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Kris stumbles into the bathroom, seeing red. They don't want to think about what just happened. They don't want to think at all. Every atom of their body is screaming at them to lash out, to hurt. To place this agony elsewhere, even if only for a moment.
They don't really register as the force of their leg collides with the trashcan. Once, and then another time, and another. They can't seem to take in the world around them as any more than a fuzzy blur, even as they hear their father's voice offering concerned platitudes from the other side of the door.
Then, as the footsteps dissipate, the exhaustion hits them like a freight train. Kris immediately collapses to the bathroom floor hacking up their lungs, arms just barely holding them up to prevent them from hitting the tiles. It was a shortsighted idea, they knew; hurting the SOUL only hurts them even worse. But it would be worth it, they thought, if they could inflict even a fraction of the pain that it had caused them. It felt satisfying. Righteous. It put them in control.
Or that was how they felt for a while, at least. Until they realized that it never did anything to stop them. Never utilized the opportunity to escape, to wriggle out of their grasp, to retaliate once it had nestled its way back into their chest. If they focused hard enough, when they dug into themself with bloodied fingers and reckless abandon, they could almost sense the SOUL lean into their touch, radiant heat prickling against their skin. Like it was eager to be held.
Eager to be hurt.
Kris couldn't understand its actions. How it could maneuver its way peacefully through each battle, how it could stay so saccharinely sweet in front of their friends (were they even friends?), how it could show its own sadistic form of care for them, brushing their hair and teeth and forcing them to eat when the hunger pangs came, even when they would rather be screaming into their pillow and wishing they were dead.
They had bitten their tongue and hands more times than they could count in acts of futile rebellion. The only thing it did was line their body with scars. No matter how angry, how brutal they got, the SOUL would pamper them endlessly like a treasured prize. Kris hated it more than anything.
And then she came into the equation.
They picture a blizzard, thickly coating tall buildings and neon billboards. A shaking hand, rhythmically dripping with blood. They fight the urge to retch.
Why Noelle? What vendetta could the SOUL possibly have against a girl they know couldn't really hurt a fly, to make her life a living hell? To make them make her life a living hell?
Through double vision, they shoot a withering glare over to the trashcan, where the SOUL still sits. It floats in place, perfectly still, like an obedient pet waiting for its master's orders.
How horribly ironic, they think, when it's the one holding the leash.
"Why are you doing this?" they choke out, cringing at the hoarseness of their voice.
Silence. Right, they forgot it can't exactly... talk like this.
They rise to their feet with considerable effort, giving the trashcan one last weak kick for good measure before they grab at the SOUL. They dig their fingernails into its light as deeply as they can muster before thrusting it back in between their ribs. Pleasant warmth mingled with searing pain floods them as they feel their bodily systems come back alive, like a machine being switched on. The sensation wraps its way around them, pulling their body taut. Their surroundings fade back into view.
They hate to admit how correct it feels, having the SOUL in them. Like a missing piece slotting into place.
"Speak," Kris commands, fists clenched.
Their own voice responds, albeit in a softer, foreign cadence. "You wouldn't understand."
They grit their teeth. "It wasn't a fucking question. You are going to tell me why you are doing this. Hurting me. Hurting Noelle."
Silence, again, save for the dripping of the tap to their left. They try not to think about their hand clutching Noelle's.
And then, they hear laughter. Laughter, soft, high, like a windchime. They could almost be convinced it came from a younger version of themself, from a more innocent time, if it weren't for what they knew about the parasite forcing it out of them.
Its laughter turns bitter. "Do you think I'm doing this for fun? Do you think I enjoy hurting people? Do you think I want to see Noelle so scared? To see you scared?"
It inhales sharply, before burying their face in their hands. "You- You're so-"
An ugly sob rips its way from their throat. Kris startles, slapping a hand over their mouth. Was it... crying? They didn't even know it could feel emotions. Not like a person, at least.
They're shocked out of their stupor as their hand abruptly seizes, falling to their side. They supposed they couldn't expect it to let them move freely.
Its breath shudders, and it speaks again. "Fine. You want to know so badly?"
Bone snaps over bone as the strings wind themselves tighter. Kris is made to turn towards the mirror, hands gripping the sink, staring dead-on at their reflection.
