You were the one who let go.
So why did it hurt this much?
( OR: in which, after an unfortunate accident you are forced to get involved with a stranger who used to be your friend. )
---
{ tyler galpin x reader. }
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
( # LIKE YOU NEVER LEFT. )
—
!! warnings: gore, violence, mental health disorder misdiagnosis. please keep in mind this is my interpretation ^^;
—
Sometimes, Tyler felt like he couldn't control his body.
Like he talked and it was his mouth that was moving, but he didn't feel like the one doing the talking. It alarmingly felt like he was a puppet in the hands of a ventriloquist, where they put up a show that mistakenly had him as the star.
Tyler was aware that this wasn't normal.
He was aware of it for a very long time, and when the people responsible for them burst into their ward after the commotion, the words he hadn't even thought of spilled out of his mouth like a river.
The anger. Panic, adrenaline. Excuses.
Excuses upon excuses and sorrow-coated web of lies from emotions he never felt to the bare scrapings of the internal turmoil he was going through– he said it all.
( Was that really him? He didn't– he couldn't even tell anymore. )
They called him Bipolar, sick, like his mom.
He wanted to refuse. He wasn't, ( wasn'twasn'twasn't– ) he knew he wasn't sick or whatever else they said, but he couldn't. Not when his mouth didn't belong to him and all of his efforts at regaining it were futile.
So they continued to talk. Draw compressions. Useless things, in all honesty, and during the much-unneeded lecture, he let his mind wander to places.
How much pressure would he need to crush their skulls? Would the skin break first or would the bones cave in first– just pushing, pushing, and pushing in as their bones crack crack cracked under his palms, like the feeling of popping bubble wraps? ( Pop pop pop– )
( Focus. )
Then, they called him a Sociopath. They told him he would need to go to therapy, of all things, and he had the feeling whatever force controlling him messed up somewhere somehow.
Numb. Numb numb numb– some days, he couldn't feel his fingers. The other days, he couldn't feel himself.
Maybe he was losing his mind. Maybe this was the side effect of whatever the fuck you did to him. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
