Better Luck Next Time! // Creepypasta x lucky reader

Ch37

I can't count how long I stood in the shower, my body flared with rage no cold water could still.

The tile wall took some abuse from my pounding fists, the slapping of wet skin on a hard surface is not as satisfying as shattering glass, but the sting manages to muddle my mind enough to remove myself from the freezing water.

As reality did trickle back into my conscience I can still feel the heat radiating from my body, it coils around my stomach and suffocates my lungs. I take the remaining animosity out on my thick pillow, gibberish falling passed my lips in sentences I alone would understand.

Thanks to the mess at the examination, I was escorted back to my room without finishing breakfast, a lenient form of mandatory punishment considering the pricy damage done to expensive property.

I suppose I should be thankful, Zalgo's branding scarred into my body could have caused a backlash that jeopardize the whole mission, if someone was present who knew, who profession in such a department, I would have been finished.

Thank God for this luck I suppose, but I'm beginning to feel the effects, the diminishing of my individual ability, like your confidence is being sucked out. It's not horribly noticeable, but when I stop to really think, I can feel an expanding hole in my chest.

I know my luck is having a hard time keeping up with current events, using its full capability to keep me alive while simultaneously walking me through the story, hence the new scars on my body, however few there may be.

It's a nice thought, to finally be free of my curse, but at the same time I'm scared, never thought I would think such a thing, I have wanted to be rid of it for so long, but my luck is the only thing I really have going for me, without it I'm just a person, a simple, useless person who can't help anybody.

And if it fades before I complete my goal...

I grimace, dragging the beaten pillow to my face, screaming passed my mask and into the bulky fabric, releasing my vocal barrage of blether. Why does everything have to be so annoying, complicated, had I not allowed myself to be branded, had I not made that promise, if I had succeeded in ending it all before it began.

If I haven't met that fucking man who coddles me like a child.

"..."

I quiet myself, curling into the blankets on my hard bed, hugging the pillow close to my body. Is this what they call a mental breakdown? I must be more stressed than I realized.

Frustrating. I have no power here.

The lock on the door clicks, I wipe away whatever tears threatened to fall, not willing to allow any member of staff see me in such a vulnerable state.

The lady with a stern gaze step into the room, her hair tied painfully tight against her scalp, she pushed her glasses up with her thumb, the clipboard she held had little papers compared to our first encounter, not needing such as her the number of responsibility's have dwindled with the missing patients, and her breasts... are they bigger then our first meeting or is it just me?

".. Fake" I whisper.

Oop, she glared at me.

She steps away from the door as she jots something down on the paper, allowing a tattered Helen to limp into the room.

My heart falls, I nearly tumble from the bed as I fling myself toward him, steadying him upright. He grips my uniform tightly, Not appearing to need such assistants in standing but appreciates the curtesy.

Helen is covered head to toe in patches of brown dust, the fabric on both sleeves is frayed, worse yet a soft red blemish fashioned his left cheek.

Someone kicked the crap out of him while he was on the floor.