Recovered, but never truly.

7

CHAPTER WARNINGS: PHYSICAL VIOLENCE, SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, SUICIDE ATTEMPT. 

Nickel wasn't one to get into other people's business.

Okay, maybe that was just a massive lie-- but he was at least trying to get better at not being so nosey, and rude about things.

This, however was a different case. The moment it actually clicked in his brain that he had just talked to MePhone-- the guy who had been missing for almost eight months now, and who OJ said wasn't coming back-- well, he had to tell someone.

Of course, the first person he ran into was Knife. Quite literally, he got up, moving to find OJ, only to bump into the other silver-haired jerk of the hotel.

"Watch where you're going." Knife lightly pushed him away, just to get some space, before dusting off his usual leather jacket.

"What are you in a hurry for anyways?" His gruff voice asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Uh-- Dude, I might have," Nickel's tone was a bit sheepish, moving his prosthetic hand to scratch the back of his neck.

Knife just raised an eyebrow, slowly crossing his arms.

"I-- I swear I just had a conversation with MePhone."

He watched Knife's expression completely drop.

"Shit-- uh... Hey, you didn't happen to see where he was possibly going?"

"I think he was headed for the stairs--" Nickel barely finished his sentence before Knife bolted towards the stairs.

"Someone's in a hurry..." Nickel muttered, before realizing maybe he outta follow. Just to see what was going on-- because something clearly was, and he wanted to know.

The first thing MePhone processed as the door opened, was a sudden pain to his face. It happened so fast, his brain reeled to even understand what just happened as he stumbled back, slamming against the wall to the hallway opposite of the room. He was just completely shocked as he slid down the wall to the floor, looking up at Trophy, who just looked so... So furious. It terrified MePhone, honestly. A specific terror he hadn't felt since he was about to die.

"What the fuck are you doing here!?" Trophy shouted, stepping forward with his fists clenched. MePhone flinched at this. He didn't understand. He couldn't process this. Did he do something wrong? What did he do? Did Trophy really blame him for everything? He... Clearly remembered something if he was having a reaction like this, but... Did he make a mistake coming here?

"What makes you think you have the right to approach me after what you did, huh!?" He still shouted, glaring down at the robot. MePhone couldn't say anything. He couldn't find his words, or anything, other than a scared noise, reaching for the cane that had clattered to the floor when he was hit. He should get out of here. This-- this isn't good. He should've just listened to--

"Are you here to finish the job? Huh? Fucking me up like this wasn't enough, you sick bastard!?"

MePhone let out a pained noise as his hand was stepped on, stopping him from reaching for the cane any further. This was bad. This was really bad, and Trophy hated him, and he really was going to hurt him, and MePhone couldn't muster the courage to do anything but cry now, feeling so many-- too many things, all at once. He was just so confused, and hurt, and--

"I'm not going to let you hurt me again. Do you know how fucking hard it is for me!? How awful I feel!? You ruined my life!" There was so much rage, and malice in his voice. If the other words didn't hurt, these certainly did.