Thanks to Brian's oh-so-responsible liquor policing, you didn't have half the hangover you wished you did. A little head pounding nausea would certainly take your mind off of the events of last night. You didn't know if you should be hitting yourself for believing what you were told under the influence, or for fucking hugging Brian like a pathetic small child, or both, but you were certainly filled with even more self loathing than before.
In the stark light of the living room window before you, everything you'd been told before you passed out on the couch was newly painted. You could so easily decide now in the clarity of daylight to go on believing what Brian told you with so little proof, sure, but you were smarter than that. Your stubborn nature would have you be skeptical no matter what, and you had a shred of self respect left within you yet.
Demons could be real. The only trouble was, if they weren't, you didn't know where the fuck that left you and Brian. You were awfully aware that if he was lying to you, testing out your Stockholm syndrome, believing him would be your stupidest fuck-up to date.
"Coffee?" Talk of the Devil.
Without turning to face the man as he entered the living room behind you, you nodded sullenly. You couldn't meet his eye right now for multiple reasons - you felt so small, your small moments of complete and foolish trust replaying over and over in your fuzzy memory.
As you listened to Brian's footsteps cross the room toward the kitchen, you called out. "Hey Brian?"
"Mm?" He seemed preoccupied. Since last night he came across as comfortable with you around, far less formal than he'd ever been before. The thought filled you with bittersweet disdain.
You hesitated before you spoke again, lost in thought. "...what day is it?" Your voice came out croaky, and you could hardly bring yourself to care.
"Good morning to you too, (y/n)." You heard him rummage around in the adjacent space, sounding so chipper you wouldn't put it past him to start humming. You groaned slightly, yet you were used to annoying quips of his by now.
Yet the thing was, you truly had no clue what the date was. You remembered the year - you weren't that far gone - and yet even the month slipped your mind. The funny thing was, your phone lay next to you presently, and you'd been checking the time and date since you woke up about an hour ago. Yet every time you looked, you forgot again within a few short minutes. And you were certain you weren't that hungover.
You let the subject drop for now, not feeling like contending with Brian's annoying-ass conversational skills at the moment. Yet your brows knitted as you fought the urge to reach for your phone once more. Surely it wasn't that hard to remember a simple detail like the day.
Try as you might though, the minutes ticked on fruitlessly. Soon enough, a mug being set down on the coffee table before you broke you out of your frustrating loop of thoughts. You waited for Brian's fuzzy figure to retreat back to the kitchen through your peripheral vision before you reached for the warm ceramic.
Brian pulled up a stool at the kitchen counter. You had a sinking feeling he was facing you, observing, but you couldn't be sure with your back to the rest of the room. Minutes ticked by silently as you both drank, with you staring right on ahead at the ugly brick wall through the window before you.
All too soon, Brian's voice broke through the silence once more. "How's your shoulder doing?"
You shrugged, hoping he could, in fact, see. You were too busy thinking about deep shit to particularly care about your wound. That and, you had enough faith in EJ's skills that besides re-dressing it you hadn't really worried about it since you'd arrived here. Which was... how many days ago? You truly couldn't remember.
You heard the clink of ceramic as Brian set down his mug. "Do you wanna shower?"
Brian's judgemental tone told you that something was up - but surely he couldn't smell you form here. It was now that you realised that your shirt was damp. Looking down, you noticed that you were drenched in sweat. You must have had a nightmare, but you couldn't for the life of you remember what it was about. More puzzling still, was that you hadn't noticed until now. You blinked, then slowly nodded.
"Sure. The blue towel is yours."
You had to physically bite back a petty retort - you already knew which bloody towel you were meant to use. You rolled your eyes as you gingerly picked yourself up off the couch, letting the waffle knit blanket that had been pulled over you at some point in the night fall off of your frame.
The duffel bag holding your clothes that Brian had kidnapped from Cass' apartment lay at one end of the couch. Not wanting the man to accidentally get another glimpse at your undergarments, you picked the whole thing up and trudged in the direction of the hall, muttering out a thanks without glancing at him.
"(Y/n)." Just before you disappeared into the open bathroom, you heard him call out again. "I'll come re-do your dressings when you're done."
You didn't respond, closing the bathroom door behind you. You let out a sigh at his words only once you were out of sight - if he was insisting on helping, that meant he'd most likely seen that your bandaging skills were a bit sloppy. It wasn't entirely your fault, though - every time you had to look at your torn up skin, you were sent through a ripple of painful, violent flashbacks.
You turned on the shower as you awkwardly undressed and were met with the familiar squeal of pipes. Stepping into the warm water, you wet your hair and gazed at the small selection of bottles before you. You recognised two of them from the last time you'd showered - there was a value sized bottle of body wash and men's shampoo, which you had grudgingly used last night.
You did a double take as you glanced at two new bottles next to the first two - women's shampoo and conditioner. After your unfortunate second encounter with Brian in that Walmart oh-so long ago, you'd switched hair care brands entirely so as not to be reminded of the man. The brand you switched to was recommended to you by none other than Cass - in fact, while you lived with her, the two of you had shared shampoo.
You gave the bottles a hard stare before reaching out to pick one up. It was heavy, yet to be used. Had Brian really gone out of his way to buy you shower stuff? The thought only solidified a growing suspicion in your mind - this was the exact brand you used, you didn't recall Brian going into Cass' bathroom when the two you 'visited'. Not to mention that he seemed to know exactly where you had been keeping your things at her place.
