I Don't Get Paid Enough For This (William Afton x reader)

Weight Of The World

You didn't handle it well.

As soon as you got to your apartment door, you felt the numbness turn to pure dread. You unlocked the door, trying to stay quiet so as to not alert any other residents of you running around at 2am. You stepped into your apartment, still as cluttered and depressing as usual.

You closed the door behind you.

Silence.

You took a second. You could feel the dried blood on you but you couldn't bring yourself to go to your bathroom and check it out. Your head was aching from where it hit the concrete. You gently felt the spot with your hand, drawing it back to check out how bad it was. There were some small specks of fresh blood on your fingertips as your hand drew back but nothing major, you guessed having a tough skull came in useful. The damage wasn't too deep.

Your head injury was one issue out of the way but now came the next.

You felt your legs carrying you towards the bathroom, you stepped on some crumbled up food packages and boxes as you went, yet managed to avoid stepping on any empty bottles. God, you really lived like this?

You hit the lights to the bathroom. The weak and flickering light came on as you took a deep breath before looking up at the dusty mirror. A wave of nausea hit you almost immediately.

Looking back at you was an exhausted, blood stained variant of yourself. Your face was covered in splatters of blood that had been smudged and pressed deep into your pores during the struggle to hide the body. Your hair was tangled and some strands stuck together using the now dried up bodily liquid. Your face itself was also fairly scratched up, nothing too bad but you still had a nasty cut across your cheek. You'd have to find some form of explanation for that.

Looking at yourself, you could only feel one thing: pure agony. It hit you hard and fast as if killing him had in turn killed you. You had done something unforgivable. The swirling feelings of pain and the sight of yourself became to manage as you felt your stomach drop. You immediately curled yourself over the toilet, clutching the sides desperately and emptied whatever was in your stomach. A waste of a McDonald's.

You could feel yourself shaking violently as you tried to recover yourself. You were sweating profusely and had a headache. You had to get this blood off of you.

You immediately undressed yourself, glancing briefly in the mirror again. Your arms had scratched from the scuffle on the floor, you looked away quickly as you turned your shower on and jumped in before the water even had time to heat up. You let the water hit you as you violently scrubbed at your face, as if you were trying to peel off your skin as opposed to washing it. Your water pressure was practically non-existent so it took longer than you would've liked.

You looked down as you watched the crimson mix with the water, diluting it as it travelled away down the drain. You felt your throat tighten again as you let out a few weak sobs. You could afford to be vulnerable here. You didn't want to cry, crying made you feel pitiful and weak but at this point, you had no other solution other than to cry.

Once you had thoroughly washed the blood off of yourself, you stepped out of the shower. Looking back at the mirror, you appeared more like yourself. But it wasn't you. Not really.

You looked down at your bloodied clothes, wondering what exactly to do with them. You decided to toss them into a trash bag and hide them in one of the cabinets in the kitchen. It was obvious that you weren't a professional murderer.

Exhaustion took over quickly as you climbed into your bed. For once, you didn't mind how uncomfortable and hard the mattress was, you just needed to lie down and sleep. Sleep was the only way you could escape this living nightmare and you embraced that. You buried yourself under your blankets like a child would to hide from imaginary monsters. Sleep didn't come easy as expected but eventually you let yourself fall into the darkness.