Trigger Warnings: Domestic Abuse - Alcohol Abuse - Drug Abuse - Induced Vomiting - Bullying - Attempted Suicide - Smoking
The look of dejection on Toriel's face almost made you want to scream, and to change your mind and go live with these motherly person that just had so much maternal love to give, but delaying your return even longer than the time you've been gone would produce far less desirable consequences than those from your current dilemma. With this thought in mind, you wished your friends farewell, idly wondering if you could have gotten away with accepting Asgore's offer to become the Ambassador. The more logical part of your mind quickly shushed it, reasoning that you would never be able to exactly show up at any sort of meeting around and about or gathering, and somehow you doubted video calls would be enough to cut it. You started the long way down the mountain, wishing the sun wasn't so cheery on this particular day that you likely had just spoken to them to the last time as friends. The next time may be distant acquaintances, if there even would be a next time.
As soon as you were sure they could no longer see you, with the occasional squinted glances over your shoulder, you ducked behind a bit of foliage and opened your eyes for the first time in awhile, something you only did one or two times in the underground when no one else was around. It took awhile to adjust to the light, even though you crouched in a shadow larger than you, but you patiently waited for your left pupil to finish re-sizing itself. Your right eye sat there, absolutely useless; dead, so to speak. You idly groaned at the thought of having to find your medical eye patch. When you had gone to Mt. Ebott a few months earlier, you hadn't brought it with you, figuring you wouldn't need it where you were going.
That turned out to be incorrect.
True, you hadn't needed it per-say, but you would rather no one seeing, and ended up walking around with your eyes closed, something you often did when you couldn't find the eye patch. It had definitely hurt a little when Papyrus asked why you always kept your eyes closed, and you instead replied with another question, easily evading it. He had honestly wanted to know, and you, in certain context, had shot him down. True, every 'friend' you had made in the past turned around and stabbed you in the back, but... they hadn't. They hadn't stabbed you in the back. You didn't feel that little prick in your chest, or that craving in your lungs; not even that little itch upon your flesh.
You had gotten used to it. It was... nice. What a foolish mistake, in hindsight, but that didn't matter now. You weren't about to RESET and ruin your friends' happy ending by shutting down, like you normally did. Far sooner than you would have liked, you found yourself standing by a familiar bus stop in your neighborhood, with legs like lead and feet like cement blocks, as you continued towards a row of rather petite houses; almost like little dollhouses. Each were two stories tall, and all colored in some shade of pastel. Muscle memory carried you past the rainbow pallete, until reaching a blue house with white window frames and dark brown, near-black rubbery-looking shingles. A short set of white stairs led up to a wide, pale, yellow porch, something akin to a fancy picket fence around its perimeter. Right at the outer corner, where fence met wall, was a porch swing that hung from a slanted overhang that was supported by curvaceous, symmetrical columns. The actual swing itself was made of the same light yellow wood that made up the porch, though woven in much smaller pieces and shinier due to the treatments. The bed had a white background, and covered with whimsically painted flowers of all different shades of red and pink, with little pollen stems varying between yellow and orange. There were two large pillows that matched this same pattern in the two corners of the seat itself, then two smaller ones in front of each, one entirely pink and the other entirely white.
Just a few feet over to the right was a birch door with a glass pane at eye level, though view of the interior was currently blocked by a still curtain. The finishing touch was a rosy pink mat in front of the door, the word 'Welcome' written in lovely script.
A beautiful lie.
The cinnamon bunny you ate earlier that day sat heavily in your stomach as you not-so-eagerly fished a key out of your back pocket, which you had somehow not lost on your adventures, though you wish you had. It would be an excuse to call up Toriel and tell her than you were unable to stay with those you had said you would, and maybe you would even be able to join her at her new place of residence. The same phone you had used throughout your time in the Underground weighed heavily in your other pocket, almost begging you to flip it open and call someone up.
You were filled with determination to not bother your friends.
Your hand went and took the key out of your pocket, and opened the door, to reveal an innocent-looking foyer, save for some odd, minor details one might only notice if highly observant, specifically looking for the general idea of what they are, or simply by chance. For example, on the right side of a little brown and pink carpet leading down the hall into a conjoined kitchen and dining room was a grey mat that looked like it belonged on the floor of a car, with a few pairs of men's size shoes on them, save for one pair of military boots that were a smaller size than the others, and the pair you currently wore. A few pictures were nearly aligned and spaced along the wall, and all of them included a man. One was with him holding a bowling trophy, another with a group of friends, perhaps, and so on in this manner. There were, however, no pictures of any children, or you, specifically, of you around. No toys lay around, no figurines or stuffed animals, no mirrors or cute little make-your-own-jewelry boxes; in fact, as if the lack of pictures didn't explain it clearly enough, it was as if a single man lived here with no one else. As if you didn't exist. For the longest time, the only 'absolute' thing that proclaimed your presence in this world was your birth certificate.
