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❝How can I long for something I don't remember?❠
Whenever the thought crossed his mind, he would feel a sense of warmth between the ribs, but a stinging pain where his heart rested; a buzzing sound in his head.
He couldn’t recall much about his life, apart from working with music.
He couldn’t recall how it felt to be alive.
How it felt to be touched by something that wasn’t cold, and slick. All he had was himself and his songs to keep him company.
It was hard to remember, God only knows how long he’s lived between those damned walls.
Could he even tell that he was still alive? That his lungs breathed air? That it was blood running in his veins, and not something darker?
As time passed, he’d discovered two things.
The first one, that everything was real: he really was dead and lost between the hallways of the old studio he worked for, so long ago.
The second thing, that his feelings were as real as he was.
He had a vague memory - or better yet a vague feeling - of something he owned.
Yet, the question was persistent. How in the world could he miss something he didn’t have memory of? Was it even humanly possible?
Though, despite the doubts, it echoed through his mind when it was quiet. When he looked too much into himself, when he tried to discover more about his past life.
Was his memory keeping something from him, or was he trying to forget about it?
Just the consideration of it made his whole being shudder.
He had been wandering around the halls for who knows how long now, replacing broken cutouts with new ones, or putting them in front of pentagrams.
«Sheep sheep sheep, it’s time for sleep… Rest your head, it’s time for bed. In the morning, you may wake, or in the morning you’ll be...»
«Sammy!»
He looked behind his back, immediately stopping his humming. Did someone just call him?
«...Hello?» He looked around, confused, calling for the voice.
«...Sammy!» The voice was a lot more distant this time, and upon hearing it a second time Sammy’s eyes widened and his hands dropped the cutout of his Lord.
«Hello!? Is anyone there?!» He raised the gate, stepping towards where he thought he heard the voice.
He was going crazy, wasn’t he? Hearing voices, someone calling for him… Maybe the buzzing was a sign this madness was going to happen very soon and it was very inevitable.
«Yes it’s me, Sammy Lawrence! Who are you? Where are you!?»
He kept looking around, helpless to find that someone who called, if they even existed.
His steps brought him back to his own department, to his own office.
Walking inside the corridor, his chest and hands trembled with anticipation. He noticed a shadow near the window of the office, but when he sharpened his sight...
«Oh..»
It was just another Bendy cutout. Sighing in disappointment, he opened the door to his old office.
He looked at his workplace, with empty eyes. He felt nothing for that room anymore.
He blinked for a long second and when he opened his eyes, Sammy saw himself leaning on his desk, writing as if he was a machine. An automaton of some kind.
He hated that,
…But then, someone walked in. It was a bit blurry, but Sammy swore he saw and felt the figure touching his shoulders, pressing lightly his fingers on his skin, leaning in and kissing the back of his blond hair.
That question suddenly rang in his mind again.
𝘋𝘪𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵?
But it changed.
…Or 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦?
It felt all so real, as if his mind was replaying the exact moment he felt most connected to.
His other version turned his head to the side, talking to the other figure. Sammy couldn’t hear, he couldn’t see clearly, but something bloomed in his chest, something he’s never felt so far.
It was warm, and tender.
The shirt on his shoulders felt almost heavy now that he hasn’t worn it for years, his shoulder straps as well, but the person’s touch was so gentle, and his thumbs brushing like caresses made Sammy’s stomach turn sweetly on itself.
«What is happening?» Sammy whispered to himself, scared of what his eyes were seeing. But he couldn’t blink. He couldn’t move, nor look away.
He put a hand on his bare chest, tightening the grip on his inky skin. There was no heartbeat, as always, but he felt… alive? Is that what it was?
He looked back to his memory playing right in front of him. Was it a dream?
The figure laughed, Sammy noticed by his open posture and his shoulders raising and lowering in a quick motion.
… “His”?
He leaned down, looking at the composer’s song-writing. He pointed to the papers and they both laughed.
Finally, in the frame of the memory, Sammy saw hair. Brown hair, a bit messy.
He noticed work goggles on the person’s head, and when he turned to the side, he noticed a bit of facial hair on his chin too.
It wasn’t possible for his heart to race. But Sammy felt the same symptoms of what was called “being head-over-heels”.
He felt the adrenaline rushing in his veins, his head was light and he couldn’t speak a word, too afraid to ruin the moment if he did.
Yet, he recognized this wasn’t normal. And he felt uneasy.
What was this? When did it happen?
Sammy blinked, closing his eyes for just a second too long. He denied all that, questioning if it was a memory or a made-up thought. When he opened his eyes, he was back to being alone, a madman in the halls.
His throat was dry, his breathing was quick, but it soon became harder even to do that because of the tightness around his chest.
«𝘕𝘖!!» He shouted as he ran to his desk.
He looked on top of it, in the panel, on the shelf, trying to find the papers where he used to write songs. Maybe that would bring him back.
«Come back! Come back!!» He begged the memory, as if he could talk to it.
His chest burned, it was back to being heavy as always.
His breathing was rapid and fearful, his eyebrows were furrowed downwards. The anxious thought of never seeing that person again frightened him. But why?
Sammy pushed the radio and the papers out of the desk with a groan of disgust, he looked at the shelf with hatred and he threw the books to the ground. He kicked his chair and his waste bin, as papers scattered on the floor.
When he looked at the mess he made, he was left almost breathless.
He covered his face with his trembling hands and then he pushed them in his hair, tightening the grip.
A sob escaped from his lips, and he slowly sat down. His back leaned on the cold wall, his knees reached for his chest as he closed his eyes again.
Who was 𝘩𝘦? Where was he?
And why did his absence make Sammy feel so hopeless?
After that episode, Sammy completely lost track of time. He didn’t even care to remember what day or what year it was, he was destined to that punishment anyways.
He hummed the same old tune; he was tired of it, but nothing else kept his mind busy. The buzzing became louder and humming was his only way to get distracted from the voices.
“Sheep sheep sheep, it’s time for sleep… Rest your head, it’s time for bed. In the morning, you may wake, or in the morning you’ll be dead...”
«𝘌𝘹𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘦! 𝘌𝘹𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘦!? 𝘊𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘮𝘦? 𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘰?!»
Sammy thought it was just one of the voices again, he hadn’t put any interest in listening to it.
He put down the cutout of Bendy, before opening an inky portal on the wall and walking through it, completely oblivious as the other form of life was trying to reach him.
The person finally walked across the flooded corridor, and when he stepped to the other side, he looked around.
His brown messy hair followed where his eyes looked, the work goggles on his head did as well.
He put a hand on his chin in confusion, his thumb covered by his gray glove rubbing on the light stubble.
«Where the hell did he go..?»