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A hiss of pain exited his mouth. Sharp and strong, so odd to come out. Contrasting what exactly caused that pain, whether from how his hands shook or because he only kept going. Maybe he should've just stopped now. But...
By 2x2, pain he could have when he wanted just became so addicting! Builderman only stared at the beads of blood welling up, apathy shown on his face. Not because it didn't hurt, no. But because he had simply become detached lately. Where a body stood, there was barely a soul inside anymore.
Lifting that glinting piece of metal, stained with the crimson red of his blood. He only moved it below the other cuts, placing the edge on his skin. A question of sorts, whether he should stop or just go on. I mean, it's not like anyone really cared? Besides, if it gets infected and he dies. That's a good thing. Maybe he'd be out of this hell-hole.
But no, he should probably stop now. Wash away the blood that had trickled.
...
It seems his hand had a mind of it's own, no, this was fully on purpose. Swiping down, the skin tore again. Quick to seperate, revealing flesh that used to be protected. His nerves lit up, bringing that sick satsifaction of pain. The sting that stood in his heart, but was better then the dull ache of this messed-up realm. Builderman blinked, still holding a detached look.
But he stared intently at the lines on his fore-arms. Watching the new one he had added, seeing how it also started to have blood collect near the edges. Soon it'd spill over, just like all the other wounds he had created. It was only natural for such a thing to happen. As natural as finding him with that blade, cutting away at his skin until he could see the displays of his inner body.
With how much he watched that crimson, maybe he should've paid attention to something else. Maybe how a few knocks had sounded out, vibrating against the shabby wood. Or how the cheap and old door creaked open as it swung in. Maybe even how a footstep hit the wooden planks by the door, with no welcome mat to muffle the sound.
Builderman only swiped once again, unaware of the avian standing closely behind. Only noticing when he turned his head up, seeing a beam of light from the now-open door. Turning fast, he only stared at the person standing there. His face still held no attachment, only pure and utter apathy. She only froze, hood covering her face.
Taph brought her hands to where her mouth would be, only sinking into the abyss of a shadow. Whole he only stared at the woman, standing there. His wrists still bleed, while his other hand held a bloodied blade. Unable to hide or conceal the matter. Forced to turn around and face the woman.
With a steady hand, Builderman clutched the blade. Staring at her form, watching as she swayed slightly. Blinking a bit, he swallowed. Only watch Taph stand there. Quickly Taph lowered her hands from her mouth, starting to sign something. But he wasn't focused on that, his mind only feeling the blood dropping down his wrist and hand now.
Gravity bringing it down, he was almost sure a drop would soon reach the floor. Maybe one already had, he wasn't too keen. Honestly he didn't care either way. Not about how the cuts still stinged a bit. Most likely about to puff up, an inflammatory response to the new wounds. He didn't care about that either.
Mind still feeling the blood dripping, and sting sinking in. Until he forced his gaze to her hands. That shook a tiny bit, but still conveyed the words. All of it still being understood by the man. Even if he didn't want to know the words. Not wanting pity or support from the woman. Only wishing for her to just leave him alone. But he was forced to watch the signs.
'Builderman, what are you doing?'
"What do you think I'm doing Taph? I know ya ain't blind." The woman only let her hands fall a bit. Most likely staring at his wrists. Looking at the cuts that lined on his skin. He blankly stared at her, his face almost looking like it was dropping. Too tired to even fight against gravity. Tiredness from the blood dripping onto the floor.
He was tired, so tired. With how he lagged behind, and how he started to throw the rounds. Trying to throw away the pain of death, of how it hurt worse when he couldn't hold the sword. "Come on now Taph, why don't you answer the question? I can handle it. 'Swear." He only clutched the blade tighter, ignoring how it pressed oddly against his palm.
'I saw you cutting-'
"No you didn't." He cut through, letting the words ring out as strong. Voice hoarse and tired, yet still commanding. Deciding the facts that would leave this room, and how it would be said. "You saw nothing Taph, and you'll say that too. If anyone asks ya what exactly happended. Nothing will leave your mouth-or well, hands." He only stepped closer to the girl.
His bleeding wirst hung limp, only the hand clutching the blade moved up. Pointing directly at her cloaked face. Edge pointing at her. Covered in his crimson blood, and only making the smell of iron even stronger to Taph. Causing her to step back, wanting to get away from that sharp edge. All she wanted was for that horrible smell to stop getting stronger.
'But I know what I saw!' His head tilted, as if he was confused. Mimicking that motion of hers. Only staring blankly at the woman. "Listen to me now Taph. If a man is able to cut himself, with no problem. Then what exactly do ya think he'd do to someone else?" Silence flooded the room. As even both their shadows held their breath, watching in anticipation.
Taph only brought her hands closer, clasping them over her chest. Before she turned, practically sprinting out of the cabin. Letting the door creak shut behind her. Staring at the wooden door. He only breathed, barely feeling the pain anymore. Only staring at what he assumed would be her retreating form, if the door was open.
Regret started to settle in his chest. Beads of the guilt he felt only welled up, following gravity and a path of previous blood falling down. Where there was once avstubborn yet kind man. Now stood only a cruel bastard, making threats to his own friend. What is wrong with him?
This couldn't be simple tiredness anymore. It just couldn't be. He wasn't just cranky, he was being cruel. Sure he got mean and moody when he was overworked for too long. But he was still here, and barely doing anything anymore. Only throwing a medkit over to a generator, right before he died. Where was he? The real him, the one that wasn't cruel and rude.
Maybe this was him now.
Maybe this place had changed him into something he didn't recognize. Turning him into a cruel beast that snapped it's teeth, at those who fed him. With a turn of his heel, he walked into the bathroom that was attached to the cabin. Pushing away every previous thought. Only forcing himself to feel how the blood dripped, and pain stung at his wrist.
Stepping in, he put the blade down by the sink. Too lazy to put it back in it's proper place. With one shaking hand, he only opended the cabinet door. Rummaging through pill bottles that were empty, and everything else he once used to need. Finding the alcohol, and antibiotic cream. He grabbed both, before looking back at the shelves. Wondering if the cuts were deep enough to wrap cotton around them.
They were, of course. Grabbing those two, he set it down on the counter. Bringing his wounded wrist over to the sink. He opended the cap of the alcohol, deciding to just simply pour it over. Liquid fell down, similar to the blood. But it stung, more then every cut he had ever made. A groan came from him, as his wrist shook more. Nerves sending a flurry of signals.
Watching some of it drip into the sink, he only breathed in. Trying to ignore the sharp smell, and aching pain. Placing a bit of the cream, he only applied it uncorrectly. Not caring if it seeps into the wounds. Feeling the cool cream bring a bit of relief, but not enough to take away that horrible sting. Then, he wrapped the cotton roll around his wrist.
He stood there, one arm wrapped in bandages. As he slowly looked over to the front door. Mind already wandering to the woman he was cruel too. Stepping out of the bathroom, he left the cabinet open and the blade bloodied. But he didn't care, truly he couldn't care of the bathroom. He couldn't care about anything.
Or well, that's what he tried to tell himself, as a single tear rolled down his cheek.