank cover for whatever was running through his rampant mind.

The feeling of the smoke burned my nose, seething in my lungs. I hated cigarettes. I especially hated when he smoked in the house. He had tried not to, but he still would whenever I wasn't around.

He leans on the door, slowly sliding down, finding himself sitting on the floor, leaning his head back a little bit, continuing to smoke.

I felt it was my queue to leave, I slowly slid around the corner, and walked up the stairs, pressing my foot pressure to the side of the stairs, limiting any noises it would make. As I climb the stairway, the smell of the nicotine becoming less and less extreme, I thought about how different my life would be from this moment further.

And that thought hasn't left my mind since I stepped foot on that stage.

That stage filled with a crowd of people, all of my coworkers, all of my friends. Nothing will be the same. No one will see me as Quackity, they'll see me as some political monster. Which is exactly what I've become. I have nothing to bring to my world, and they can all easily see that. I've ruined everything. I've put Schlatt in power. I've brought my world to an early end, and I've only got myself to blame.

I creak open our bedroom door, rummaging quietly through the closet, finding some sort of clothes I could change into. I found a random t-shirt and some sweat pants and walked to the bathroom to attempt to scrub off as much of the blood from my body as I possibly could.

I turn the faucet to the right slowly, freezing cold water quickly pouring into the bathtub, filling fast. I take that time to undress, peeling the bloodied clothes off of my body, the deep red already spreading across the wrap on my chest.

I take off my pants, and hesitantly dip my feet into the freezing water, beginning to scrub away at the blood coating my legs. Luckily, my leg hadn't been stabbed nor my skin hadn't been punctured, so the blood was just from my chest wound dripping onto it and soaking through the fabric of the clothes.

I learned after a while that cold water was better than hot whenever dealing with blood. Warm water would only cause it to spread. Spreading blood was the last thing I wanted to do.