Chapter Text
The afternoon sun beat down on your exposed skin, feeling the heat warm the deep cold you always used to feel. Slowly waking up with a shiver, you had looked over to him. His sleeping form was the only time you ever saw him truly at rest. At peace.
“hmm?” He grumbled, phalanges twitching, softly itching at his exposed ribcage. He still didn’t look at you, and you couldn’t tell if he was looking at the ceiling or you.
You never really knew if he ever looked at you.
“Come on, sleepy head, it’s time to get up!” You softly laughed, knowing you had just woken up a few minutes prior. That was always kind of nice with him, how he always had a slow start, but he never could really settle down for bed. Neither could you though, it made you feel less alone.
As less alone as you could feel with him.
“shhh, give me a sec.” He sighed, waving you away. He turned away, his back now turned to you. You didn’t always mind it, since you could see his soul from the spots in his ribs. Stare at the floating comically shaped heart that was his entire being. So fragile, so damaged.
Now it just forced you to focus on it so you didn’t burst into tears.
Taking a sip of coffee, you cleared away all those icky memories that just seemed to stick. The black goo seeping into your morning routine. It was awful nice out, you even had a couple of windows open, feeling the refreshing breeze flutter through your house. Your movie-esk white curtains moving gently, wind chimes softly singing their song to you. You sighed, looking down at your breakfast which was slowly growing cold. Forcing yourself to take as many bites as you could, you grabbed the rest and fed your little dog as much as you were comfortable with. His little white maw gently taking bites, nibbling around your fingers. Wiping your hands, you pet him and got up, cleaning up the mess as you went along.
You grabbed your purse, pet your dog goodbye, and left for work. The coffee shop that you work at is not too far away, but every minute counts towards your paycheck. You worked two jobs, one at said coffee shop, the other at a local restaurant as a waiter. You got more tips here, but somehow got paid better as a waiter.
Your day was boring, as it always was. Clock in, your coworkers don’t stare at your eye, you clean and go up to the window, regulars totally don’t stare at your eye, some old fuck gasps and ask you about your eye, and you totally don’t hold back tears, and say:
“Oh no, when the barrier opened, this guy showed up! Doesn’t hurt me or nothing!” You smile and wave them off, and they look at you with complete doubt because everyone knows that's not true but they figure you won’t talk about it. You leave to the bathroom where you don’t stare at that fucking eye, totally don’t cry, and get back to work.
You hate your eye.
It’s all you think about when you waiter, when you're at the coffee shop, when you’re home all alone.
You hated it.
Your eye had been scratched out, well more like torn out, with deep black scars that never seem to scar right. Your whole sclera was now black, and you were only left with a little purple pupil. The color of your soul.
Perseverance.
Your eyelashes were growing back, but they would always be a little shorter than your undamaged lashes. You are partially blind in that eye, though, sometimes you could see numbers over people's heads, and sometimes there were words you couldn’t understand or catch before they disappeared. It wasn’t like it was black, sometimes there was something, but most of the time, there was nothing. You relied heavily on your right eye, which already had bad vision. So you wore glasses for one working eye. It’s not like your little glowing purple eye was lazy or lame, it moved in sync with your working right, dilated and got smaller with light, and sometimes changed to your emotions according to friends. You couldn’t drive anymore, hot flashes of pain happened too often, with your depth perception and your vision being too fucky too often for your already poor driving to not be a danger. So you took the bus, and if you were going far, like visiting your monster friends, you just asked them for a ride. Or uber. Either way was intensely embarrassing. You needed so much help these days, help that you never needed, never wanted. You were so independent before everything. Not just him, but them. Before her.
Eris.
Thoughts of her never appear unless you were waitering, which you were now. The only other job you managed to find was this dingy bar, the pay was decent, and the hours were extremely flexible, which was nice. But you were always scared one of the ghosts from your past would appear.
Like now.
“‘n get this! the whore comes in, whinin’ ‘n boo hooin’ to the whole fuckn’ house sayin’,” His voice gets insanely high pitched, “‘Please! Swear I didn’t do it! It was yer cousins’ fault! He got on my phone, and started texting all these guys and girls! I promise it wasn’ me!” He guffaws, and the men around him burst out laughing in disbelief.
“No way that whore really said that! My god, that is unbelievable!” A random man asked, nearly falling off his bar stool.
Your blood ran cold, snapping you out of your deep thoughts. You felt the sticky slime that was in your brain seep down to the bottom parts of your queasy stomach. Your breath came in short breaths as you forced yourself to turn around, to look, to see.
His bright gold fang glimmered in the gold light in the bar, red eyebags glowing for everyone to see.
You dropped the giant plate of cups you were holding, the sound echoing and stopping the whole bar.
You ran out before everyone could really see you making the commotion.
˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
hey.
saw u @ the bar
You kept staring at those messages, the images on the screen preventing you from sleep. Your boss had let you go home early, and you couldn’t rest. You paced, you went out for a run in the dead of night, you took a shower, tried to read, tried to watch a movie. Nothing stopped the anxiety and sickness from rising in your throat. You even tried throwing up, to dispel the emotions all in one go.
You’ve never been one to just let go , so you couldn’t even do that. You’ve left him on read for four hours now, your bedside clock reading twelve. What could you say to that? Did he actually see you? Or did he see the shattered glass on the floor, and through whispers figure out it was you who made the mess? Did he actually care? Was he just playing some sick trick on you?
hey, fucking idiot, saw you at the dirty bar i drink at. fucking loser.
That’s probably what he meant to type, but he was just too drunk to actually type it out right.
You saw a new message pop up, and your heart picked up faster than a woodpecker before winter.
wont tell promise
You turned your phone off and stared at the plain wall in front of you. You blinked back tears, heavy breaths coming out short and quick. You heaved a sob before you realized just how exhausted you were, feeling the tiredness deep in your bones, your soul.
How lucky you were to have your therapy appointment tomorrow.