All Along

Confrontation

Bzzzzzz . . . Bzzzzzz

Bad heavy eyes slowly fluttered open, the stinging of a sharp pain shot through his neck and back as his mind slowly regained consciousness. He had his arms underneath his head, them numb from hours of pressure. Tiny droplets of drool sat idly on the table he had fallen asleep on. The glass sliding door in his kitchen had eye-burning rays of sunlight spilling through it, brightening up the room with his warm light. Bitterly, Bad sat up and wiped his mouth, then turned on his phone. At the top of his notification sat the reminder for 2:30 P.M., titled, 'Start packing!' Bad audibly groaned realizing he was 2 hours already. Bad slid his finger across the ignore button and stretched his arms out and stood up. Grabbing his phone beforehand, he walked back to his bedroom and started to make notes of everything he would need for the trip.

Bad opened his door with a creak, spotting Lucy outstretched on his bed, a placid look on her face. His monitor was still on with the video he had started to edit. He sighed, he was supposed to have finished that last night so he would have something to post while he was out.

Bad reached underneath his bed, his hand hitting cobwebs, and yanked out a dusty navy suitcase. He lifted it up and tossed it on his bed, scaring Lucy awake. He began searching through his clothes, picking out "ideal" outfits. Bad wasn't the type to care about his appearance when it came to clothes but now that he was starting to pack, he began doubting himself. They wouldn't make fun of him, right? Quackity wouldn't do that to him . . . he couldn't even bear the thought of Quackity and Karl making fun of him behind his back, or even worse, right in front of him. He would most definitely break down on the spot, which admittedly, is a little weak. Bad shook his head, he knew that thought was stupid. In order to focus better, Bad reached over to his desk and picked up his wireless earbuds, taking them out of the case and slipping them in. He switched on a playlist, allowing himself to get lost in his music. He had a long few hours ahead of him.

-

Bad sighed, sitting on his bedroom floor with piles of clothes surrounding him and a wide-open suitcase with a few items stacked within it. He leaned his back against his dresser and closed his eyes. Bad had spent at least an hour and a half just sorting through stuff and he was already tired. He hates how distracted he gets.

He picks up a pair of faded blue jeans and started folding them when suddenly his music playlist cuts off. Bad hears his phone vibrate as a scarily familiar ringtone sounds in his ears. His heart drops at the tone. One person's name runs across his mind, Skeppy.

Fear rattles him to the core. Should he answer it? He wasn't sure if he could handle talking to Skeppy just yet, but Bad knew he had been ignoring him way too long. Bad could only guess what Skeppy was calling about and what if it was important? Bad worked up the small amount of courage left within him and hesitantly answered the phone. Bad kept reassuring himself in his mind, he was sure it wasn't anything that bad and the only way to fix this problem was to talk to him. Taking a cold breath, Bad responded, "Hello. . .?"

Skeppy didn't answer for a hot second. The awkward tension had Bad on edge. It was as if Skeppy was on the witness stand in front of him, ready to call out his crimes and ready to convict him guilty.

Skeppy's voice came out with several etched layers of emotions. Sadness, anger, desperation; Bad could hear it all. "I just got up and saw that text you sent me yesterday. Can you please just tell me why you're avoiding me? You're acting like I wouldn't notice this weird behavior, but Bad you know I know you. I'm always going to be able to notice things like this. So please talk to me." The dam that had been steadily building behind in Bad's subconscious for days now had finally broken and guilt came waving down on him, thrashing about inside him and shaking everything inside him.