You quickly and quietly slipped your shoes off onto the mat, shivering at the thought of tracking whatever had amassed onto the bottom of your shoes through his house. When you were still in first grade, you recalled having an assignment to draw a picture with you and someone else, and you had been doing it in the living room when you accidentally went off the paper. You didn't notice it at the time, but your father, being a bit of a clean freak, noticed and 'appropriately' punished you. You mused in a rather sardonic way about the irony of the whole situation, being the fact that you had been drawing you and the man in question for Father's Day.
With long-practiced movements and foot placement, you tip-toed through the house as quickly as possible, your feet always landing where you knew the floorboards would not creak, almost like a ghost. Though there was no need for this, seeing as he was not home to disturb, you continued on in this pattern of movement from sheer force of habit until finally reaching your room, where you quickly shut the door and went over to your plain, black backpack, easily sifting through many items you wished you currently did not wish to consume, until finally coming upon a white, slightly rectangular eye patch. Alphys probably would have likened it to the one from Tokyo Ghoul, the thought slipping in like it naturally belonged there, but you soon pushed it away and pulled it on, effectively covering your right eye. Your favorite hoodie followed soon after. It was nearly entirely black, save for a perfect square in the middle of the chest reaching from just below your collarbone to halfway down your stomach, with several shades of blue across it, the top being mostly darker and the bottom being mostly lighter. It smelled faintly of iron - and shattered hope, you almost giggled in a not-too-happy way - but, despite that, eagerly pulled it on and curled up into it, easily being much larger than your actual size. A false feeling of security overcame you from being in your large shield.
A beautiful lie.
Your left eye slowly roamed about the room, re-acquainting itself with the rather bare room. There was a simply creamy rug that covered the entire floor, and though scratchy, your tired feet easily welcomed it. The walls weren't much better off, a more pinkish color than anything else, maybe even likened to cotton candy. As for furnishings, there wasn't much in that regard, either. A brass bed with a tired-looking mattress with no covers, an old, thick, yellowed blanket, and the actual pillow itself with no case were messily arranged on the browned skeleton of the bed. A little desk sat at the foot of it, facing towards the only window in the room, though currently closed off by cheap-looking, browned blinds, with a single drawer on the left hand side and a crummy table lamp on one corner. It didn't look much better than the blinds, and the same could be said for the little closet in the corner, between the door to the bathroom and the one leading back to another foyer, not being the same one from before. It wasn't too big, due to you not having many clothes; heck, it just barely reached the halfway mark. In one corner of the inside was a large group of shopping backs, though you rarely use them.
The bathroom certainly looked nicer, if anything, but wasn't actually much better itself. It was a cramped space with everything placed based on using as little space as possible. In the furthest corner of the bathroom, which was only a few steps away, was a shower with glass panes for walls, just wide enough for you to stand in, and tall enough to touch the ceiling, though the door on one side certainly did not. Directly next to that was a short, white toilet, and on the opposite side of that was a simple white sink with a mirror about it, and an orange laundry hamper next to that. Both the walls and the floor were tiled, the floor being white and the walls being blue. Due to the way they seamlessly sat at each other's side, leaving little space for any attaching materials, it had a rather pearly visual.
A churning in your stomach forced you to turn your attention back to yourself. It churned again, the partially digested treat rolling around in your stomach like a stone; so you did something you stopped hesitating about a long time ago, even if you hadn't done it for awhile. It took a few tries, and eventually your toothbrush, but soon enough you were rinsing the taste of stomach acid and cinnamon from your mouth while any evidence of what you had just done vanished down the drain. Right as you were spitting out the water for the third time, you heard the front door open and close, and were quick to rush to the kitchen, having forgotten when he came home from work, or whatever he actually did during the day. You immediately began rummaging through the refrigerator and cupboards alike for all and any food you might find; sadly, your father had not been too keen on keeping up with shopping while you were gone and unable to perform the chore. You weren't fast enough, and soon a tall man wearing a casual outfit strolled into the house, though with slightly reddened cheeks, had a calm expression on his face and no evidence of anger was present.
A beautiful lie.
He left his shoes the same place you had, and you could hear his breath hitch, likely from seeing your own shoes there. His feet thudded rapidly on the floor, already a sure sign his temper was building. As soon as he saw you in the kitchen, you did something you hadn't in a long time, even after being with this man nearly your entire life; you struggled not to cry simply from his seething aura. His eyes locked onto you for a good minute, and you saw no humanity or mercy in them. Needless to say, when all was said and done and you finally managed to serve him a meal, though resulting in another slap across your quickly bruising arm, you held back a wince and fell asleep without the help of pills tonight. You wondered if that was maybe because of how tiring your adventure had actually been, now that all was said and done. When you woke up with the following morning with bruises and scrapes alike, though none on your face as usual, you felt that prick at your heartstrings, that craving in your lungs, and that itch on your flesh.
That is the hideous truth.
Word Count: 2,288