Chapter Text
Narrator sat in his office, writing per usual. He glanced at the monitors that kept footage of the parable. He noticed Stanley talking to Mariella and didn’t think much of it. But then he felt an ache in his chest and tears filling his eyes. Was he crying? No. He couldn’t be crying. What was he crying for? The fact Stanley seemed happier around his friends than him? Stanley was allowed to talk to his friends. “Why does it hurt so much? Why?” he kept asking himself.
He felt the tears run down his face as he choked back a sob. Why? Why was he crying? Why wouldn’t the tears stop? He wasn’t jealous, was he? He couldn’t be. But oh, how much he loved it when Stanley would just look at him, when Stanley would notice him. How he loved it when Stanley would just… listen to him… But that wasn’t happening right now. And it hurt. Narrator could feel his chest tightening as he let out more sobs.
And then he heard his voice.
“Narry?”
Narrator wiped his face and looked at the monitor. Stanley was looking right into the camera. Narrator took a few deep breaths and turned his mic on. “Yes, Stanley?”
Narrator hoped Stanley couldn’t hear the difference in his voice. He didn’t need Stanley worrying about him. He’d rather kill himself and disappear forever than let Stanley worry about him.
Stanley was about to go on with what he wanted to say, but stopped himself when he heard Narrator’s hoarse voice. Narrator clearly wasn’t okay. “You sound like you've been crying. What’s wrong?“
Narrator choked out a forced laugh. “Are you worried about me, Stanley? Don’t worry, I’m doing just fine.”
Stanley could tell that Narrator was trying to play it off. “You’re not fooling me. I know you’ve been crying. Please… just tell me what’s wrong”
Fuck. He couldn’t. His breath hitched as he tried to keep himself from crying again. He quickly turned his mic back off and shut Stanley out, hoping Stanley would go back to talking to Mariella. Narrator didn;t want to be perceived right now, despite how much his mind was telling himself to turn that mic back on and force Stanley to hear how much he’s hurt him. But it wasn’t Stanley’s fault. Narrator didn’t know why it hurt so much.
He got up from his desk and curled up in the corner, letting himself softly break down. He ignored Stanley calling out to him as his breathing quickened. All of this was too much. He didn’t know what was going on with him. His mind was all over the place. Part of the thoughts were telling him to be clear about how he was feeling, make Stanley suffer and get what he deserves for making Narrator feel this way. Another part was telling him how horrible of a person he was to even think such a thing, to even get jealous at Stanley talking to Mariella in the first place.
He was stuck. And in that moment, the tears stopped. The thoughts went quiet. And everything felt dull. Narrator felt so out of it that he got up and went over to his desk, sitting down and going back to writing like nothing had happened.
He looked back at Mariella talking to Stanley, trying to distract the protagonist. Narrator felt a burning rage in his body, wanting to grab Mariella and rip her apart. To get rid of her. Erase her from the parable, that way Stanley could be all to himself. It was selfish thinking, but he couldn’t help it. Stanley was his everything. He was his and his only. The ache in his chest came back.
“Who am I kidding… He’d never feel the same…” Narrator mumbled to himself. And it was true. Stanley wouldn’t be able to feel this. This indescribable need for him at all times, for Stanley to acknowledge his existence and only be around him and nobody else.
Narrator shook his head to get the thoughts away. He couldn’t do this. Stanley didn’t deserve someone like him.
Stanley was perfect. Of course he was. Narrator made him. Stanley was the only perfect thing to be made by Narrator. That and the story. But was the parable perfect if he was in it and he wasn’t perfect?
His thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of walking and Stanley appearing on one monitor to another. Narrator got up when he realized Stanley was getting close to his office. He panicked as he quickly ran to the door to lock it.
Stanley fumbled with the knob, trying to open the door. "Narrator? Why is the door locked?" He asked, his concern only growing.
Narrator didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He just felt empty. He wanted to cry more. To fall to the floor and not stop crying. But he couldn’t. Not with Stanley right outside there. He groaned as he sat down at his desk, bringing his head down on the table before slowly bringing it up and repeating.
Narrator could hear Stanley’s worried voice on the other side of the door. Narrator stopped banging his head on his desk. He sighed as he sat up, glancing at the reset button and pressing it. He didn’t need Stanley to remember. He'd rather start from scratch than have Stanley worry about him. He picked up his paper, reading off the script.
“All of his coworkers were gone. What could this mean?”