Brian had been keeping a closer eye on you than just 'keeping tabs'.
You didn't doubt it at all, and you didn't underestimate the man. Though, weirdly, you weren't annoyed about it. In fact, the thought was reassuring. You even found yourself smiling a little as you reached for the sweetly scented shampoo, and in the private of the bathroom, you didn't bother suppressing it. It was still slightly creepy as fuck, yet oddly sweet in a way.
Showering with one arm was awkward, but you managed it in less than twenty minutes. Besides still getting used to keeping your body at a slight angle, you went into auto-pilot, zoning out and allowing yourself to get lost in thought as steam fogged up the glass around you.
By the time you stepped out of the shower, you were in a much better frame of mind. You still couldn't recall what day or time it was, but the freshness of your hair and skin made up for your sudden onset of brain fog - not to mention the caffeine had set in, putting some pep in your proverbial step. You dried yourself off and rummaged through the duffel bag, picking out clean underwear, sweatpants and a comfortable white shirt. There was no hair brush, so you ran your fingers through your (h/l) locks instead. You even found a pack of unused toothbrushes in a drawer below the sink, assuming Brian wouldn't throw a fit if you took one. If he did, you could already imagine the talk you'd give him about dental hygiene, much to your own amusement.
You took a deep breath as you looked yourself over in the slowly de-fogging mirror. Now for the awkward part. You knew all too well that if Brian wanted to 'help' you with your wound, you weren't getting out of it. Yet you really didn't want him to see you break down again. You didn't let yourself get physched out, though, opening the bathroom door with a little too much force. You cleared your throat.
"Brian."
Not a second later, footsteps sounded. You waited with your hands stowed in your pockets as he came down the hall, glancing at him for the first time today as he appeared in the doorway. He looked the same as ever, though far less frazzled than he had last night. He'd let you have the first shower, funnily enough, so his hair was messy and he was still in sweats.
"Ready?" He asked, but he had already started rummaging through the drawers to presumably look for the alcohol wipes, petroleum jelly, tape, and bandages. He didn't say anything about the missing toothbrush, but you presumed he had noticed.
Once Brian found each item, he laid them out on the counter for you. Unlike the first time he had helped you re-dress a wound, you were of course mobile enough now to fix yourself. But you were a little confused when, instead of doing it himself, he stepped to one side and lingered in the doorway, leaning his arms on the frame. The bathroom wasn't so small that he was looming right over your head, but the blockade still got on your nerves a little. You shot him a look of confusion and annoyance. Why had he come in, then?
"What?" He raised his eyebrows at you in a manner you could only describe as sassy.
You couldn't help but chuckle a little, in mild annoyance or playful awkwardness you weren't quite sure. "What are you doing?" You blinked at him slowly as you approached the sink, sarcasm dripping from your tone.
Brian gestured at the items by the sink with a flick of his fingers. "Keeping an eye on you."
You couldn't help a snarky smile. "I know how to dress a wound, Brian." It was true enough, even if you weren't spectacular at it. You supposed he was just going to stand there and critique you while you broke down, then. Sadistic fucker.
"Go on, then." Brian smiled back at you, sarcasm just as strong as yours and yet the energy was light.
You eyed him as you tugged the collar of your loose shirt over your shoulder, letting it fall. You half expected Brian to be a little intimidated by the bold move, to look away or fuck off completely. And yet he kept his eyes on yours, accepting the challenge. After a moment of intense eye contact, you were forced to look away and start dressing your wound, lest the air between you would become painfully tense.
You could feel Brian's burning gaze on you as you went through the motions of cleaning and bandaging, yet spite kept you from looking at him again. To your relief, he didn't make any remarks about your skills, and surprisingly enough his presence meant you were able to keep your hands steady.
You understood what he was doing by now, making a game of re-dressing the wound but giving you your space. He was trying to keep you grounded. In a way, you were thankful for his lingering company - it kept you from thinking about the trauma of Masky's attack, and you were aware that Brian knew it. You were grateful.
When you finally finished, you turned back to him. His eyes hadn't dropped from you, already giving you an expectant look.
"There. See?" Your tone could be mistaken for one of contempt, and yet there was something else beyond it - like an inside joke between close friends, who only pretended to hate one another.
Brian pursed his lips, nodding. "Good work." His eyes fell to the newly bandaged wound. "But, you forgot something."
Uh-oh. You crossed your arms and gave him an expectant look, ready for him to be a smartass. He took a few steps closer to you, closing the distance so he towered above. You glanced down from his face when you felt movement by your upper arm. He gingerly pulled your loose shirt up and over the bandages, fixing the collar so it covered you.
"There." He mumbled.
You would have scoffed, but something about his close proximity had your heart beating a little too fast. You swallowed thickly, taking a small step back - even though, strangely, your body didn't really want to move away from the man.
As you moved back, Brian's eyes fell on the shower behind you. His expression dropped suddenly to his usual apathy. Your brows knotted. He moved to grab your arms, pull you away from what he had just seen, but he was too late. Your eyes grew wide as you turned your head and saw them - symbols, drawn on the fogged up glass of the shower you'd stepped out of, only a few short minutes ago.
Circles with crosses drawn right through the middle.