The Beast Made of Ink

Chapter 62: The Separation

-Your P.O.V.-

Boris did as you asked, and with some effort on his end, he yanked you up. Pain was quick to shoot through your injured hip, but just as it came, thankfully it had left just as fast. The whole feeling almost reminded you of a sprained ankle; how when you move your swollen appendage in just the right way, a zap of pain will go right through your nerves. God did it hurt. You'd kill for an ice-pack right about now. Not literally though, of course.

With that thought, an inky scene suddenly flashed through your mind, the smell of black permeating as the creatures malformed arm laid there in front of you.

No, you couldn't think about your actions, not now at least. You regretted it, you knew you did. You weren't sure if what you did could even count as killing since the corpses inside of it were, well, corpses. What you did now however is that you had to do what you had to do. There probably was many different options you could've taken in order to solve the problem, but you were under pressure, you were under a LOT of pressure. Although being under pressure is not an excuse for your actions, that is still your reasoning, and you think that your reasoning is solid. It's one thing if you're the only one in danger, but it's a completely different thing if your friends are at risk as well.

Maybe... You should end your thoughts on the subject with that in mind. You can beat yourself up more about it once you're out of this hellhole, but for now, you need to focus on getting out of here.

Turning over towards Boris, your eyes immediately attached themselves to his concerned own, his brows scrunched up into a little knot of worry as his ears laid back flat against his skull. You almost wanted to pet him. If only the action of petting someone was less dehumanizing...

"Well" You spoke as you cleared your throat, "Are you ready to get the fuck out of here?" His head nodded up and down in speeds that you didn't know were possible, making you giggle in amusement. Despite what you just did, and despite the condition your body was in, you couldn't help but feel happy. You were so close, so close to getting out of here. It seemed that Boris shared your excitement.

.........

-Bendy's P.O.V.-

He was confused.

Where was Y/N?

She was here a moment ago, but now she's gone.

Did she leave him?

She promised not to.

Did she betray him?

Many have done so.

Did she use him?

She better not of.

Did she hate him?

She wouldn't have been the first to feel that way.

Did she abandon him?

D̴̛̝̈͌͋̔I̶̢̅D̴̡̗̻̅̿ ̸͍̆͑̕͜S̴̢̘̝̦̭͑̈́̉͠͝Ḩ̸̢̟̉E̶͉̺̭͉̽̐̌ ̷͎̱̊͘A̷̢̻̥̭̯̕B̷̤̦̳̳̓͒͑̒Ā̴̡͖̠̃͝N̶͈̪͇̯̽̒̅D̶̛̬̦̒̉̓͆O̴̱̖̞̞͕̍͝N̵̡̜͙̤̓ ̶̠̠̹̌̓̌T̵̢̪̺͕̈́͗͜͝H̷̹̓Ė̸̘͕̪̣ ̸̛̻̹͎̀Ș̷̛̭͂͋͆T̶͕͌́́̔̕Ũ̸̝̤D̶͚͕͉̬̅Ȋ̴̞̲̙̹͎͗͊O̸͕̖̱̓̐̄̄͝?̶̧̨̘̺̙́

"Like we said, she's bad news." The demon inside Bendy's head pounded against his skull like a gathering of tribal drums, "We shouldn't have trusted her, yet we decided that we would."

"We don't know anything for sure." Bendy grumbled out to it in a hiss, claws digging into his inky head in hopes of scratching out the voice of his inner demon. The voice of his madness. The voice of his in-saneness. The voice of his buried uncertainties.