**Self-harm warning- not actively shown, not super graphic.**

It's been six days since the last time I talked to Sayori, nine since the last time we talked… civilly. I shouldn't have let it go this long. I wish I had come by sooner, but…

I don't know what stopped me.

Monika has a spare key to Sayori's apartment. Of course she does. She told me the day after she went by the apartment. I feel like I should have felt slighted, but I'm just so damn tired… too tired for that. I just want to know if Sayori's okay. She can stay mad if she wants, as long as she hasn't…

Monika offered to bring me the key that same day she told me she had it, but I didn't take her up on it. It felt like such an invasion of Sayori's privacy, for me to just show up and barge in on her without the ability to even give her a warning. I thought about just asking Monika to do it, since she already had the key, but that felt… worse. Sayori was upset because she thought I didn't trust her, that I sent someone to make sure she was okay. That's what stopped me, I think. I knew anyone just showing up would likely make things worse, and I didn't-

We met up yesterday so I could get the key. Monika offered to go with me, but I thought I should just go alone… at least, if I couldn't salvage everything and did make things worse, Monika could try to cheer Sayori up later. Should have let her come with me. I lost my nerve before I even reached Sayori's floor. I ended up spending close to an hour pacing up and down the stairs before writing "I'm sorry. Please call me. MC." on a corner of a page torn from a textbook I had in my bag and slipping it under her door.

She didn't call me.

I unlocked the door three minutes ago, according to the phone in my other hand. I've been standing outside Sayori's apartment with my hand on the unlocked doorknob for three minutes. At the threshold, and I'm already losing my nerve…

I take a deep breath, and gently open the door.

I'm immediately hit with a wave of… stench. At first, it's just awful, cold, stale air that's been sitting for days, turning my stomach and tempting me towards being sick. Monika didn't mention this, but one of the things she had told me was true- Sayori must have put up new curtains recently, because the entirety of her living room is almost pitch-black past the square coming from the hall light behind me. Holding my breath, I push the door the rest of the way open- no, I push it as far back as it'll go, something's keeping it from going all the way to the wall. I reach for the lights, fumble, and manage to hit one.

A single light, directly above me, illuminates what I can only describe as a nest. Clothes, torn paper -pages from books, newspapers, blank printer paper, leaflets, takeout menus- and junk food wrappers litter the floor. I've certainly seen worse online -that I'm able to see spots of open carpet in a few places is a good sign, in a sad sort of way- but this isn't… this is something I never would have expected. Sayori's always been messy, but this is a new level.

As I flip on the rest of the lights in the main room, I'm surprised that there's nothing worse than what I've already seen. No bugs or rats, no bits of half-eaten food… nothing to cause this godawful reek. The crunching of destroyed manga and empty sweets wrappers beneath my feet is disconcerting, and every few steps I find one of my feet sliding as slick plastic loses traction against the carpet buried beneath it. But I manage -slowly, carefully- to pick my way to Sayori's bedroom door. I knock gently on it, once, twice. "Sayori? It's me… MC."

But she doesn't say anything. "Sayori?" I knock again, a little harder.

Nothing. I've already come this far… I grab the doorknob and turn it, and, surprisingly, it's unlocked. "Sayor-"

I can identify the smell, now. Bile and cheap wine. It's much, much worse in here. It hits me harder than before, turns my stomach even worse than when I found Sayori hanging that day, years ago. I take a step back as I push the door a little further open, retching, mostly dry, nothing I can't handle for now. "Sayori? Are you-"

"Just go away, MC. I told you my place was messy…" Her voice breaks every third syllable, is incredibly hoarse in between. She sniffs several times, then blows her nose. "I just… didn't see a point in cleaning it. I didn't think you would want to come over, anyways."

"Didn't think- no, I thought you were mad at me, why would-" I put one hand on the doorknob to steady myself as I step slightly into her bedroom; I'm worried if I don't, the smell might knock me unconscious, or at least onto my ass.

I reach for the lights, but I guess Sayori's been in the dark long enough to be able to see, and before I've even found the plate, say says "don't turn on the lights" in a tone that makes my skin crawl far more than the temperature of her apartment has.

"Wh- why?"

