Starlights ||Schlattbur||

29: Thursday, Part 2

Warnings: graphic suicide descriptions, referenced self-harm,

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The hallways were the same amount crazy as usual, people being bored with their classes and excited for a five-minute break in-between classes, but due to Wilbur’s overall mood being so gloomy and overwhelmed, everything was ten times louder, ten times brighter, every little touch to his body burnt as well. He felt like each touch from another being or object was a needle poking deep into the muscle. Wilbur felt sick and he wanted to go home.

After three and a half minutes of weaving around the loud and boisterous students and avoiding getting knocked into lockers by students with no boundaries, Wilbur reached the door to the statistics classroom. He felt out of breath and dizzy, but he continued to walk normally, making sure not to slouch or give off any indications that he was mentally fucked up.

Wilbur was greeted by Ted and Charlie, who were sitting on the windowsill in between Wilbur's seat and those of their own. They had called him over to join them for a moment, and he stood and listened to their chatter. Ted started talking about his edible Nerds’ rope journey, and Charlie listened intently with a smile. Wilbur tried to keep up a happy facade, but the most he could manage was a half-assed smile that was farther away from being genuine than the north and south poles were from touching.

“I heard that Schlatt’s in the hospital, what’d he do this time?” Charlie piped up, looking at Wilbur.

“Oh- uh, he got hit by a car.” Wilbur said. Charlie looked mortified, while Ted looked slightly amused. “Don’t worry though,” Wilbur quickly rushed to fix the awkward pause, “he should be out by lunch time, he had to get surgery on his shoulder, but-”

“Ah, yeah he’s fine,” Ted waved his hand off.

“How are you not even the slightest bit concerned?” Charlie hissed. 

“It would take more than a damn car to strike Schlatt down. Also, motherfucker owes me fifteen bucks.” Ted pulled his knees up to his chest with a laugh.

“Language boys, I’ll have to write you up next time,” The statistics teacher spoke, appearing behind Wilbur.

He jumped at the voice, quickly whipping his head around.

“Sorry ma’am,”

“It won’t happen again, ma’am,”

“Good, now, class is about to begin, I suggest that you take your seats,” The teacher sighed, turning around at that.

Wilbur said a quiet ‘bye’ and sat down in his usual seat. It was only a matter of seconds before his eyes drifted over to the desk next to him. The desk was empty because its occupant was in the hospital.

The brunette’s leg began to bounce anxiously while Wilbur bit the inside of his lip once again. His hands went to fidget with his ring, but his hands cramped up fast with the weird way he bent his hand.

Wilbur grabbed the water bottle in the pocket of his bookbag, quickly gulping down about half of the bottle in only two sips. His mouth still felt like cotton, but he tried to ignore it.

Wilbur’s eyes drifted to the empty seat again, and this time everything flashed, just for a moment, but the imagery was horrid, something you’d see out of the worst horror movies.

The vision strongly resembles how it was in the dream, the imagery of a teen in green hanging from a rope, except this time the newfound information of the sliced skin and the overdose added extra horror. 

Wilbur's head was filled with horrid, vivid thoughts of Dream's lifeless body hanging from the ceiling of his bedroom, pale and sickly, veins showing brightly and eyes popping out of their sockets, scars littering any inch of skin leave for his face.