TW: HEAVY SUICIDE/CUTTING TOPICS/CHILDHOOD SEXUAL ASSULT (the two characters talk about it, but nothing actually happens, though that being said he does go into heavy details about both of those topics. Be warned.)
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The morning was just as dreadful as one would assume. Aches crawling up my unresponsive arm, the tightness wrapped infinitely around my chest, pressing against my lungs, compressing into my ribs, bruising my skin. It hurt.
I felt his arms wrapped around me, hugging me in his sleep, snuggling against me softly. The obnoxious alarm clock screeching directly into my ear next to me, that being the main reason I woke to begin with.
I let out a quiet groan, bringing my hand out, smacking the top quickly, snoozing it momentarily. It felt as if he had blatantly begun to disregard the loud clock after it went off every day, at exactly the same time, at the exact same spot on his messy bedside table.
I put my head back down, using his arm as a pillow, the warmth of his muscular figure feeling nice against my throbbing skull.
His eyes still stay plastered shut, obviously exhausted from the day before, as was I. My night of rest was cut unfairly short, as I'd wake up randomly in the middle of the night in excruciating pain. The pain I wouldn't be able to explain. The pain I hoped no one had to experience.
It hurt worse than whenever Schlatt had slit open my leg. The cut felt more like a quick stinging pain, the break on the other hand felt like hundreds of stinging pains on top of one another. Plus the constant aches.
I'd rather be stabbed 20 times than break another bone.
There were tears plastered onto my face from the constant pain. I'd awake in the middle of the night, rolling over, grasping onto my arm as I was having uncontrollable pain surging quickly throughout my helpless body. All I could really do at that moment was endure the neverending pain.
I didn't hold it against him. I don't know who to trust anymore honestly. The one who's mentally fucked, or the one who has his happy little life together. It's not that hard to choose. I trust him more than I trust myself. I don't trust myself. Not now, not never. Especially after last night. Last night could have been it. Dead. Gone.
The feeling of his palms digging into my shoulder blades, pushing me so hard down into the dirt it made deep indents, bruises slowly forming in the shape of his hands. It made it so blatantly clear he had cared. The fear in his expression, the anger in his voice, it was all so unreal.
I've tried to end it multiple times before last night. Never had worked.
Undo the cap, fill my mouth with the painkillers, falling down to the floor. Lay there cold.
Awake on the cold concrete, my face pressed against the sidewalk outside of my house. Lay there alone.
Sat down on the tiles of the roof, my body shivering as the chilling cold froze me. Lay there inconsolable.
With no one.
No one would find my dead corpse. That's what I wanted. It was perfect. No one wanted me, and I wanted no one. It was perfect.
After a while, I have come to realize, that he obviously cares. A couple of bruises are better than a lifeless body with a knife perfectly pressed deep into its chest. I forget about that. Whenever life gets hard, it feels as if it's my only escape. Which it is. If I kill myself, no one will have to deal with me anymore.
No one. No one will have to see my fresh cuts on my skin and worry, see the bags under my eyes, my bloodshot eyes, my neverending curse of bringing down everyone I see. No one will have to deal with me.
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Red Looks Better On Liars- Schlatt X Quackity
Fanfiction"My thorns grew thick on my stem, slicing deep into your shaking palm, your hands of hatred grasping onto my fragile body. As the blood seeped down your hands you began to feel sour; For I was a pretty blooming red rose, and you were the gardener wh...
