Nostalgia~' || a Multiship story || IT ||©

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𝑻𝑾: 𝑶𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒗𝒆–𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒖𝒍𝒔𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓

Stan stood looking down at the running water below him. A very familiar feeling creeping up all over his hands. His hands begin shaking as they are overwhelmed with this feeling. This feeling of discomfort. This feeling of dirtiness. This feeling that something was wrong. something WAS wrong.

He slid his hands against the rim of the sink in attempt to rid this horrible sensation surfacing on his skin. The feeling growing stronger, discomfort filling his body. There was nothing left to do. He slowly slid his hands under the running faucet, feeling the water beat down on his aching hands.

This is normal. I just need to wash my hands real quick. I probably touched something. I'll just get it off. Yeah, I'll just wash it off real quick.

Stan sighed before bringing his hands to the right of the sink, sticking his left palm underneath the pump of lavender scented hand soap his mother had recently got from her work friend who's daughter made soaps. She started making shampoo and hand soap when she was accepted into a club for creative habits. It was full of other girls who learned fun activities from each other- stop. stop getting side tracked. you need to do this stan. It's just washing your hands. get over yourself.

Stan shook his head before pushing down on the pump of the soap. Once. Again. And again. And again. He had to make sure it was enough, he needed his hands to be clean. Just, clean.

He lathered his hands in the soap, the smell of lavender filling the room. Stan slowly put his hands under the faucet letting the water wash the soap of his hands. His hands still weren't clean. He could feel it.

Stan covered his hands with soap again, hoping this time he would successfully clean his hands. Rubbing his hands together, adding presser to ensure he would successfully clean his hands. He set his hands under the faucet rubbing the soap off along with the water. He could feel his hands begin to burn with thus feeling. The soap wasn't getting rid of the dirty.?

Stan quickly pumped soap into his hands. Once. And again. And again. And again. And again- stan couldn't keep count, he didn't stop until no more soap came out. He quickly rubbed his hands together, half the soap falling into the running water. He put his hands under the faucet again, wishing this feeling would go away.

He let the water run over his hands before bringing them together to rub the rest of the soap off. He didn't feel clean. He rubbed harder, attempting to finally get whatever making his hands feel dirty off. Still dirty. Brushing his hands together faster. Still dirty. Picking up his speed , pushing down against the bottom of the sink to keep his hands still. Still dirty. He kept getting faster. Rubbing harder. Still dirty. The tension causing the empty soap bottle to fall into the sink. Stan didn't break focus, no, he kept 'cleaning' his hands. Still dirty. Still dirty. Still dirty.

Tears forming in his eyes, stan rubbed hard and harder. The feeling overcoming his actions. The running water starting to change colour. A red. A darker red. Blood red. Stan was focused on getting rid of this feeling, not noticing the whines escaping his clenched teeth.

"Stanley, everything okay in there?" Mrs. Uris could be heard on the other side of the locked door.

"Huh?" Stan softly questioned before turning off the water, instant burning hitting his hands.

"You okay in there, stan.." his mother questioned in a concerned tone.

"Oh yeah- I'm fine, mother." Stan responded with quickly before clenching his fists, softening the pain he caused to his hands.

"Alright, be out soon." Mrs. Uris could be heard before she began to walk off. The sound of her heals trailing off.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.