Chapter Text
Leroy’s skin felt like it was splitting open. No, it felt like there were worms, eating up everything inside of him, keeping him from breathing. He didn’t want to look down, didn’t want to see his disgusting, horrible, ill-fitting sack people called his body, but he couldn’t stop. He had covered up in as many clothes he could find lying around, and yet it still couldn’t hide just how horrible it was.
He dived into an alleyway of some bar at two am, the last few customers leaving. They all had nice clothes, and he was just reminded of how far out of society he had pushed himself after the incident. He had noticed some missing person flyers scattered around the city on a campaign to find old missing persons and bring them home. Passing by a few of these on the way to this alleyway, he had torn his poster down, not knowing who had even cared enough to put it up. He’s sure it was out of obligation. He hoped that the other people were found, at least, and that the police officers were focused on them more than him.
His parents didn’t want him anyways. He had gathered that much from the vicious way his mom treated him after he tried to tell her the things he had kept hidden for so, so long. He had almost blocked it out of his memory now, just a charred husk of what happened, the only clear visual being his mother after the fight, and his hand that pushed her. The hand he was now staring at as he lowered himself down the wall into the late February snow, the cold shocking him slightly out of the small panic attack he was having.
He was filled with parasites, wasn’t he? Just a host for bacteria, nothing more. So much for being the ‘miracle child’, the gifted kid, the one that gave his family the happiness of a child. He ruined everything, everywhere he went, everything he did.
He curled up into a sitting fetal position, intending to only stay there for a few minutes. If he stayed any longer, he would most likely get chased out. Even worse, he’d be invited in, given some food in an attempt to gain trust, and someone would try to talk. He hated that.
He heard the back bar door swing open, footsteps crunching in the snow as he tried to hold back his emotions and make himself as small as he could. Maybe he wouldn’t be noticed.
“..You good?” The person said, and he internally screamed, sighing at the question and forcing a smirk on his face as he looked up.
He checked his surroundings quickly, trying to make sure there was a clear path to somewhere. It was a pretty middle-class town, having the ‘retro townhouse’ vibe, the stores acting like big walls on either side of the cobblestone street. Everything looked straight out of a historical downtown photo book, and he dimly registered just how far away from home he’d come. Back home, it didn’t even snow. “Yeah.” He said, not making an effort to stand up yet, hoping not making sudden movements would calm the person down. Not that any of this was real anyways- nothing was, considering he hadn’t felt connected to his body for as long as he could remember- so he shouldn’t really care about his safety like that. But instincts die hard, he should know that by now. “Are YOU okay, talking to some random man on the street? How do you know I’m not crazyyyyyyyy~?”
“Dude, I own a bar, I think I can deal with crazy.” They said, placing the bag of trash in the dumpster a few paces besides him. “And it’s kind of worrying to see said random man crying in the snow. Just wanted to make sure you’re good. Need me to drive you home?”
Leroy didn’t respond. People made disgusted faces whenever he admitted he didn’t have a house, and he felt like he should go one single day in his life without getting judged. He’s earned it. The person in front of him shifted in the uncomfortable silence for a moment, before leaving. Leroy foolishly hoped they had mercy on him, just leaving him to run farther away, already getting up so as to not bet on the chance that they recognized him from the missing posters.
Until they came out again with a microwaved instant ramen, a plastic fork in it, looking Leroy up and down. “You look like you need some food in you.” They said, going up to stand in between him and the exit of the alleyway, handing him the instant ramen. “Also, like, do you want me to call someone for you?”
“I’m a grown man, y’know. I can fend for myself.” He said, not taking the ramen. To be honest, he wasn’t sure if he could stomach anything right this very second, not after the thoughts of worms under his skin had infested his mind. “I don’t need you, nor your help.”
The person sighed, shrugging at his response, turning on their heels to go back inside for the night. “Alright then. But if you ever change your mind, come back.” They said, uncaring. “I always have instant ramen.”
He watched on as they went back inside, leaving him back in the cold. Just where his parasite infested self belonged.
.-*-.
Suzie’s phone was blowing up still, even a few days later, on this random night. It had been days since she sent that long paragraph to her mother, and she wasn’t sure yet if she wanted to fully block her yet. She just wanted to keep watching, just in case she made a threat, just in case something happened that she needed to save her mom from. She knew it probably wasn’t good for her mental health, but she had just taken a huge step by going low-contact.
She finally put her phone on do not disturb, trying to go back to sleep, trying to not let the worry of what would happen if she ignored the texts get to her. She was an adult, her mother couldn’t hurt her anymore.
