Strawberries and cigarettes //Quackbur

🥹Eight🥹

Quackitys pov:

"I need you to know Wilbur, that I would never hurt you." My voice was husky with emotion, but I carried on. "My story, what I am, what happened in my past, I'm never gonna let it or anything else hurt you."

He put his hands on both sides of my head, bringing our foreheads together, eyes closed. His sweet breath drifted over my lips and I took a deep breath, trying to hold back the memories, needing control right now, with him.

"When I was twelve," I began, " I was taken from my parents and placed in a government prison. I never did well in school, my grades were low because i was always fucking around. The people in charge took kids like me, people who were never gonna achieve anything. They took us to this camp place, shoved us into separate cells."

I could still see it in my mind eye, the starch white walls, pristine and sanitary, the whole place was so bright, so glaring, the blinding white they had been when I escaped, and vaguely, the dim candle light they had been when I was first taken in there. I remember being dragged down the long corridor. I remember seeing loads of kids in there. I remember seeing my best friend...

Charlie was always smart, real smart, but I got him in a lot of trouble sometimes, and now he was stuck in that fucking cell because of me. It was the last time I ever saw him human. Or alive, really properly alive.

I remember the feeling of my back hitting the cold hard tile wall, as I was thrown into my new home. I remember everything and nothing about that place. Nothing important remains in my memory, dates, times, addresses, names. All blocked out, the trauma of remembrance too big to survive. But I can recall the rats, the lice, the long sleepless nights, so high on the drugs they pumped into me that I was looking down on heaven. I can recall the screams and night terrors, the pain, the anger, then finally the numbness that had taken over my mind for so many years.

"You made me feel again wilbur." I murmured, cupping his face in my hands, catching the tears on my fingers. "You wanted me to stay, you wanted me in your life, and in return, you've made me feel more human than I have felt since I was a child. They tried to break us, you put me back together."

His tears were knifes to my heart, but I carried on, comforted by the fact that he wanted to know, that he wanted me to stay. I wanted to hold him, to comfort him, to whisper in his ear until he drifted off into dream land, but I needed to get this done.

So I begin again. I began to tell him about the experiments, in as little detail as I could.

It was a couple of weeks after I had been slung in my cell, I had been isolated, alone with my thoughts, a confused twelve year old is a dangerous thing. There were claw marks down my arms, made from my own nails, as I desperately tried to scrape away the misery that was eating me alive.

Then they came, a mechanic whir of the door, several heavy footed steps from large black boots, rough hands grabbing me. A needle being pressed into my bicep. I struggled bravely but the stuff they pumped into me was powerful, enough to knock out a grown man, let alone a scrawny kid.

I can't remember anything after that needle, until about three hours later, when I was woken, glaring bar lights drilling into my skull, a faceless man stood over me, his mask covered in blood, my blood as I would find out, when I looked down, to see my body covered by a blue sheet, my legs covered in stitches and looking much more muscly that I remembered them being.

"You mean," Wilbur gasped, "they did surgeries on kids that young, to make them stronger? That's so fucked up." I almost laughed at that, it was one of the least painful things that those monsters had done to me, but the crack in wills voice advised me to tread with caution, and to skip the gory details as I carried on.

I began to list all the times I woke under those lights, covered by a blue sheet, as parts of my muscle began to grow until I looked 20 when I was sixteen.

"They nearly broke me will. They got greedy." Deep breaths. "They saw all these other experiments going so well with me, they added some... other things."

"When you say other things, what do you mean?" There was a gentle note to his lilting voice but his jaw was tense with emotion. I ran my thumb along it, the slight stubble and sharp edges.

"I have no idea. I never spoke to anyone, I hadn't spoken to anyone in about five years before I met you in that alley. But I looked at you, and you looked different, kind. So I followed you, trying to remember everything I knew about being human."

He smiled a little, taking the whole not human thing well. Clogs seemed to be turning behind his eyes, as his hand found my knee, sliding it up to my thigh, comfort needed by both parties.

"That's why you were on the news? They think you're dangerous?" I just nodded. The program had shut down years ago after we started getting stronger, resulting on a series of attacks. But so many of us were kept there, like fucking animals.

"What's different about you then?" There it was, the conversation I'd been dreading the most, because surely once he say what I was, undeniably not human, surely he would run, screaming. I'm not sure I would of blamed him.

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