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He should get up, he needed to get up, he'd been an absent father leaching off of others' successes and dreams long enough. He couldn't let her know that even after all those years away he still hadn't changed, hadn't improved, hadn't managed to get better one bit.
He'd moved into his own daughter's hotel, his daughter that he abandoned and let crawl further and further away from until the only time they talked was when she needed something, and hey would ya know that being the princess of hell, she didn't really need him for much.
How pathetic he was, he lived her whole life in a cold empty palace filled with artificial warmth and suffocating piles of ducks that he piled into his heart as a lousy attempt to warm his barely living soul.
How pathetic of him, the king of hell, The Lucifer, to be laying, curled up in his much too large bed, making himself much too small while his daughter waltzed around in business with a much too tacky radio host in the very hotel that he was seeking refuge in.
At the start it hadn't been so bad, no it had almost been good, the rekindled relationship with his daughter, the high of kicking heaven's ass, the energy and the laughter, and the smiles that slinked over the hotel's guests almost managing to spread a layer of warmth over that cold that sunk into the small king's bones,
but he felt it,
that sinking shadowy feeling,
he began to retreat, slipping back into old habits,
those pills he took, the only thing keeping that blade and bottle hidden far out of sight,
some amount of time had passed, how much he was unsure of, but enough that his daughter would surely notice his absence, he wasn't sure how long he'd been here, the cycle repeating, the cold seeping into his skeleton no matter how many blankets he piled on,
laying in that bed barely moving, his hair greasy his face itchy with long dried tear tracks and his clothes a crumpled stinking mess, his throat dry his ears ringing, his head throbbing his mind reeling, his everything hurting, he'd long since lost the ability to cry, he was usually emptied of tears by day 4 or 5 leaving him dry heaving and clenching his fists when memories resurfaced,
oh, what would they think now he thought, the great hellish Lucifer, reduced to a snuffling greasy curled up mess in his bed, his stomach grumbling but eating sounding nauseating and throwing up this early not something he desired, so instead of trying any more than he had that day, the blonde closed his eyes and tried to sink back to dreamland once again,
he knew it would pass, it always did, he just hoped it would pass quicker than it had last time.