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Taco has been acting...off lately. Ever since MePad passed away, she barely socializes and isolates herself in her room all day. Some of the contestants dectected her weird demeanor, but did nothing since she was a "horrible person". Eventually, Microphone notices the change in behavior and checks up on Taco everyday.
Today, Microphone stops by Taco's room, holding a platter of food. A concerned look is plastered onto her face. It is clear she is truly worried about her. Mic takes a few deep breaths before rocking one fist against the doorframe, three gentle knocks. As usual, no answer. Microphone sighed as she looked up at the ceiling. The most she had gotten out of Taco was a "leave me alone" or an "I don't need your pity". As she made her way into the corridors, the sound of a door creaking caught her attention. Microphone turned around to fully face the mexican cuisine standing before her, with a drained expression.
"Greetings, Mic." Taco started, her voice trembling and raspy. "What is it that you need?"
Microphone's expression softened, analyzing Taco's appearance. There were noticeable cracks plastered onto her shell, and Mic's concern for Taco only grew worse. She could tell by the bruises and scars on Taco's limbs and the trashed room behind that everything wasn't okay. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it awkwardly. After a moment of silence, she began speaking in a soft tone.
"Taco...your --"
"Yes yes, I know. You didn't have to point it out." Taco replied bitterly, her expression shifting in slight annoyance. "I'll be fine."
Her stubborn response only made Mic's eyebrows furrow in worry. The platter on her hands only felt as if it was simply melting into her skin. She slowly placed it onto the nightstand, expression softening."Are you...are you okay?"
Taco's body stiffened; she wasn't used to expressing her feelings to others. The thought of her opening up to a close friend gave her to sharp urge to throw up. It's sickening. No. She couldn't show signs of vulnerability to anyone ever again. Ever. What wouold she think? It just shows how much of a dependant person you are and how weak you truly--
"Taco?" A distict voice snapped Taco out of her thoughts. She shook her head, her hand grasping it tightly in distress. Microphone stepped closer, almost reaching out to Taco. "Please. You know you can talk to me, right?"
Taco'a face softened at her reasurring words. Maybe, just this one time, it wouldn't be bad. Right? She just needed a shoulder to lean on for once…
…No.
You can't be viewed as vulnerable ever again.
"I-I'm fine...really." Taco finally shifted her gaze onto Microphone, her hands trembling. She turned away from Mic, ashamed of herself. "Like I've stated, I don't need your pity-"
"You know the contestants are worried about you, right?!" Microphone suddenly raised her voice, hands balling into fists at her side. Taco flinched violently at the sudden tone in the atmosphere. "I'm worried, Taco. I hate seeing you like this. I hate seeing you destroy yourself. I hate how stubborn you are!” Tears threatened to fall down her face. This was ridiculous, Mic only wanted to understand. “You don't deserve any of that! It's unhealthy keeping this to yourself! I want to understand…so please, talk--"
"You don't get it, do you." Taco snapped, more of a statement than a question. She gritted her teeth, tears pricking at her eyes. "Just STOP. It's infuriating seeing that you actually care about me. Even after everything I've done, you still care?!"
Taco poked Microphone's chest, tears now pricking at her eyes. She stepped forward once more, her voice raising. "It's amusing, honestly. Out of all people, YOU, Microphone, care?! I've done terrible damage to everyone around me, especially you and Pickle, and yet you still show concern towards me. It's stupid. Why, Mic?! EVEN IF I DO OPEN UP, NO MATTER WHAT, YOU WILL NEVER FEEL HOW IT'S LIKE IN MY SHOES! YOU WULL NEVER FEEL HOW ITS LIKE, DRIVING AWAY EVERYONE WHO EVED CARED ABOUT YOU. NO ONE -- "
Taco stopped in her tracks, realizing she had went too far. Her expression softened as she noticed Microphone's expression; shocked and almost...sad. Her throat suddenly felt tight as her vision went blurry with tears. "Mic...I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."
"I'm sorry, Taco." Microphone muttered, cleching her other arm in guilt. She turned away from Taco's view, voice quavering. "I pushed too far. I'll give you some space for now."
Before Taco could respond, Microphone had already made her way into the corridors. She stood there, not knowing what to do or say. She clenched her fists tightly, her knuckles almost turning white. Taco wanted to scream, tell her everything isn't okay and to never leave her side, but it’s as if the words were stuck in her throat. It's pathetic, honestly, sitting there and crying without stopping her. Whining. We all know that every single person despises you, and the world wouldn't give a shit if you dissapeared.
It's all your fault, Taco.