Red Looks Better On Liars- Schlatt X Quackity

36 ~ Anubis

Tw/Cw---

-

His hand brushes through my hair with the jitteriness of an addict but the precision of an artist. He cradles me and holds me for what seems like hours. It's only a couple of minutes before he falls asleep. Either falls asleep or passes out. I can't decide which.

I wrangle myself from his grasp, quaking to my feet before falling back to my knees. My arms and legs felt weak, and my eyes felt heavy. I crawl away from him, as far as I can manage. My mouth hangs open as I whimper, shivering and shaking. It was so cold here. I can't say I missed it. My back leans against the opposite wall, the room spinning around me. 

I was in a bathroom, that's for sure. Whose bathroom though? No clue. It definitely wasn't mine. Why weren't we home? Oh. That's right.

My head lolls to the side as I look at the man a few meters away. His body is slumped and still in the position of holding me. He burnt me. He tried to kill me. Why aren't I dead? Why couldn't he have just let me be dead? 

My eyelids narrow then fall. If I could feel, I'd be angry.

-

I wake up in a new place. I no longer was in a bathroom but in a bedroom. It had a single bed and a small table. I knew immediately, that Schlatt had put me here. My eyes linger over the window, to decipher the time or season. I've been dead for months, haven't I? I pull myself up off the bed to get a closer look at the window. It's completely blacked out, much to my chagrin. I had no concept of time or weather.

My knees quake but don't give out. I'm doing pretty good for not walking for months and whatnot. My hands grip the window sill, and I look out like a puppy on a long car ride. Still nothing. 

The door opens slowly and my gaze follows it. My eyes narrow as I stare, mouth sealed shut with seething anger. 

     "Oh," He pauses, looking from the bed to the window, "Good afternoon,"

My eyes trail up his body, his hand wrapped tightly and already dyed a reddish tint. 

    "Don't." I sneer, standing a little taller before the chest pain shakes me back down. 

He stands for a second, raising his eyebrow. "Okay then. . . Bad afternoon?" 

     "You're funny," I say sardonically, bringing my hands off the window to cross over my chest, "Why did you do this." 

     "Do what?" He asks innocently. 

I gesture toward myself with a glare. "This!" 

     "What? Save you?" His face falls with a frown. 

     "Yes. You didn't 'save' me. Death was safety. You drug me back to hell." I growl.

     "Wow. And I thought I was being heroic." He mutters. He closes the bedroom door to lean on. 

     "You? A hero? The same bastard who burnt down their house?" I scoff, "As if."

      "You ungrateful little shit," He growls back, eyes hardening, "I brought you from the dead. You were dead Alex." 

      "Yeah, and it was fucking awesome," I say with a scowl. 

He tries to respond but fails. His mouth creases to a line and he shakes his head. He looks to the ceiling for God's help. God doesn't respond because he looks back at me. 

     "Why do you have to be so stubborn?" 

     "Why did you have to kill me?" 

His face goes red and he glares.