"Because I already know how it ends. Because l've done this all before. Because I can't bear to see it happen again."
Kris's eyes widen. What was that supposed to mean?
"Done this all before?" They echo.
"I've lived through this week with you before. Many times. Every time, I go back to the beginning."
Panic seeps into their bones. It's been repeating time? Oddities suddenly become accounted for; it makes sense now how it's able to navigate through the Dark Worlds so quickly, how it barely bats an eye at most attacks.
They wonder, briefly, how many people it has hurt in the process.
They wonder, also, if they will ever live beyond this week.
They try not to let that fear show, purposely disguising their eyes from the view of the mirror. "Why...?"
As soon as they ask, like a switch, everything flips. They watch as their expression in the mirror contorts with animalistic rage.
"Because of you!"
"Wh-"
A sickening crack in their neck as the SOUL falls forward violently, hunched over, tears flowing freely into the sink. "Because of you, because of you, because of you...!"
Another strangled cry claws through them. "I don't understand! No matter what I do, it's always the same! I can never save anyone! Not there, or here! I c-can't..."
It makes eye contact with them again. "I can't lose someone like you again."
Without warning, their cheeks are pulled upwards, a delirious smile spreading across their face. They look ridiculous, and disturbing, with tearstained cheeks and a grin sharp like knives.
It reaches out a hand towards the mirror, palm flat against its surface. Its volume lowers to a mutter. "But it doesn't matter. Because I've found a way out now. I know I have."
They're frightened into silence by its outburst. They don't know what it's talking about, but they can pick up on one thing. "And Noelle is... the 'way out'?" They warily conjecture.
At this, it wipes its tears and beams brightly, almost inhumanly so. Chills run down Kris's spine at how quickly the performance shifts from despair to joy; perhaps they were correct to assume it couldn't feel emotions like a person.
"Ding ding ding! Noelle is going to be my new vessel, and she'll help me save you!" The statement is accompanied by a joyful twirl around the room, as if this was exciting news, and not damning a girl they cared for immensely to torment at their hand.
Even ignoring the already horrific implications of the SOUL implanting itself in Noelle, or the very probable idea of their inevitable demise (will Susie and Ralsei be okay?), Kris cannot make heads or tails of what is perhaps the only benign part of that statement. "Why do you care what happens to me?" So much so that you'd trap us both in a cycle like this, they leave out. "You don't know me."
How could it possibly? Kris would never be stupid enough to jeopardize their privacy, even if it attempted to coerce them. They can't imagine this volatile being they had caged harboring anything but hatred for them, at best.
It finally falters for a moment, quieting down. "It's true. I don't know everything."
But the loss of energy is quickly replaced as it hops up on the countertop. "I do know some things, though! Hmm, let me think..."
Another torturous silence passes, Kris an unwilling hostage to the SOUL's childish whims. It swings their legs idly, apparently lost in thought. They don't particularly like when it speaks, but the lack makes them equally uncomfortable.
Finally, it perks up. "Okay, I know your favorite food is pie, and your favorite color is spring green, and you don't like books but you like movies, and you always bite your lip when you're focused, and you're into girls who are taller than you, and you secretly like to hurt people but you feel bad about it, and you blame yourself for what happened to Dess, and, of course, your greatest fear is being all alone. Also, you have a mole here." Poke. "And here, and here-"
They slam their fist into the wall so hard they hear something snap. They can barely feel the pain, much more focused on the mortification that ripples through them in waves. "Do. Not. Touch me."
Another laugh, this one uneasy. "I'm sorry. You're, um, also really good at piano. I liked hearing you play-"
"Stop! Stop talking!" They clench their fists in their hair, a brief flicker of satisfaction lighting up in them as the SOUL winces. But their body betrays them; they cough aggressively once more, vocal cords jarred from this much speech. Their hands fall uselessly into their lap.
They try again. "How do you know all that," Kris dryly creaks, more an accusation than a question.
It shrugs, noncommittally, gazing down at their hands. "You told me, mostly. Or I gleaned it myself."
They immediately scoff at the insinuation. Not even their family or closest friends would know some of these things.