But she still tossed and turned before finally accepting her fate, getting up and going towards the apartment’s kitchen, slipping her feet into her slippers in the way. Her untamed blondish-red hair was in front of her face, making it hard to see, but it would be too much effort to try and tie it back.
She grabbed her computer off the kitchen counter, opening up her computer and going onto Facebook. She knew her mother; she would already be complaining there, and a part of her thought she deserved to see it.
The first post she saw was from her, a bunch of photos of her childhood self being all dolled up at the fancy parties she had been forced to go to. Her mother was always a socialite, a party planner through and through, wanting to project her father’s company and gain reach. She was always told to be pretty in every way, to not ‘embarrass the family’.
The text above all the pictures stated ‘Please, never give up on your children. No matter how badly they treat you, they will always come back to you. Please lend prayers to my family; our daughter knows not what she does.’ She sighed after reading it, the guilty feeling settling in again, seeping through her bones as she scrolled through the almost copy and pasted posts about her. Eventually, she finally closed it, turning to the fridge and grabbing a string cheese out of it before starting to go back to bed.
She couldn’t because of the guilt, but it was a nice try.
.-*-.
Such a weird interaction.
Riley had gone back into the bar about an hour ago, starting to clean the place up. They had put their headphones in, trying to block out the noise of their own thoughts, but something kept bugging them about the man they had met. They recognized him from somewhere, right? But that wasn’t possible, he didn’t look like a local. He looked lost and scared.
No matter, though. He’d probably taken off by now. What mattered was making sure everything was up and ready for the next day. After all, this bar was their pride and joy, it needed to be cleaned. Needed to be perfect.
Did you leave the oven on?
Riley tried ignoring the voice, knowing what would happen if they gave in. The urge kept growing, but they applauded themself for lasting about a minute already.
You know, it’s a matter of safety. Just go check if the oven’s on.
They ignored it even more, tried to just push it out of their mind.
Do it or the whole bar burns down.
Riley sighed, deciding that the three minutes they had lasted were enough, putting the broom against a wall and going into the kitchen to make sure the ovens were off. Of course they were off, they had checked about five times before, but what if they weren’t?
If they didn’t constantly check, they could be on. And if they were on, they’d start a fire that would catch before they would notice. And then the whole town would burn down and they’d be at fault for so many deaths. That's why they NEEDED to check six times, of course!
But six was a bad number. It needed to be fours or fives, didn’t it? They didn’t want it to be bad. The only way they could describe the feeling was ‘uneven’, and no amount of searching up symptoms on the internet would be able to give a name to the word.
Of course they checked until they got up to eight times. That’s only natural. It had to be fours or fives. Anything more, anything less, it would all be bad. It would all be bad, and they’d spent all day thinking about it, about how it was going to haunt them later. How the idea of missing a number literally kept them awake sometimes as they desperately tried to touch the same fabric of the sheet in the same way with the same skin of their leg four times, then having to do it on the opposite side to make their sides even as well. How it had brought them to tears a few times as someone did something three times purposefully, right in front of them, just to provoke them. Those times, they thought they’d die.
It’s the same reason they had to wear gloves whenever they cleaned, it’s the same reason their hands were raw and their eyes always obsessed over. What if they got a deadly infection from touching a broom handle, or picking something up off the floor? What if they got an eye infection from the pillows they slept on? These were valid points, and these fears didn’t ruin their quality of life at all!!
Because this was all just to keep them safe, of course. How else would they be even?
.-*-.
Those numbers weren’t high enough, Zoe knew. None of the numbers on her webcomic were high enough, all of the metrics were going down, not like anyone was obsessively checking them. She needed her webcomic to do good; that was her future, a ticket out of the life that had been just pushing her through the whole time.
She was having her doubts. She had always had her doubts, everyone who was supposed to support her had completely abandoned her when the going got tough. When she actually needed real support instead of just ‘you got its’, when she actually needed someone checking in.
Only her sister was there. Even her sister wasn’t there half the time, though, because she’d always be dealing with her own family. Zoe was fully burdened by the knowledge of being a failure, even before she reached adulthood; ‘oh look, both of my daughters, one who’s a successful entrepreneur and loved by everyone, and one who works in fast food and holds onto a pipe dream’.
Sometimes, she does wish she could let this go. She did ponder it, on certain occasions where the reception was especially bad, when she wasn’t sure if she’d have readers in the next few chapters. Every time she thought about that, though, she had to remind herself how far she’d come.