"Just don't. Please."

"Sayori, what have you been doing since the last time I saw you?" I feel like I know part of that answer already, if the piles of debris I had to wade through to get to her room is any indication.

"Being sad, mostly. Wishing you would call."

What. "Have you been taking your medicine?" There's something else in the air, something I couldn't smell from the doorway or the living room. It's faint, but familiar.

"I ran out."

What. "When?"

"… when was I at your apartment last?"

Iron. The smell is iron, old, wet copper.

I hit the lights without thinking. My eyes haven't adjusted to the dark so much yet, and while the sudden brightness stings, I'm not blinded by it. Not like Sayori, who throws an arm across her face to shield herself from it- an arm with multiple long, scabby trails across it.

Her room is almost as big as my entire apartment, but I'm beside the bed in four steps, before either of us realize it. She looks at me from behind her arm, eyes red and puffy, half-closed, like a child caught cheating on a maths test. She doesn't fight when I pull her arm away, towards me so I can get a better look. As I turn it, I see number of cuts on her other arm, peeking out from the rolled-up sleeve of an unbuttoned button-down shirt- one of my shirts.

Then I notice the multitude on her chest, and her stomach, some still wet with almost-coagulated blood. I feel my eyes narrow, the only expression I allow myself, and only then to try and fight back the tears building up behind them. "Sayori, what did you do?"

"Th-they said you would come back if I…"

The world around me is starting to go black. I blink and the darkness recedes, but only slightly. My stomach lurches, I close my eyes completely and let go of Sayori's arm as I do my best to keep my lunch down. The feeling passes after a few seconds, and when I open my eyes again, Sayori's started to cry. "I-I'm sorry, MC… I th-thought you were m-mad at me…"

"No." It takes a lot out of my to lower myself to one knee beside the bed; my legs feel like they have no bones, and the arm I put on Sayori's nightstand trembles when I put my weight on it. "I'm not mad." Splotches of red and dark-dried brown dot the sheets; I put my other hand on them without looking and feel something wet and cold under my palm.

I don't know what to do… none of the wounds look serious, but this isn't something I can just write off, or sweep under the rug. There are things that I now consider normal that would put most people off holding a conversation with Sayori, let alone become as close as we are. It can't be helped, but this…

"MC, y-you're shaking…"

"I'm just worried about you." I try to smile, weak and forced, but even I'm not convinced. "C'mon-" I slide one arm behind Sayori's neck and get my other hand beneath her back, gently pushing. "Let's get you up and cleaned up." We get nowhere, though, and I shift so my toes are under me, giving me a little more leverage. "Sayori, come on, don't do this."

But she's still limp in my arms for a few seconds longer before she puts her left arm around my shoulders and looks away from me. I feel the heat from her cheeks more than I see her flush, and she shudders as she leans against me. "I kn-know I shouldn't listen to them, but I th-thought you wouldn't c-come back…"

I get to my feet as best I can, only to nudge her slightly one way and sit on the edge of the bed beside her. "I know how it is, Sayori. But I'll always come back."

This close to her, the iron-smell is almost overpowering. It reminds me of finding a cat that had been hit by a car… we were kids, still. Twelve, thirteen, maybe. Sayori had missed school again, and I was going to take her the work she missed before going home. The cat couldn't have been dead more than an hour, having dragged itself out of the street and onto the sidewalk up against Sayori's front fence. I didn't know what to do about it, but I knew if Sayori saw it, she'd be upset about it for days, so I did the only thing I could think of- I took everything out of my backpack, set my things a little ways down the sidewalk, and put my bag over the cat. I left a note so her parents knew about it, and as far as I know, she never found out.

I try to ignore the churning of my stomach as I pull Sayori against me. The sweet smell of strawberries and flowers that usually clings to her is gone, replaced by blood and sick and sour grapes. It burns my nose, but I mitigate it as best I can by breathing through my mouth. "I made that promise before…" We were dating. Before I knew about all of this. "A lot of things. I'd still never break it."

