[Discontinued] The Things Left

10. And Alcohol

» Word count: 2,222 «

Somehow he was walking towards Schlatt's place. The last time he saw him was when Wilbur confronted him, and he hadn't even had the guts to look at him. Yes, he realized the terrible things Schlatt was doing and planned to do. But it still hurt.

It hurt to know, to accept that he was being used.

George and Karl were by his side, their stride nothing like his own. He was shaking with every step, his lungs failing to do their job. He didn't want to go. He was a coward. He couldn't face him. Not yet, not ever.

"You don't have to do this, you know," Karl broke the silence.

His eyes widened, looking down at his hand holding Karl's hand tight. He looked up, seeing his 'nothing' s wrong' smile; but behind it he could tell he had hurt him. His grip eased, tensed then completely let go of him. Maybe it was the nerves, or maybe because they were drawing nearer, but his mind could swear to have seen a sad glance.

"We are here," George announced, and in his voice he was also trying to assimilate the situation.

He looked at George, seeing the same guy that was running from presidency just months ago. The same guy he trusted, the same guy that slept in through the election. And no matter how much he tried to let it go, he couldn't. Infinite were the nights where he laid awake, staring at the ceiling with silhouettes of the life that they could've had if they had been together during the elections. Nothing would've happened, had they been together. And it was bitter, like the thousand drinks he began having ever since.

George knocked, since no one else would. He stepped back, glancing at them. There were no words to explain. Regret was eminent and prominent.

Shuffling and the sound of bottles were heard before the door creaked open. A wave of alcohol hit them at once, suffocating and depressed. The man at the door was a reflection of it.

He gulped.

"What?" Schlatt barked. He was in a sour mood, being woken up from his sleep even if it was nearing midday already. A smirk creeped its way into his lips when he saw who it was. "What a pleasant and disgusting way to start my day."

"It's midday," Karl interjected when silence began setting. He stepped forward when George and Quackity backed down. "We just wanted to talk. The sooner we get this over with, the faster we're out of... whatever business you have going on..."

"Talk? I don't do 'talking'."

He panicked when the door began closing, his body moving forward before his head could think it through. His words also escaped, not fully understanding them until they were out.

"Please!"

When he realized, his face went red in response to Schlatt's victorious smirk. It's okay, he repeated in his head. It was for Karl, and Fundy, but mainly for Karl. One way to repay him for everything. Yes. That's all. He had nothing to prove to himself. He wasn't worth the forgiveness. Karl is the only good thing he had in life, the only good thing that mattered.

"Very well," he spoke in a condescending manner with his usual smirk. "But only with you."

His eyes widened again, turning to see George make fists and Karl step up quickly. He looked back at Schlatt, unchanged and unintimidated. Nothing had changed. Schlatt hadn't changed, and with the passing of time he wouldn't either.

"If that's an issue, we can call it a day."

"You don't have to," Karl said, putting a hand on Quackity's shoulder. "Don't force yourself."