False host (undertale fanfiction)

chapter 15: A distant memory

8:00 AM

The alarm blared like it always did, dragging me out of whatever restless haze I'd managed to fall into. For a second, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, letting the noise drill into my skull.

Another day. Another reminder that sleep hadn't taken me for good.

I pulled the blanket over my head. It wasn't like anyone would yell at me for staying in bed—Mom wasn't around, and Dad didn't care unless I stepped out of line. But his face still burned itself into my thoughts, that twisted sneer he wore when he got the chance to "teach me a lesson." The bruises from the last time were still there, dull aches hiding under the fabric of my sweater.

If he found out I didn't go to school today, I probably wouldn't walk away from it.

With a groan, I forced myself out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. The mirror stared back at me, its reflection colder than the water I splashed on my face.

There I was. My short, brown hair, unkempt and sticking out in all directions. My eyes, that unsettling shade of red, looked even more hollow under the bathroom light. And then the sweater—a hand-me-down, too loose in the shoulders and fraying at the edges. Yellow and green.

I stared at myself until the edges of my vision blurred, the image twisting into something that didn't feel human. Turning away, I gripped the sink until my knuckles ached.

In the kitchen, the air was thick with silence. No breakfast on the table, no parents talking about work or errands. Not that there ever was. I opened a drawer and grabbed a knife. My hand lingered on the handle for a second longer than it needed to.

Maybe today will be different.

The thought was faint, almost drowned out by the hum of the refrigerator behind me. I tucked the knife into my bag and walked out the door.

The sunlight was too bright. It made the quiet streets feel exposed, as if the whole world could see me. I kept my head down, gripping the straps of my bag like they were the only thing keeping me upright.

School loomed in front of me soon enough. The hallways were the same as always—loud but empty in all the ways that mattered. I slid into my seat at the back of the class, slumping against the desk, hoping for once I could just disappear.

And then they showed up.

"Hey, kid."

I didn't have to look up to know who it was. The sneering tone, the shadow that stretched over my desk—it was always the same.

"Still kicking, huh? Thought you'd have crawled into a hole by now."

I pressed my forehead against the desk. "It's Monday morning. Can you not?" My voice didn't even sound like mine. Flat. Empty.

My heart sank the second the words left my mouth.

A hand yanked me backward, and I hit the floor hard. Pain flared across my back as the usual four surrounded me. Kicks came next—sharp, calculated jabs to the ribs and shoulders. I curled into myself, my hands over my head.

The whole time, I could hear the others in the room. Silent. Pretending not to notice.

"Say something, freak."

I didn't.

When the kicks stopped, it wasn't because they'd decided I'd had enough—it was because the teacher's footsteps echoed down the hallway. The bullies scattered, muttering threats as they went back to their seats.