Black to Purple, Purple to Magenta | A Prinxiety Sanders Sides Fanfiction

🖤Chapter 21: Avoidance

TW: self-deprecating/su/c/dal thoughts, cursing, panic attack, mention of verbal ab/se/bullying, s/lf-h/rm (hair pulling, banging/hitting self, c/tting [heavily implied])

🖤Chapter 21: Avoidance-
Anxiety goes to his room and thinks about the recent event.

Third Person POV:

He appeared in his room, immediately running toward his door. The door slammed loudly as he shut it, stumbling as he locked the door with his trembling hands. It clicked, and the anxious side took a step back. His gaze went to the floor and he threw himself against the wall, his breathing unsteady.

"SAY SOMETHING, YOU- YOU-

Ḑ̸̡̮̦̳͖̰̘̣̙̣͆̽̏̅̆̅́̉̓͋̚͜͠I̶̛̪̜̠̝̟̿̑͛̂̿̔͘͘S̵̡̡̮̙̖̜͉̮͚̽̄̆̐͛̊̆̀͜Ō̷͖͓̻̦͇̲͈͍̖R̵̛̘͙͆̀̀̈́̆̀̐́̄̋̔͋͘Ḑ̵̧̲̺̰̟̝̥̩̳̩͙̘͊̄Ȩ̸͖͙̳̝͇͍͉͈͉̯̦͊̓͂̉̽̄͠R̴͉̰͔̭̈́̍̂̏͌͊̿̏̈̽͘͘"

The other side's words repeated in his head. Virgil couldn't get the look the creativity trait gave him out of his head. The pure hate in the other's eyes. The anger.

Everything weighted down on Anxiety. Salty tears ran down his cheeks, eyeshadow collected in the water, leaving black trails on his face. His foundation was wearing off, his red eyes revealed and his pale skin white, shocked from the events before. He couldn't hide it anymore.

Virgil curled in on himself, sliding down the wall. His head rested on his knees, close to his chest, hands covering his eyes. Almost losing his balance from his severe shaking, he tried to calm himself.

But that didn't work.

He sobbed. He didn't care anymore. His cries echoed and bounced around the walls, being the only sound in the room.

'I knew he hated me but... did he really hate me that much?'

A̷̘̝̞̳̣͓͆̽̃̏́͊̄̂͗̾́̄̚̚͝m̷͔̬̣̹̮̳̥̝̱̬͍̲̦̆́̔̄̐̈́̀̆̉̎̉̒̔ ̴̟̊͑̊̄͝Ì̷͔̹͕̚ ̷̡̲̜̹̤̱̈́̓r̸̢͖̖̮̓͒̆͛̅̉̎̈̆͑́̓̅͝ȩ̷͔̤̑̋͒͜a̴̜̥̮̤͇̬̙̒͊̋̽͋̋̄͑̃͑̅̂̚͘l̴̗͚͉̓̓̂͛̾̍͐̉͒̋͂͠l̴̝̼͈̏͐͜y̶̨͚̟̼̼͕͔͓̠̰̩̹͖̟͂͑̂̈́͜͝͝ ̴̜̲͚͓͉̼͇̙͇̟̏̌̚ͅt̴̡̡̡̻͈̠͚̩̳̦̪̾̉̈́͝h̶͓̩͆̀̒͝͝å̴̢̪̠̰̩̈́̀̅̃̒̊͌̃͘͝t̵̛̼͕̙͌͑̋̄̎͂̚͝ͅ ̴̥̭̤̣̬̙̯̰̙̰͖́͆̓͘͝ͅͅà̷̘̝̜̠̼̜̌̑̈́̿̍͠ͅn̸̬͉̈͂̆̚͜͠͝n̸̛͉͋̊̓̅̄̂o̸̞͎̝̫̱͉̙͍̞̣̺͂̇̿͊ý̸̡̧͈̗̬̩̣̮̥͉̂̉͆̑͌͒̅͊̉́͆͆̒̀͜ĩ̵͎̖̫̤̖̔͂͋̈͆̓̐͝ņ̵̞͚̦͇̗͓̇̋̀͑̑̿̍͗̚͜g̵̙̦͓̼͇̙̯̘͇͚̺̖̥̾̋̂̉͑̈́̏͗̈̄̕?̴̛̰͕͙̙̠̺̭̮̤̾̏́̉̓́̑̈́͌̎͘

Of course, you are. You're Thomas' anxiety. You hurt him.

D̴̨̛̖̞̱͈̯̜̱̤͉̰̪̰͐̈́͐̒̄̈́̃ͅo̴̢̤̮̮̗͈̮̬̒͆͋̈́̈́͆́̿͘é̷̡͈̞͎̥͓̙̰̈́͊̈́́̾̋̆́̾͝ş̷̭̤͖͍͖̭̥̯̙̝̫͓͍̻̈͆̃͐̃͆̔̉̒̒͐́͠ ̶̨̧̮͎̯̺͇͙͔̔̊̓͛̑̓̈́̈́̈́̉̕̕͘͝͠Ŗ̷̲͖̖͇̯̭̼̬̫̼̼̼͈͍̄̃͗̉̐͂̽͑̕ȍ̴̢͍̖̲̩̱̮͖̪̙͈̱͉͍̮̓̃̃̏̃̍̑͂̔͛̈́̅̕͠m̸̧͓̟̺̪͎̳̫͖̦̜͉̭̠̐̀̍̂͂̊͗͐̈̀̈̌̑͝͝ą̷̧͇̤͍͙͇̼̬̒̒̽̈͂͒͋̿͜ṉ̷̡̨̯̤̥̠̫̬̫͚͓̝̳̫̒́̋́̑̂͌̎̽͌̅͝ ̴̱̔̾͋͐̍̽͑̔̑̕͝ŕ̵̜̪̮̮̖̰̱͚̟̻̅̈́̆̐̀̈́̿̅̚ͅḛ̸̢̡̫̩̹̥̍́͆̇͛͆̇̔͆͘̚ḁ̷͖̟̞̭͗̌̿̏͌̈̋́́͝͝͝͝͝l̶̬̻̠͌l̶͎̪̺̥͕̑͑y̵̧̦̖̤̠͎̩̹̟̽̎͋͒̋̈́̾ ̶̛̘͚̫̯̠̰̎̈̈̎͆̾͐̿̂͝ͅḣ̸̘̲͍͖̩̻̹̯͈̏͛͊́͗̓̋͌ͅa̶̛͇̰̱͎͓̻͓̔̑͋͆̄͒̀͒͘͜t̵̝͊͒̿͝ȩ̶̦̞͔̇̌̋̑̍͂̚̕͝ ̸͓̥̑̆̆m̵̨̛͚̯̄͒̂̈́̆̾̇̍̾̀̉ē̵̪̱̥̼̪̈́̎͒͒̀̅̓͋?̷̧̧̲̞̦͉̤̖͉̜̽̓͊̃̾̅̐͊̈ͅ