Red Looks Better On Liars- Schlatt X Quackity

10~Blackout

HEAVY TW: SH, SUICIDE, BLOOD (Not done, but talked about in semi detail.)

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I sat atop the closed toilet seat, watching the body lay in the bathtub, blood soaking into the carpet next to me, watching as his eyes were glued open, his body cold as ice, his limbs were stiff and unmoving. Terrifying. I could only describe it as terrifying.

    "How do you expect to save him? He's been dead for hours." I whisper, watching as Schlatt feels the body's pulse. 

    "I have my ways." He mutters, his voice muffled. His arms were covered in his blood, a needle laying in his mouth, pinched between his teeth. 

   "Babe, thread this for me." His voice was low and rough, handing his needle to me. I had been holding onto his thread in my lap.

    "Okay, 'sweetheart'" I mock him, carefully pressing the thread into the needle, tying it off quickly. I had always been good at sewing, as I had always patched my own clothes. I hadn't had the need to buy new clothes in a while, as I always just patched up the holes in my shirts. 

    "Thanks, 'baby boy'." He takes the needle from me, places it back in his mouth, takes a washrag, and wipes at his skin, soaking up the blood from Clay's chest.

I jokingly gag at the nickname, giggling to myself. "Does anyone actually use that pet name anymore?" 

He smiles, "Oh I've met some people." 

    "Gross," I shutter, shaking my head. He just smiles, slowly shaking his head as he laughs. 

    "If you're squeamish I'd suggest looking away," He warns me. He doesn't even give me a second of grace period before pressing the needle into Clay's chest, digging it through his wound.

    "Oh my god-!" I turn my head as soon as I witness it. I gag as he does this. 

    "You're fine." He mutters, threading the wound, beginning to close it. 

    "Thanks for warning me," I say in sarcasm, still sick to my stomach. 

He smiles to himself, continuing to thread his wounds. 

     "Did you stab him..?" He asks me out of the blue, observing the body a bit more before glancing up towards me. 

    "No-" I begin, taken aback that he would assume such of me. "He stabbed himself."

   "Sure, Clay stabbed himself." You could obviously tell he hadn't believed a single word that had come out of my mouth. Neither did I to be fair. I was still trying to process that night. 

    "I may be an idiot, but I'm not a murderer," I tell him. 

   "So he stabbed himself in the knee? Of all places? Besides, that's possibly the most painful place to be stabbed, why would he do that?" He brings up.

   "I don't know. I just know I didn't do it." I stand my ground. I hadn't technically killed him, but I heavily aided in his death. 

   "Mhm... I'm not gonna argue." He mutters, continuing to sew his wounds. 

   "So, could you please elaborate on how you'll 'save him.' you keep mentioning these things, but not telling me how," I ask him, looming over Clay's corpse, Schlatt sat on his knees over the bathtub, me on top of the closed stool.

   "What makes you think I'll tell you?" He grins.

   "I'll find out one way or another," I respond.

   "I doubt that for some reason." He sets his bloodied needle in my hands. 

I stare terrified at my uncovered, bare hands, that this man just put a bloody needle on.