She mumbles something, and when I ask her to repeat it, all I get is a whimper before she buries her face in my neck and shoulder. We sit like that for a while, until I remember I left the front door wide open and excuse myself to go close it. When I return, Sayori is wiping her eyes and nose with the sleeve of her -my- shirt. She tries to smile, but it looks the way mine felt- pained and fake. "I'm s-sorry I made you w-worry…"

"No, no…" I move to hug her again, standing this time. Sitting down seems like a trap, like we'll be stuck there until she cries herself to sleep… or worse. She doesn't seem to mind, though, and nuzzles against my chest. "Stop that. You didn't- you couldn't help it. This is why…" I hesitate, because I know there's a fifty-fifty chance what I'm about to say is going to be the wrong thing. "That's why Monika came to check on you. I didn't send her, Sayori. She was worried about you, too. Yuri's worried about you. Your other friends are, too. You have to try and get better, but you don't have to do it alone." I start to rub the side of her arm out of habit, but stop when she flinches. "Can you clean yourself up, or do you want me to help?"

"I c-can-" Sayori takes a deep breath and looks up at me. Even after days of crying, she has the most beautiful eyes of anyone I've ever met. "I'll be okay on my own."

"Okay. I'll start cleaning up while you're in there."

"N-no, this my mess, I should-"

"You're going to hurt yourself worse if you do. I don't want- I can't let you do that. Go clean up, I'll take care of this. As much as I can between now and then, at least."

"I d-don't deserve you, MC-kun…"

I really don't know what to say to that, so I do the first thing that comes to mind, the first instinct that surfaces- I crane my neck down and kiss her.

Her lips taste like stomach acid and cheap, berry-flavored vodka. Behind her back, I dig the nails of two of my fingers into my palm, as many as I'm willing to chance and hope she doesn't notice; the longer the kiss goes on, the deeper they go. "You deserve happiness like everyone else. Don't-"

She pulls me back into the kiss, and for a moment, I almost think she knows how uncomfortable it is and did it on purpose. But it only lasts for a few seconds, this time, and when she pulls back, she pushes me away so she can stand up. "I don't know wh-what I'd do without you… is that better?"

"Maybe." I find myself smiling again. It's small, but genuine. "I don't want to ruin the moment, but you know we're going to have to do something about… this… tomorrow."

Sayori deflates a little at this, shoulders sagging, her gaze falling to the floor. "Y-yeah… I'll go back on the zombie medicine for a c-couple weeks… that worked last time. As long as it's j-just temporary…"

I busy myself with a pile of clothes shoved into the corner opposite the bed. Within seconds, I realize it's not as monumental a task as I first thought- there's something under the pile making it look larger, something solid. "That's probably what your therapist will suggest. It won't be forever, but you have to take the rest of your medicine when you get off it, okay?" I can see the edge of something black and shiny and metal under the pile; pulling a sweater away reveals it to be Sayori's bathroom trashcan.

I pull a pair of unusually stiff jeans off the top of the bin and realize two things- why the jeans are so stiff, and where the smell permeating the apartment has been coming from. I look up just in time to see Sayori look away in embarrassment again. Taking a deep breath through my mouth, I fold the jeans so nothing foul is visible and set them to the side, then return to pulling the rest of the dirty clothes into my arms. "Go on, really. I'll clean up. I know the last week has been hard on you."

"I love you." I can barely tell what she said, and her voice breaks before she gets all of "you" out. Before I even have a chance to say it back, she scurries into the bathroom and closes the door, so I continue to picking up what seems like months of dirty clothes and begin to pile them on the bed. When I return to the corner, I sneak a peek into Sayori's closest… nothing but empty hangers.

Fuck. This just keeps getting worse.

The door opens partway, and I turn to see Sayori looking out from behind it, the shower running in the background. "Yes?"

"Y-you won't leave?"

"Wh- no, why… no, of course not. I might be in the other room when you get out, but no, I'm not going to leave." She watches me from her hiding place, like she's looking for a tell. "I love you, too."

The smile I get before she closes the door again would give me butterflies if my stomach wasn't already full of a tangled mass of angry snakes. I sigh as I pick up the now forever-soiled trashcan and carry it out of the room, to the entryway.

Like the road to hell, the road to "okay" is paved with good intentions. I just hope I can manage enough "good works" to get us back on it.