Warning: Contains spoilers for pretty much every existing chapter there is for the game Sally Face (1-4). This fic deals with triggering subjects such as self harm, suicide, and panic attacks. If you are sensitive to these subjects, do not continue reading. This fic also contains gay shipping. If this assortment of ship makes you uncomfortable, click out of this story. *This is an AU where Henry Fisher and Lisa Johnson never got married. I don't own Sally Face*
He didn't mean to.
He honest to God didn't mean to. It was a moment of his brain being completely on autopilot. As soon as he noticed the everyday object sitting there innocently, his clouded brain kicked himself to the backseat and tainted the object with his own blood.
He was in such a shock as he continuously watched the red liquid run from his arms and drip to his carpet. Part of him wanted to vomit. Another wanted to attempt to patch up the damage he had caused himself or call someone. The other part was too occupied with shock to care about what the other parts thought.
His thoughts were racing at a mile a minute.
Am I dying?
That's a lot of blood.
Did I cut a main artery?
Oh, God, is the room getting darker?
I should get someone.
Wait...will I be put into a mental institute?
Maybe I should hide this.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
He tried to snap himself out of his trance like state, but he found it to be nearly impossible. He could barely pinpoint the exact reason why he snapped now out of all times. Was it just stress from school? He could hardly believe his boyfriend to be a factor in this. No, his boyfriend has been nothing but sweet with him.
Wait...
What was his boyfriend going to say?
That thought seemed to smack him clean out of his trance.
His hands flew up to tangle themselves in his hair. What was his boyfriend going to say? He wouldn't be mean would he? No, he would have no reason to. He knew his boyfriend had had issues like this in the past, so why in Heaven's name would his boyfriend be angry with him? Well, maybe he would be a scared angry, running up to him and freaking out over his arms, tears glazing in his eyes as he yelled at him about how stupid he was for doing this all the while trying to find something that would clot the bleeding.
No, that wouldn't happen; his boyfriend wasn't the yelling type.
Oh, goodness, what was he going to do.
Tears welled up in his eyes as the grip on his hair got harder and harder. His world seemed to be slipping out from underneath him at a faster rate than he could reclaim it. Everything felt as if it was falling apart. Was that why he had done what he did? He wasn't for sure, but one thing was.
He was scared.
Out of all of the things he had ever done, this was truly horrifying to him. That's saying a lot considering he's witnessed and helped discover murderers, and even helped dismantle a bologna industry where each slice of bologna that Chug and Travis ingested was made of once living humans. This was somehow even more terrifying than both of those combined. He's been nearly killed and possibly made into bologna, and yet this incident is the one that he's felt more nauseous over.
His knees buckled, and he fell to the floor, where sections of his carpet were stained with the precious life liquid that was dripping from his arms. Had this scene not been so messed up, maybe he would have laughed about how his blood was red and his carpet was green. Christmas colors. Christmas was a time of joy and giving.
