Strawberry Panic {TomTord}

Bitch, what the fuck

Sluggish in movements, tiny hands crawled uselessly against the carpet, grabbing random patches of stained fibres. Fingers curled into the thick fabric, they tugged weakly, slowly dragging the otherwise limp body behind them. Grunts filled the stiff air, pained from the strain and weak from previous bloody cries- mixing crudely with the wheezing huffs of breath, throat crackling from the clogged mucus and blood that coated the insides of his throat.

Moving hurt, as did everything else. Skin sore- coloured a blazing raw red, blemished and sticky from the dried combination of tears and sweat. Eyes narrowed, they burned slightly, sizzling the flesh and warping his already tilted vision of the dark hallway- cheek firmly planted against the rough floor, clothes soiled from the dirt that hadn't been cleaned in months.

He wasn't the only thing being neglected.

Thing being the keyword.

After long moments of jerking muscles and weak gasps, he successfully dragged his corpse to the bathroom, the door closing shut and locking behind him.

His haven.

Leaning up against the flimsy wood, he simply breathed, hands shaking and head aching. Absentmindedly, he fidgeted with the front straps of his blue overalls, noticing that they were stained with barely congealed blood and long ropes of black ooze. Frowning faintly, he prodded at the mess with a curious finger, wrinkling his nose in disgust as he noted that the familiar sludge had hardened into stiff clumps.

That's upsetting- those were the only overalls where the pocket was big enough to carry Tommee inside, and they probably going to be thrown away now.

He'd only just figured out how to do the clasps on his own too!

Huffing again, he rolled his eyes and slapped his hands over his mouth as a yelp of pain surged through his skull. He stood up warily, stumbling and clinging onto the slick edges of the sink. Shaking hands reached out and hurriedly twisted the cold tap, cupping the water and fruitlessly slapping it into his face.

Trickles of refreshing icy liquid trailed down his cheeks, blessedly numbing for a few seconds before they heated once again- and the pain came back. Whining hoarsely, he closed his lids, feeling the tiny pinpricks of burning discomfort spread throughout the rest of his sockets.

With a squeal, he opened them again, blinking rapidly in the hope for some sort of relief. When none came, he stretched out his legs, hopping up on his tiptoes to peer into the cracked depths of the mirror.

Also immediately, his gaze zeroed in on the white square of gauze of swallowed up the side of his neck. Off centred and placed sloppily over his open wound- it was stained; blotches of different hues of red seeping to the threaded surface. Poking at it curiously, he winced, equal parts of pain and nausea that rolled through his uneasy gut, the digit sinking sickeningly into the puncture.

"Ew."

A quick blur of motion disrupted his self-destructive investigation, and he ripped his stare from the bandage- glancing up in a flickered swept. Mouth opening instinctively, a scream of disgusted shock filled the cramped room, vibrating roughly from his dry throat.

His- his eyes.

Inky black pits stared back at him, wide and red-rimmed- emotionless pits of darkness that seemed to suck all light out of the room. Stomach twisting into knots, acid clawed it's way up his gullet, and he heaved, furiously pulling at the flushed flesh, stretching it. Long tumbles of denial spilt from his mouth, head shaking slightly from side to side as the lifeless voids stubbornly remained.