My Inky Heart-(Sammy Lawrence x Female reader)

Part Four

PART FOUR

The first thing I wake up to is complete utter silence. I slowly open my eyes and the first thing I notice is three words drawn onto the wall and over the eye chart in what appears to be fresh ink. SING WITH ME... I freeze in horror. That wasn't here last night! I spring out of bed and notice a trail of black splatters across the floor, the largest one being in the corner of the room.

Almost as if something oozed in through the corner, wrote on my wall and oozed back out while I was asleep... I think uncomfortably of the searchers popping out of the ink stains on the floor. I step closer to the big puddle and I'm relieved to find nothing pops out of it. Then I see something that makes my blood run cold. I-is that my axe?

It is. The ink-stained axe sits near the center of the largest splatter. I didn't put that there last night!

I don't know why but something drives me to pick up the axe. I do, and It's alarmingly warm to the touch. It's like someone just moved it here....or took it, was about to murder me, saw I was waking up and left it there in hurry. I grasp it close to my chest and glare into the corner of the room. I set my jaw and decide that I'll die down here eventually, but I'm not going down without a fight. All right Sammy. Or whoever you are, come and get me. I DARE YOU.

After around two or three hours of uneasily pacing around the room with a splitting headache, jumping at the slightest noises, softly humming, and being deeply paranoid someone was going to kill me, I finally decide it's time to stop worrying and try to contain my angsty boredom. I pull out an old looking pen from the junk barrier and grab an old stained notebook from the opposite side of the doorframe. All right. Draw, (y/n). draw something good. Draw something that would make Mister Drew proud. I stop, blinking in surprise. Mister Drew? I mean Uncle Joey... what the heck? I'm astonished at myself. Never, never once in my entire life had I referred to him as Mister Drew. I suddenly have the urge to draw Bendy. Funny, all these inexplicable urges I'm getting today.

I pick up the pen and begin sketching him. His head that looks like a circle with a piece cut out of it. Almost like you had a cookie and took a bite out of the top, except there are no teeth marks, only a smooth chunk missing. His ever-grinning face. His white gloves. His... a wave of powerful emotion washes through me. He can let us escape here....he can set us free! Now I'm really concerned. I violently shake my head as I try to clear those thoughts from my confused brain. Yeah. Worshipful thoughts about a cartoon character. Who am I, Sammy? What the hell is wrong with me?! I hit myself in the head a few times. Why am I doing this? Maybe I should just stop drawing for now.

I knock the sketchbook off my lap and onto the floor in a panic, and the pen rolls over to a flooded staircase that seems to lead down to... another floor, or what? I hop up and walk to the corner of the room. Just as I step back over to the makeshift cot, I feel a familiar sensation running down my face. Blood. I reach over and grab at the coversheet of the bed and press it to my face. The last thing I want is for my clothes to have more bloodstains on them. I hold it there for a long time before it finally ends. Now what? I can't eat, I can't draw without starting to go psyco, and I can't even get out of this hellhole. I slump down against the patch of wall next to the stain. It takes a lot to make me cry, and I'm on the verge of tears. No. I won't cry! I can't give up! I can't... I rest my face on my knees. I can't ever get out of here... I feel one tear slide down my cheek, and I'm to defeated to do anything about it. I just want to go home... then the disturbing thought comes again. He can set you free. HE WILL SET US FREE.

I can't stop the tears now. They flow freely like the waterfall of ink I saw earlier. I stifle a sob. And the fresh but buried memories of what drove me to flee into the studio come flooding back...