For Just One Night (AngelDust X Husk)

A Little Bit Broken

Husk POV

I was absolutely humiliated. Absolutely ashamed that I took his offer in the first place. My face was heated up, and my heart was pounding as adrenaline rushed through me. My body took this as an emergency. I felt sick and dizzy, wanting to throw up all of the emotions trapped in my chest. I never signed up to be treated like a boy-toy. Especially not HIS boy-toy. I rushed back to my room, stumbling to open the door and slam it behind me. I forced my shaking hands to lock it behind me, and I leaned against my bed, using it to support my weak legs. I gave in and slowly slid down until my bottom touched the ground. There I was, sitting on the floor next to my bed with my knees to my chest. It felt so surreal. I could still feel the place where his hand touched, and I didnt know how to feel. I protected the spot like it was an open wound, occasionally running my claw over it to feel the sensation. Confusion suddenly turned to frustration. Turning to face the wall, I made my hand to a fist and translated all the anger into a single, powerful punch. The pain felt a lot better than the emotions. Calmed down, I sat down on the bed and examined the damage to the wall, and then to my hand. The wall had a rough circular shape from the impact, and jagged edges where I pulled out. There was a small streak of blood stained on the edges, covering the paint and soaking into the drywall. Sure enough, my hand had a couple small scrapes, and a gash along the top. The bones in my hand felt fragile, something was surely broken. I took some cheap vodka from underneath my pillow and poured it over the injuries, getting rid of any bacteria, and washing away the tiny bits of drywall still lodged in.

Collapsing on my bed and putting one arm behind my head, the injured one resting on my stomach, I could only shame myself.

"He's not worth the pain that I'm going through. Hes not worth the hole in my wall or the broken bones, or even my doubts. Why am I having doubts,".

I felt my mind becoming heavy with thought, so I grabbed the rest of the vodka and downed it. It burned, and it was only a matter of time before I wouldnt feel a thing.

My dreams that night were about him. About Angel Dust and all of his worthless words, and his strong advances. They were about rejection. He would reject me. Throw me out of his room. He would use me, then act like I was nothing. He would kiss me, and tell everyone what a loser I am.

He would tell me he doesn't feel the same way, and continue to play with my emotions.

How was I supposed to know why I was having these feelings. Maybe I dont actually feel this way. My hand just hurts. I'm just angry at him. Am I angry at myself? Why would I be angry at myself? Did I want him to go further? Did he actually have bad intentions? He must've. He wanted to use me. I dont have feelings for him. I dont. I cant.

I couldn't just lay there and pretend I was okay. I wasn't okay. I was hurt and broken and insecure. Fucking pathetic. I rolled over onto my side, accidentally crushing my hurting hand. The pain was intense. It was a sharp, burning and throbbing pain, and I could only ball my other fist and hit the bed in an attempt to not alert others. The pain diminished, and my gaze went back to the ceiling. That was my breaking point. The emotions hurt more than the physical injuries, but I had an excuse to do something I hadn't done in a very long time. I closed my eyes, and I cried.