i need you - an inanimate insanity au

2 • Exclusive experiment

a gasp under the piles of statistics in books.

a girl.
a girl who absorbed herself in those books. months of absorbing. weeks of absorbing. days of absorbing.
one year.
a year of absorbing herself in information.
then another.
and another.

a boy.
a boy she almost concealed herself from, due to her overwhelming shame.

a girl.
a girl she tried to concealed herself from, due to her overwhelming guilt.

a person.
a person she completely concealed herself from, due to her overwhelming pity.

and she thinks that she has nobody.
but she does.
oh, she does.

Wake up, Test Tube.

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•
warning:
this chapter contains...
blood
mental disorders
characters having intrusive thoughts
characters having paranoia
very minor memory loss
you have been warned...
•
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Your eyes flutter open in your lab, your head resting atop a notebook. A wet notebook. Had you fallen asleep again?

You sit up and you stretch your arms, groaning due to the pain in your back. Who knew this experiment for collage could be so draining?

You push your glasses up your face, the sight being not much of a difference than when it was slipping down your face. You can't remember the last time you went to the eye doctor to get your glasses prescription updated... but it didn't matter, at least, not until you got into collage.

You look at the damp notebook on your desk. Why was it wet? Were you frustrated or clumsy then and dumped water on it? Did you cry yourself to sleep? Something else? Your memory isn't a friend of yours these days.

You look down at the notebook, seeing lines and lines of statistics about the new subject for your experiment for collage. And then, you see a shift in the writing.

You notice that the writing on the page becomes more... neat. Of course, your handwriting was neat, but you always wrote in capital letters. This writing was proper and the writing was less straightforward... it didn't look like you wrote this, but you did. Again, your memory isn't really a friend of yours these days.

You see that the writing shift has changed from statistics of Taco to a full-on rant. Lines like 'her face shines with tears, tears I want to force back into her innocent eyes, she doesn't know a thing' seem to concern me. This "rant" looks to be getting out of hand. Had you really written that?

You look back to the notebook and a sketch of Taco snaps you out of your thoughts. It showed Taco's injuries. A crack on her hard shell, another crack caused by a bullet that was now bandaged up, mostly healed cuts on her arms, and, finally, her missing tooth. You're glad you put the bracelet on her arm, but it was in code, so of course you liked it.

You finally push your desk chair away from your desk and you stand up, your legs and back aching from how you had fallen asleep on your desk.

"4 pm! 4 pm! Time to visit Fan! 4 pm!" Your forgotten, automated clock rings out those words. Now, those words are dreaded. You grab a stapler and you toss it at the clock out of anger. The clock shatters.