Unravelled - Desert Duo Fic

Chapter 9

TWs for this chapter include: implied previous self-harm, blades/sharp objects, semi-implied suicidal thoughts (not explicitly stated, and they are quite vague). Take care of yourselves! <3

Desolation.

That's what night felt like to Grian.

Completely desolate. Empty.

Quiet.

He was back in the caves, just like he was most nights. Mining. Placing torches. Finding ores. Slaying mobs.

It was somewhat peaceful. Whilst he was fuelled by interactions with others, knowing that he had so much to hide was stressful. There was this thought that always pressed down on the back of his skull: a thought that told him that no one liked him, that they'd be happy to see him go, that he was worthless. The thought told him to hide his scars, and to not shed any inkling to anyone that he was struggling. After all, getting them involved would just drag them down with him, right? Either way, constantly having to meticulously plan every sentence, every action; it got exhausting. It felt nice to have a few moments to himself. His only companies were the monsters (who didn't last long when Grian was nearby. His blade slid through them like jelly, and then he was alone once more) and the stray bats that clouded his vision every so often.

To be completely honest, though, the solitude scared him slightly.

He wasn't scared that something would happen to him, really, which was a bit stupid. At any moment, gravel could fall and suffocate him, a stalactite could slice through his skull, he could trip and tumble into a lava pool... the point was, caves were dangerous, and there were a lot of ways that one could die. There wasn't a lot after death, from what Grian understood: some of the other Hermits found it reassuring to think that you started afresh on a new server, but he found it kinder on himself to imagine that there was nothing. A cold, empty void that you'd be stuck in for the rest of infinity. No thoughts, no feelings, no true vessel. Just suspended endlessly in ink. He found comfort in nothingness-moments such as that. In a way, he hoped he'd get to experience that, one day. He wasn't scared of death, no, of course not: he welcomed death, he welcomed the numbness that came after. What he was afraid of, though, was himself.

Death was easy. Death was quick. Death could also be prevented, if needed. But Grian's own thoughts were not easy. They were long-lasting and there was no way of stopping them from firing, one after the other, putting horrific ideas in his head that he never wanted in the first place. Thoughts about how utterly useless he was, about how impossible it was for him to ever be loved, about how difficult he was. The thoughts were unforgiving with their snarks, and even though Grian would give anything to get them to stop, he knew that deep down, they were true. He deserved for his brain to be full of tapeworms such as these, and they gave him a well-needed dose of reality.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would be hanging out with Mumbo (and probably Scar) all day. There were several things very, very wrong with that. The first was that his thoughts were harder to hide as time went on, and he was worried that the other two would find out about him. That was something that he definitely didn't want to happen: this was his battle, and no one else deserves to be involved. The second and most pressing issue was that he was finding it increasingly more difficult to go for extended periods without... without releasing some of the energy inside him. A quick trip to the bathroom solved this for him, usually, but out with Scar and Mumbo, there'd be no bathroom. There'd be no alone time.

He'd be stuck. All day. Everything building up, no hits of dopamine, no anything. All the thoughts and feelings coursing freely in his arteries, spreading and creeping throughout every inch of his body. Infectious and diseased.