⚠️Currently under revision ⚠️ "Six Sides A' Die"-DevilDice 《Slow Updates》

12- A Time To Remember, or Perhaps Not.

Third person.

Dice woke up on his own later that day. It took a lot longer than usual, but when his mind finally connected to some finer threads of consciousness, he groaned loudly and rolled his head to the side on his pillow.

A sharp pain attacked his head and he jerked the other way, eyes opening. His head hurt so bad, he could feel his pulse as it beat with a slow, painful du-dum behind his eyes.

He was hit with sudden, crashing waves of nausea that felt heavy and thick. Dice stumbled out of bed and tripped over his blankets and he rushed to the bathroom. He barely got to his knees in front of the toiled before he was sick. It took several minutes for him to recover.

Dice took several large gasps of air, and wiped the tears from his eyes. He got up and made his way to the sink and brushed his teeth, sneering at the taste in his mouth. Then he wet a towel with cold water from the tap, until it was heavy and dripping. The towel felt good against his face, and it drew away some of the remaining nausea. The bathroom was cold. Everything was cold. The cold water which had comforted him moments ago now made his body tremble with a faint shiver.

He flushed the toilet, wrung and hung the towel, and stumbled back to his bed.

The bed was soft, and warm, and didn't even creak when he flopped down on it stomach first, though he regretted it after another wave of pain pressed on the inside of his head, and his stomach complained along with it.

After a heavy sigh, dice opened one eye to look up on his bed side table. There was a glass filled almost to the brim with water, and a bottle of medication

Dice picked up the bottle, and carefully eyed the bold letters on the over the counter pills.

Acetaminophen, the bottle read.

Thanking whatever controls this string of forsaken islands, he shoved himself into a sitting position on the soft bed. He shook three of them into his palm and then popped them into his mouth, before taking a large drink of water.

Dice took a deep breath through his nose and drank the entirety of the remainder of the cup greedily. He flopped onto his feather pillows, sinking into them, back first. He let his leg dangle off the side, while his other tangled with the comforter.

The ceiling and such, which goes rightfully ignored on a day to day basis, was nothing but an inoffensive void of dark grey which, in his still absent mind, he recalled was a pleasant compliment to the remainder of his burgundy and onyx room and accessories. He had to shake himself back to focus, through his fatigue and hangover.

His hangover. He paused. His eyes widened, and his heart sped up in an instant. He couldn't remember what the hell he did that night. Dice cursed himself for being a worthless blackout drunk.

He remembered grabbing his drink and finishing his cigarette, and then he had to think much harder. The devil. The devil showed up. Things came back to him slowly until he forced himself to remember his very last conscious thoughts.

"Why don't you like me?"

Oh, no.

"That's not- are you gonna remember any of this in the morning?" The devil was saying in an endearing tone, along with a heavy sigh.

Oh no. The die could remember what he had done afterwards, without thought, or hesitation. He remembered taking another drink, and watching the devil take a drink as well, through his own swimming vision.

"I don't know." Dice confesses.

At the time, this had been largely truthful to both parties involved, but he had to have known somewhere deep down that there was no way possible he would ever remember whatever came after. What could he have said.