Hidden Feelings {[Masky x Hoodie fanfic]}

2 - Hallucinations (M)

{[Sorry if this starts out awkwardly, I've never been the person to write amazing intros :T ]}

{[Oh, and it's gonna have some serious PTSD here...]}

 

I woke up, still wearing my yellow jacket and my jeans. I sighed, apparently I had fallen asleep in them. Again. 

It had become harder, recently, to remember things. I kept having the blackouts that I thought were gone, even though I'm still taking the medication. They were becoming more and more frequent, and I had no idea why, but I was paying the price. 

Sometimes, I would wake up deep in some forest, covered with someone else's crusted blood, the corpse not far away. It made me gag, especially because every time, I knew it was me that was doing it. Me. 

I shook my head. I wasn't thinking about that, not today, not now. I got up and stretched, walking over to my dresser, picking out a fresher pair of pants and socks, and I started getting changed. Hoodie was just across the room, in his bed, but I figured he was still asleep at 7 in the morning. He didn't tend to be a morning-person. 

He and I had shared a room, ever since Sally had moved in. She had insisted on having her own room, and given that no one wanted to have to share with her, Slenderman let her have Hoodie's. He hadn't any say in the matter, of course, because he was away at the time. 

I find Hoodie to be an amazing working partner; He's the only one in this damned building who understands me, apart from the slenderman, but I don't think he counts. The only reason the boss understands anyone is because he kinda has the whole telepathy thing, which doesn't exactly leave much as "private." 

After getting dressed I went downstairs to the kitchen, and of course, the boss was up and makng breakfast as usual. He waved one hand at me, continuing to cook. I walked over to the fridge and got out some milk and cereal, downing it quickly enough so I could get out and start training.  After all, hand-to-hand combat was never my strength (ha-ha, no pun intended) and I planned on changing that. 

Recently I've been training with "environmental fighting," and no, that's not protesting about trees and shit. Environmental fighting is using what you have around you, in your environment. I find it could come in handy during some missions or field work I get sent on, so the whole "rock" incident won't happen again. I shuddered at the memory.

Taking out a bottle of pills different from my normal ones, I shook one into my hand. I closed my eyes for a moment, waiting for the drug to kick in, then opened them again. I saw someone standing in front of me; they had a blue/black striped hoodie on, unzipped, with a red t-shirt underneath. His glasses were mostly rectangular, framing his eyes, and his brown hair was relatively short. 

Alex. That face haunted my sleep: The man who almost killed me, and who I almost killed; my ex-boss, director; my old friend; the one who dragged me into this in the first place. 

At first, I was frozen, a mix of fear, hatred and regret churning my gut. I remembered that this was just an image made by my mind, and so I charged, grabbing a stick and lunging at him. He dodged just in time, and I spun with him to deliver a blow to the head. The figure stumbled, flickered, then turned into someone else: Brown jacket, matching cap, wide, tired-looking eyes. Jay. 

The man looked at me like he was some kind of injured animal and I was the one who had hurt it. He jumped at me,anger in his eyes, and I didn't react until he was almost on me. I held out the stick to stop him, piercing the hallucination's stomach. He gasped and fell to the ground, and took another form, this time more recent in my memory, more... familiar. 

The figure lied on the ground, a piece of the stick jutting out it's stomach. I could only see it's back, the yellow-orange hoodie, black jeans, until it turned and looked at me, the expression on it's face that of hurt and betrayal. 

What was Hoodie doing in my training?