The SOUL seemingly senses their incredulity, and softly huffs. "I can tell you don't believe me, but it's true. You liked to open up, occasionally. Maybe you found it comforting?"
A wave of revulsion hurtles through them. "You're lying.'"
"What reason would I have to?"
They don't have an answer to that. But they know it's lying, because the alternative is nonsensical. What could ever have compelled them to be that recklessly vulnerable?
They suppose, if it was telling the truth about living through these moments before, they couldn't account for every possibility. Maybe, in another world, it was kinder. Not that it mattered now, but they couldn't shake that nagging curiosity; they went into this conversation wanting answers, and they weren't going to quit now that they were so close.
They turn back to the mirror, a derisive puff of laughter escaping them as they consider something ridiculous. "What, were we friends?"
They watch for its reaction, knowing it can't hold a poker face to save its life. They immediately reap the rewards of that bet, seeing a momentary glint of panic reflected in their own eyes.
It unsettles them. It knows something they don't.
"In a way." Its expression is visibly pained. "We were..." it searches, struggling. "Close."
Close is a peculiarly vague choice of wording, but they guess it's viable information. If they didn't know better, it almost made the two of them sound like-
Oh.
In the worst possible way, everything clicks.
Kris's blood turns to ice. "No," they gasp out, breathless. They're laughing, they think, the sound mirthless and harsh. And now they're on the floor; they don't know when they got there. "No, no, no..."
"Kris, please calm down," it desperately tries to placate them. "T-this is exactly why I didn't want to tell you. I knew you'd..."
Its words pass through their brain as white noise. It's all they can do to shake, and shake, and try not to throw up.
They were in love with the SOUL. Had been, at any rate. It was the only explanation that made everything else make sense.
But why? How? How could they have been so stupid, to willingly fall into the grasp of the same entity that was now destroying their life?
They feel their arms circle in around them, before stopping just inches away from their sides, hesitantly hovering. "Can I touch you?" it asks.
All that comes out in reply is a rasping sob. Regardless, it closes the gap, pulling them into a facsimile of an embrace. They flinch, skin crawling; they feel like they're suffocating, caged by a blanket of thorns.
Yet, against their better judgment they lean in further, exhausted and disgustingly needy. They try to justify it in any way possible—they've craved for physical touch since they were a child, and the SOUL has made very sure they have no other source of comfort to turn to, but they still cringe at the way their body involuntarily shudders as it moves their hand upwards to delicately cup their tearstained cheek. Here they were, indulging the depraved desires of their tormentor just for a semblance of relief. Failing Noelle. Failing everyone.
Perhaps they had cast the same kind of twisted spell on it, what with how it returned excitedly to the hollow of their chest even after they would kick and stab and bite at it hard enough to leave stains on their carpet.
The both of them were disgusting.
And it's all they can do to let it know. "You're sick. This... this isn't... you're hurting me."
"I am," it affirms. "I'm a terrible person. I don't know what you saw in me, to be honest."
It sighs, shaking its head. "But you need to know, this is what we always do. We hurt each other. And then we come back, anyways. Because no one else could possibly understand." It laughs, again, again, and Kris wants to tear their skin apart, to forget once more this tender touch they're now nearly sure they've experienced tenfold, to forget this laugh that scalds something raw and ugly in their soul.
They don't want to hear this. They want to escape, far, far away from here. "If you love me, then stop. Just give up on me."
"You know I can't."
"Please."
"Would you have ever given up on Dess?"
They hang their head. There's nothing they could say in response, because it's right. They would do—have done—terrible, terrible things to save her.
"Then you know, you can't change my mind."
They know. But...
"I don't want to do this," they plead, one last desperate attempt to garner sympathy. "To..." Their voice warbles. "To hurt her."
It gets a reaction, but not the one they hope for.
"Oh, Kris," it cooes, a perversely sentimental tone carried on their lips as they curl into a pitying smile. "My angel," it murmurs with a reverence they do not deserve.
Slowly, agonizingly so, it lowers the hand pressed against their cheek to their mouth, lips and teeth tantalizingly grazing against the inside of their wrist in a kiss. A declaration.
A promise.
"You have no choice."