Author Note:
I really love writing this story! Thanks to all of you for your support! I feel so loved! :3 I'll stop rambling and get on to the chapter now...
Love chu all~ Keep Reading :)
~Scar
Chapter 13:
Garry didn't stop running for a very long time. It was only when he burst through a large pair of green doors and slumped to the floor that Ib awoke in his arms. She was still weak, her eyes half closed with fatigue and stress.
"Garry..."
"Shh," he breathed into her skin, resting her on the floor.
"You're hurt," her lips loosely formed the syllables, her fingers reaching for him. He pressed his head against her hand, and she stroked his hair softly. "Garry let me see it." He opened his eyes, staring into hers. Slowly, shakily, he lifted his left hand. It was covered in red, terrible red. Ib sighed through softly parted lips. Garry let the two roses slip from his blood-slicked palm, and to the floor.
"I'll be fine." He smiled brightly, "Don't worry about me Ib, worry about yourself!" He looked down at her worriedly.
"I'm just... tired. So tired," she smiled slightly, "I won't worry if you're sure you're okay." Garry looked down at Ib's rose, it was wilting slightly, the petals curling unhealthily.
"Shh," he snuggled her into his arms, taking off his coat and wrapping it around her body, she closed her eyes. "I'm going to go find a vase for you, can you stay here?" She grabbed him by the shirt, suddenly very alert.
"Don't leave me alone again! Garry please!" Her eyes brimmed with tears. He hugged her to himself reassuringly.
"I won't ever leave you, unless you want me to." He smiled sadly, pulling her up and into his arms, his wounded fingers again wrapping around the two roses. The thorns tore into his skin, but he ignored it all. She had closed her eyes again.
"I love you," she murmured as she drifted into a weary sleep. The second she closed her eyes, the nightmare began.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. She was in a small room, having presumably just entered from the door she stood just inside now. Bang. Bang. Tick. Bang. Tock. Tick. Bang. Tock. She backed away from the rattling door, the back of her head pressing against the door on the opposing wall. It was wet with something, something red and sticky. She tried forcing it open. Bang. Bang. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The banging receded for a while before... BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG. The door opened behind her, and she stumbled backwards into it, slamming it back in place just in time. She heard the wood of the first door splinter, and the hiss of acid-like black against wood. The acrid smell of burning flesh cut into her nose. Tap. Tap. Tap. The ticking from the clocks had stopped, and was now replaced with a dull, repetitive series of clicks. Suddenly, the wood was screaming with agony, Ib watched a dark black nail penetrate it fully, the tip touching her lightly on the shoulder. She looked around the room. There had to be a way out... and there was. A white door, on the other side of the room. But it was being torn into also, she was trapped. She took a step forwards, taking in the rest of the room that she was currently in. It was gray, all of it. And on one side, a dark figure sat on a throne made of the bones of dozens of broken and bleeding dolls. Mary. The doors on either end burst open at the same time, and Ib was forced to retreat backwards, again cornered. Three ladies came at her. One in white, one in black, and one in gray.
Tick.
Tock.
/\-*~*-*~*-*~*-/\
A doll dropped to the floor, mangled beyond recognition, the only thing remaining a skeleton with one limb full of flesh still clinging to it lovingly. Mary smiled down at her, wiping the blood from her mouth and onto her curved fingertip. I'll leave them a little message. Just in case they come past here... She pressed her finger to the wallpaper, and wrote in long blood-red swirling letters. She stepped back, admiring the wall and her handiwork. She giggled to herself, the sound gutteral and demented in her twisted vocal chords, a long line of spit fell from her stitched mouth, and onto the doll at her feet. Hiss. Mary turned away, walking as briskly as possible on her damaged foot. Her stomach growled impatiently, already hungry for more of the food she now craved in its most pure, fullest state. Flesh. Human and doll alike. Thick, hot flesh that was pulsing with warm, sweet blood. She longed to sink her teeth into it. To hear the delicious splatter of red on the floor, to taste the salty, savory red on her tongue. Red.
Red like roses.
/\-*~*-*~*-*~*-/\
"Ib. Ib, it's time to wake up now," Garry gently snuggled her back into his lap, her eyes had begun to slightly flutter open. "Were you having a nightmare?" He murmured the words in her ear, the cold skin of his lips lightly tickling her neck.
"No." He hugged her closer to himself.
"Then why are you shaking?"
"Okay... yes." She smiled, looking back at him, noting the color of the walls around them absent-mindedly.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his lips softly forming the words. His lips... that were so close. She kissed him softly, closing her eyes and enjoying the feeling of her lips against his. He smiled into the kiss, his fingertips enticing chills along the back of her head where he lightly gripped her. She broke away slowly.
"I love you," they both said at the same time, Garry grinned goofily, snuggling his coat around both of them, while Ib snuggled against his chest. They stayed there for a while. A forever neither of them wanted to give up. But all forevers have to be cut short eventually... Ib stood, reaching out her hand for his. He took it swiftly, their fingers interlocking in a net of pale white. His fingers were cold, as always, while hers gave off a familiar sort of heat. Warmth. They walked off down the corridor together, Garry's coat draped across Ib's shoulders, and in each of their free hands, a rose, lightly glimmering in the artificial gallery light. It was perfect.
But like forevers, perfection was often shattered.
Ib bit back a scream as she read message on the wall in front of her, the red of it screaming at her from the green canvas of the wall.
"I'm getting tired of fake blood.
Ib. -M"
Garry wasn't looking at the message, but rather at the strangely familiar carcass that rested, slumped, against the wall.
Margret?