That was starting to get really hard.
She didn’t know why she was up so late. A matter of meeting a self imposed deadline for her ten readers, she supposed. She was only onto base coloring, and she usually posted today. The guilt was gnawing at her more than she’d like to admit. Maybe she’d go on a walk to clear her mind.
She grabbed the keys to her apartment and her phone, walking out and surely annoying everyone else in the building with her footsteps. She tried to shrink herself as much as possible in front of some imaginary audience, conscious of every noise she was making, everything she was doing.
Eventually she got outside, the cold air biting her exposed skin as she stepped out of the apartment lobby. There were a few drunk people on the sidewalks with her, walking home from a night of partying- something she had never been one for- one or two cars on the road going to or from night shifts. The moonlight reflected off the windows of the closed stores all around, the crunch of her feet into the almost melted snow keeping her grounded.
She felt very calm for a little while. Amazing, even. No one was talking to her, there wasn’t much pressure to perform, it was so freeing.
Until, of course, she bumped into a man coming out of an alleyway.
She caught herself stumbling backwards before she fell completely, her guard up again as she studied him. He had multiple very thin coats on, a comically long worn scarf wrapped around his neck and a huge crossbody bag. His jeans were tattered, and it was obvious he hadn’t had a good meal in very long. He had a frown on his face, looking at her like she was the one who bumped into him, and not the other way around. “Can you watch where you’re going?” He said, rudely.
“I’m so, so sorry!!!” She yelled, although she didn’t know exactly what she was apologizing for. “...are you..okay?” Zoe asked the man afterwards, getting an even more venomous look in response.
“Wow, I’m really popular today, huh?” He said, a snarky and sarcastic edge to his voice now that he was given the power. “Yes. I’m fine. And you’re not the first person to ask me that today. It’s weird to me how everyone in this town seems so incredibly willing to just talk to people.”
“Are you.. sure? I think I have an extra mattress..” She said meekly, trying to please the man in front of her. In truth, she definitely didn’t want a random person staying with her, but she had just offered it. She didn’t even know why she offered it- what was she thinking??
Thankfully, though, instead of taking the offer, the man laughed in her face. “Yeah, if I were you, I would be inviting random people into your homes like that. What if I was crazy, huh? Ever think about that?” He said, rolling his eyes.
She finally noticed the man had his hands cupped together, as if he were holding something in a cage. She raised an eyebrow at it, and once he noticed she was looking, a silent conversation passed between them- well, silent aside from Zoe’s incredibly anxious heartbeat at the idea of what COULD be trapped within his hands- before he finally opened them up a small amount to reveal a frog.
“I was saving it, okay??” He said, like he was already fighting off accusations. She wondered why he did that. “It was stuck in the alley. I was just gonna bring it to the lake.”
“Woh, woh, you’re not supposed to bring it to a lake!!” Zoe said quickly, interjecting. A few days ago, for her webcomic, she had gone on a deep dive on the frogs in her area. For one conversation that didn’t matter in future chapters and probably wouldn’t even end up making the cut in editing, but still, at least the knowledge came in handy. “You take him to the woods.”
“..Thanks.” He said, before quickly leaving the direction of which Zoe came, without even introducing himself. Zoe promptly continued on her walking, ignoring the interaction that had just happened until tomorrow, where she would probably hyper focus on everything she did wrong in it, and how the man must hate her.
This street would be a beautiful scene for a chapter, though. Maybe that’s what she’s been missing, some inspiration. A reason to keep going with this, even though it seems like such a shot in the dark.
She could do this, she just needs someone who could motivate her.
.-*-.
Abigail had always felt as though she had been picked last by the universe.
That was an exaggeration; there had been so many things she was lucky for. Loving parents, for one. They had supported her dream of becoming a YouTuber since the first day she pitched it, had been in her videos until the urban exploring got too hard on their old bones, had supported her through being the only comments on half her videos. She loved them, so much.
But still, she felt as though the day where their comments wouldn’t be the only ones was never coming.
But she still turned off her camera after finishing filming another intro, a brief history lesson into the history of the building she was going into next. Apparently it was some old, abandoned office building that had some weird technology that was still running, despite there being absolutely no power going into the building itself. The company, C/A, had shut down after its owner died of cancer years ago.
There were so many ghost stories around the place that it had even gotten her, a notorious skeptic, spooked at the idea of going in there. Even then, though, she was running out of abandoned buildings to explore in this neighborhood. She needed a lucky break soon.