#rustedseven

As you wake up, your memory comes in vivid flashes of bloody red and green. There’s no rest, no relief - as soon as you start to regain consciousness, you are acutely aware of what has happened. Blood, so much blood, hot and slippery all over your hands, screaming, tightness in your chest, pain in your arms, then crack - white light, pain, a ringing in your ears and the sensation of falling, falling backwards falling into blackness - And now here you are. You’re laying down with your head slightly elevated on a firm mattress. Your side hurts. Your head hurts like hell. You try to open your eyes but immediately regret the decision: the world spins and the light feels like nails being hammered into your head. You groan, instinctively raise a hand to your forehead, then wince in pain as the movement puts strain on your injured side

You’re not sure how long it takes you to wake up fully, how many minutes you spent easing yourself into a sitting position, how many times you struggled to open your eyes. You know at some point the dizziness got the better of you and you vomited, although you’re not sure what it was that came out, whether it was blood or bile or just saliva. It takes what feels like forever for you to adjust to the point where you can squint around the room. Your vision is blurry but you can tell that you’re in Stitch’s workshop, laying on a cot. You’re naked except for your underwear and the bandages wrapped around your head and midsection. There’s a table next to with your belongings sitting on it. Stitch must have taken them out when he took your clothes off. Your doll is there, your flask, your wallet and your lighter. The knife is there too, its red encrusted blade and handle juxtaposed against the clean white handkerchief it’s laying on, presumably to keep the blood from making a mess of the table. There’s one more item, a small dark rectangle that it takes your eyes a few moments to focus on, due to the small red light near the top of it that’s just blinking away. It’s your communicator. It’s your communicator and the little red light means that you have messages from Crowbar.

You had somehow managed not to feel anything about the situation yet. It’s strange, given that you feeling too much about everything is how this whole thing started, but some combination of physical pain and shock had kept you from realizing the consequences of your actions.That is, until you saw that light and realized what it meant and it all came crashing down on you like a ton of fucking bricks.

You fucked up. You fucked up. You were angry and you were lashing out and you wanted to kill someone. And he told you not to go. He told you not to go and you could tell that he was mad, he swore at you which he almost never did, but you ignored the message and you went anyways. It takes you a few tries to grab the communicator. Your depth perception isn’t very good under normal circumstances and it’s only made worse by the dizzy headache you have now. After flailing a few times you manage to get a hold on it. It was a few more failed attempts before you managed to enter the password correctly. You have two unread messages from him. In the first, he’s pleading with you not to go. And in the next, all he says is  “Please just come home.”

Fuck, here come those tears again. Here come those stupid fucking tears.With shaking hands, you type out a reply to his message.

“Heeey, it’s another Crow! Sup?”

You had been locked in your room for…you don’t even know how long. Things had been bad, lately, the type of bad that made interacting with others impossible.

When you finally stumbled out of your room, drowsy and hungover, to get something to eat, you hadn’t expected anyone to have even noticed your absence.

You are my:[] Acquaintance [] Friend[x] Stranger[] Boyfriend/Girlfriend[] Love Interest[] Best Friend[x] Enemy[] Nemesis[] Other

I think you’re:[] Ugly[] Ok[x] Pretty[] Beautiful[] Gorgeous[] Sexy[] Hot

We should:[x] Fight[] Fuck[] Kiss[] Make love [] Text[] Watch films

I:[] Like You[] Hate You[] Love You[x] Think you’re expendable.

I secretly:[] Hate You[] Love You[] Like You[x] Dislike You (it’s not much of a secret, you’re Felt, I’m Crew, can I be any more obvious?)[] Think You’re …

Your heart starts beating quickly in those few moments of time between your knocking on the door and his opening it. You’re starting to wish that you drank a little bit more. Maybe then you would be number. Maybe then you wouldn’t have felt your heart leap almost painfully when the door opens and you see him.

Instantly you’re examining him, his face, his expression. He doesn’t look outright furious, although every little line and furrow in his face is communicating anger to you in your nervous state. He usually looks so much happier to see you. He’s usually smiling when you’re standing here, at his door. You can’t help but feel like you ruined something, something very good that might be gone forever, because you can’t control yourself.