The Class That Cried Werewolf

47 - Search & Rescue

Trigger Warning: This chapter contains depictions of panic attacks, self-harm, and intense mental distress, which may be distressing to some readers. Reader discretion is advised. Also, please take care of yourself and seek support if needed.

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-Tatsuya's POV-

Cold water splashed against my face, the shock of it like ice, jolting my senses as it dripped down my skin. The sensation sent a shiver through me, momentarily distracting me from the storm raging in my mind. The world around me had blurred into a haze, but the icy droplets brought me back, grounding me in the present, even for a moment.

I wiped at my face, trying to steady my trembling hands as the adrenaline that had once fueled me now left me drained and vulnerable. The chants of "monster" still echoed faintly in the corners of my mind, but I fought to push them back as I breathed deeply through my nose, forcing the air into my lungs. My pulse hammered beneath my skin, and for a brief second, I felt the edge of something darker creeping in—a tightening grip of panic, threatening to pull me under.

"Goddammit, calm down," I whispered, my voice shaking as I clenched my hands into fists. I could feel the tension building, my chest tightening as I fought to stave off the rising panic. "You've survived worse, Tatsuya, so this should be nothing to you!" The words felt hollow and forced, as though I was trying to convince myself of a lie I couldn't believe anymore.

Except it's the truth, the voice inside my head hissed, its tone dripping with malice. My breath hitched, the tiny amount of air left in my lungs escaping me as I slowly unclenched my fists, my gaze dropping to my trembling hands. A wave of dread crashed over me as I stared at them, my mind replaying the moment. You killed him with these hands. Serves you right!

I stared at my trembling fingers, the weight of its accusation suffocating. My breath hitched, and as I glanced up, my blood ran cold. The reflection staring back at me wasn't my own—no, it was a bruised and battered version of myself. The skin was bruised in unnatural shades of purple and blue, and blood was pooling from its hollow, empty eyes, streaming down its cheeks like tears. Its mouth twisted into a cruel, sinister grin that mocked me, the reflection daring me to deny the truth of the blood on my hands.

"In the end... you protected no one," the reflection snarled, the same taunting voice coming from its mouth. The blood continued to seep from its eyes, running down its face, staining its sick smile. "How does it feel?"

I staggered back, panic rising, my chest tightening. My breaths came in erratic bursts as my mind scrambled to comprehend what I was seeing. My heart hammered in my chest, my pulse roaring in my ears.

"No," I muttered, shaking my head violently as if trying to dislodge the image from my mind. My heart raced, each beat a frantic drum echoing in my ears. I forced myself to look away from the grotesque reflection, the warped features of the bloodied version of myself seared into my memory. "It's not real! It can't be!"

The words felt like a desperate chant, a mantra to fend off the darkness creeping into my mind. My palms were slick with sweat as I wiped them against my pants, but the image lingered, taunting me from the corners of my vision. I squeezed my eyes shut for a brief moment, willing the nightmare to evaporate, but the chilling truth clawed at my insides, refusing to let go.

In a desperate attempt to ground myself, I pulled the glove off my hand and bit hard on it, feeling the sharp sting of pain slice through the chaos. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, grounding me momentarily in the pain that was all too real. I focused on that sensation, using it as an anchor against the storm brewing in my mind.