Mechanical Heart

Chapter 7 Begin Again

(Music: Haunted Past - The Newton Brothers)

The rim of a glass touched his lips, wetting his pallet with the keen burn of alcohol and a hint of sweetness. What more was there to say? Was there anything to say at all? Was there any point? Releasing a grunt of frustration, the anger so pent up that it weighed heavily on his chest, each breath was energy spent. Arm raised and hand combed through his raven black hair, mindful of his horns. Goddamnit. He couldn't afford these stupid little hiccups. Throwing his own head back against the wall to strike pain upon himself, a distraction to the emotional guilt he felt knowing what Sollux's purpose was. Maybe he could just....start over? No no no. So much was expected from this project. It was at the forefront of the Empress' mind he couldn't disappoint her, it might even cost him his head if he allowed this to continue on the way it was.

However, if he scrapped Sollux-. God just the thought of scrapping him as if he were nothing but cells and metal filled his gut with a foreboding. How could he do that? Just toss him out? Perhaps he needed to. In doing so it might teach him a lesson not to get attached to the next one. He could start all over without saying anything and no one would be the wiser. Bringing the rim of the glass to his lips again, his tongue savoring the taste, clinging to it and his sanity. He could not afford this error. His tired eyes drifting to the bottle he'd been nursing from for comfort for the past hour and a half, enough liquid courage in his system to force all rational thought out of his mind. He didn't want to leave his spot on the stone flooring, he didn't want to move at all. Placing the glass down beside the bottle as he raised to his feet, begrudged subconsciously that he had enough tolerance to be able to stand after drinking as much as he had.

He didn't have to do this, he could stand up and just walk himself to bed, forget that he had traced the lowblood's lips with desperate longing and go about his day tomorrow.
"I raised you better."
A little voice instigated his thoughts, a voice he had coward under, so many times so long ago as a young man.
"They want to see you crumble."
He'd been brought up never to give in, it was welded into his very nature. Enough of this pitiful denial.
"She wants to watch you struggle and drown."
He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing him rot. He could see it on the walls. The rot. The branching black and blue and purple the filthy disgusting rot. The sight ran a chill down his spine, fear infected him down to the muscle and bone and suddenly the alcohol in his system was no longer enough to stunt his speed. Racing to the confined room in which held his most important possession. No more second thoughts, he had to do it now while he still held the stomach for it.

Placing his bare hand against the door lockpad embedded into the stone archway, the blue security field receding, allowing him to safely enter where his lowblood slept. The rot was everywhere, everywhere. All because of him. He had to cut out this cancer before it killed him. He was killing him. He was driving him into the dark, driving him to his death, to heartbreak and sadness and those hands that would rip and tear him apart a piece at a time....

Looming over the little life he had created-no. Not even that. Sollux was not a life. He was....an experiment. He always was an experiment and there could be more of him, he was disposable. His hand grasping tightly around the bejeweled handle of the blade on his hip, unsheathing it, hearing the sound of the sharpened metal glide over the black leather sleeve.
"Cut out the rot."
He was spreading, he couldn't let him spread. He was spreading he was all over he was killing him he was drowning him he was. Making. Him. Decay.
He had to. He didn't have a choice. He had to do it. Amethyst eyes trained on the smooth perfect skin of Sollux's throat as his clawed fingers slid up the back of his neck, feeling every soft black strand of curls brush against the back of his hand. His touch bracing the precious skull of his lowblood victim, fingers bending, grasping firmly the silk of his hair should he struggle.

The sound of his blood pumper in his chest so loud it pounded against skull, disrupting each breath he took as he slowly shifted Sollux's head. Exposing his neck and leaving no room for error, his other armed hand in position to wound with exact precision. He knew where to aim for, he knew what to do. Each and every beat of his heart echoing so loud in his ears it cancelled out the sound of Sollux's breath, his hold on the blade shaking. Careful not to wake his greatest mistake, he inhaled deeply, closing his eyes only for a split second before shaking them open. No he needed to watch, he had to see that yellow sludge spill on his hands. Regaining control of his shaken grip and gritting his teeth, his eyes shut against his own will as with one firm lightening fast slice of his weapon he felt a drop of warmth his lower lip.

The deafening gush of deep golden blood painting his clothing with little sprits of yellow. He could taste it. He could feel it running down his cheeks. The musk of iron. The steady drip drip of liquid pooling on the bed sheets, spilling over the side of the mattress, and running down the metal frame in rivers. The weak struggle against his hold, and the stillness that settled in not a moment after. He refused to rot.

(I have returneth. Not sure if this one was good, I'm trying to get back into practice again so you'll have to excuse me if this is trash lol. I've already begun on the next chapter and I'm working on one for Fragile Scales. I hope you enjoy. :3)