Villains ➵ bill skarsgård a.u.

eighteen

“Jesus Christ.” a cringe forms on his face, “You should be more careful, doctors can't keep fixing things for you if you keep on injuring yourself—— Oh and god, what is that smell?” He points out, placing a hand on his nose.

Chills run down my spine, and I gnawed on the sides of my cheeks in frustration. I look behind me, my hand clenching around the cold metal of the door knob. The bathroom was still closed, no traces that there was anyone inside it. Everything was normal in the entirety of my room, except for the obvious dirt staining the white of the rug underneath my bed. Nonetheless I feared still that Uncle Ron would further inspect and find him there. Part of me was hoping that he would, and that he'd save me from this hell hole I've gotten myself into, but the other half was still protecting him for some reason.

“I-I don't really know either, It's been there since I got home.” I explained, turning back to him.

“You should go ahead and spray something before it spreads.” He suggests, narrowing his eyes as he looked at the watch attached to his wrist. “Are you coming down for dinner or should I just bring something for you?”

“No, no, it's fine, I'll get it myself.” I cleared my throat, holding my breath as long as I could to suppress the stench from entering my nostrils.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I just need to rest my head and then I'll follow.”

“Okay, I'll tell Marianne and the girls.” He says, placing a hand at the back of my head and planting a kiss on my hot forehead before disappearing into the stairs.

I stepped halfway out into the room hallways to check if the coast was clear. I stayed there for about thirty seconds before closing the door and locking myself in with the putrid smell, my esophagus squeezing as I breathe it in. I was relieved, but the relief wasn't enough to get rid of the reek of death from lingering in the walls. I haven't even eaten anything yet since lunch and I already want to throw up. And certainly the smell in my bathroom is heavenly. I should probably do something about that. I walked over to my bedside drawer and pulled out a mask, placing the strings on both of my ears and covering half of my face with it. It helped a lot even though it mildly suffocating my nose. It was better than inhaling the scent of perhaps years of not bathing. 

I swung open my closet and got onto my knees, digging my hand into the messy pile of clothing underneath the clothed hangers that I haven't folded despite Aunt Marianne telling me to do so. I search for any kind of clothing I could make him wear that doesn't effuse dead mice and burnt flesh. He was huge, and I certainly didn't have any man clothes. The closest I'd get to that are my sweaters, but even it is small. However, I did have a few shirts I took from Dalton. I wore them a lot before to piss him off. It was kind of an inside joke between me, Jumper and him that whenever we'd go to his house to smoke his dad's pot, we would always take clothes from him. I was looking for that now as I recklessly threw away all the other clothes that I didn't need.

All I found was a white shirt and a pair of sweatpants. I stood up and prepared myself on opening the bathroom door, holding my breath in. I twisted the knob pushed it back, and there he was, towering over the crack of the door, looking down at me. If earlier his eyes sliced holes into my face, this time they resembled a little child's, fearing the monsters lurking in his room. “Is he gone?” his voice was small and weak.

“Yes.” I uttered, shoving the clothes into his chest. “Go clean yourself up and put those on.”

He held the shirt up and examined it, “Who's are these?”

“They're mine.” I pulled the door close.

I walked back to my bed and plopped down the mattress, sucking in to put air in my lungs as my chest squeezed. I hear the shower start up and I take the cologne laying underneath my drawer and spray it into the air, the sprits glinting from the light. I take off the mask afterwards, cherishing the sweet scent of the fragrance.