Red Looks Better On Liars- Schlatt X Quackity

35 ~ Revival

Tw-->

(translations in the comments as theres a lot of spanishing happening here)

(DreamXD and Mexican Dream are the same because I thought it would make the most sense in my story. dont question it.)

Quackity.

I've lost count of the days, the weeks. Something about this place really makes it hard to know for sure. It's pretty calming, I'd give it that. This is the best month(?) I've had in years. Not a single responsibility. . . No annoyances. . . No nothing. . . 

I'm so fucking lonely.

I've pretty much got used to the temperatures. It's not as insufferable as when I first fell into this pool. Weirdly enough, my hands don't feel pruned at all. They don't really feel like anything. Can I even feel my hands? 

. . .

No. No, I cannot.

Weird. 

I've tried to learn how to swim, but I really doubt it would do me any good at this rate. I've been sinking for a month. How long would it take for me to swim back upward? Would it even be worth it? It's too cold to go upward. My joints are locked. I'm stuck. 

I wish there were something to do here. This feels like hell. Am I in hell? I wouldn't be surprised. I always wondered. . . In my mind, I'd go to Heaven. I've always been a Christian. Did I not believe hard enough? Or have my sins finally caught up with me. 

. . .

I'm sorry. If I had knees, I'd pray.

. . .

-

My hands move silkily along the skin, threading the needle through, taking it out, and threading it again. Over and over. Back and forth. I'm cleaning up some of the gashes he'd gained during the car incident. He was pretty fucked up looking. After I'd de-clothed him, I'd noticed the awful self-wrapped bandages. I'd decided that some were too far from return, and that it was just much easier to sew them. It's best to get it over with while he's unconscious, right?

I take care cutting, cleaning, sewing, cleaning, repeat. It's a brain rotting cycle as I go through his body, finding any deep cuts or imperfections. It was terrifying how little of his body he'd shown. There was a silent rule during sex that either the lights were off or the shirt was staying on. I'd assumed it was because of insecurities or something, but no, this is much worse. His chest is practically gashed open in some places, deformed with trauma, and practically purple with bruising. (Doesn't help that rigour mortis have kicked in.)

To be fair, our love life wasn't exactly. . . Flourishing. But even before all of these bruises were inflicted, he still was self-conscious. It was concerning. 

I step away for a second, rinsing my hands under the icy water. I had gotten the water working and the furnace turned on. Though I must have forgotten the water heater. Disappointing. I really wish I had done that about now. I shutter under my breath, grimacing as my eyes trail up his body. Still after the sun had begun rising, had I been disgusted by this creature. This isn't my husband. 

The hallucinations had never stopped. They found that visual manifestations stopped affecting me after a couple of hours. It didn't mean that the vocal ones hadn't. Those will probably haunt me forever. My vision tunnels into his face, purplish now. After so long I stopped feeling much of anything. Nonetheless love. Nor hate. 

I sigh, looking to the mess I've created around me. Blood. Everywhere. This is going to be hell to clean. I pull my now cleaned hands down my face and grimace. A frown sets onto my expression and I turn around toward the bathroom door. I needed a break.