Questionable Choices [Yan!DSMP x Reader]

Chapter 46: A Risky Idea

You open the door of your house. As much as you can't wait to get inside and cry yourself to sleep, there's an unexplainable reluctance to get in. A reluctance that you'd never have had if nothing odd is going on.

So, something is wrong. It must be.

Nervously biting on the skin of your left hand, you open the door with your other, discovering that everything seems normal. Keyword: seems. You walk inside and close the door behind you, not even locking it yet, in case you'll have to get out quickly. The deeper you get into your house, the quicker you come to realize that something is wrong, and you especially get distracted when you find the defective weapon hanging out of your ceiling. And on the ground in the middle, lies Sherlock, in a puddle of blood. Your heart stops. His mangled body, once so full of life and now nothing but a lifeless shell.

God hates you and you hate God. But this was just uncalled for.

And after you found Sherlock's body in the room, you did the only thing that you could think of doing. You drank. You only had a few bottles left, so there wasn't a lot to drink, but you drank enough. And unfortunately, you can't remember anything that happened in between. All that you know, is that as soon as your mind had found itself in a calmer position again, you found yourself standing at the edge of the Devil's Bridge, staring down the dry Styx.

And that's where you've stayed until now.

The sun is already rising and you're sitting at the edge of the bridge, feet hanging above the ground and your tears having dried already. Finding Sherlock dead brought you even closer to the edge inside your mind, since he's one of the few creatures that you feel like are actually worthy of your love. But unfortunately, it seems like even he had to find his end.

You know that you called Sapnap. You don't know what the fuck you said, or what the fuck he said, or what you talked about, but you know you called him, since your phone can tell you that at the very least.

And now, with an inability to remember what's happened after you found your beloved pet dead, you're just staring at the upcoming sun, hoping to be blinded by the light. The impulse to look away, however, was much stronger than your desire to lose vision.

After a long and deep sigh, you keep looking, until that itchy feeling in your hand returns. Scratching the skin under your left glove with your metal fingers, you try to make sure that it doesn't get too annoying.

Surprise, surprise, it does.

Taking off your glove to examine the skin that came into contact with the substance that is the virus, you quickly find that a red rash has started spreading all over your hand, also touching your wrist a little. Thankfully, it doesn't seem to appear on the places that weren't bare while you were stuck in that goddamn chamber, but that doesn't make this any less alarming. You know absolutely nothing of this illness that Wilbur created. Is it even really a virus? Or a bacteria? Or is it just something that encourages the body to destroy itself?

When you grab your phone – your personal one, not the one with Pogyber – you discover that your so-called friends have been spamming you as if their life depended on it. Wilbur has called you over twenty times, Niki has sent you a couple of concerned messages and Quackity has also been begging you to answer your phone. Karl, too, texted you, probably about the phone call you made to his fiancé.

But you don't bother responding to any of them. Why should you, after all? Your happiness isn't any less important than theirs, and it's easier to make yourself happy than to try and satisfy a bunch of assholes who just want to put you on a stage for their own entertainment. No, they don't deserve you. And no matter how much you've blamed yourself for the bad things that happened to you, you know that you're the victim. Does you being a victim justify any sins you might and will commit in the future? Most definitely not.