Why is Love so Hard? |BENDY X HENRY| (OLD)

Jesus Christ.

My shaking hand drops the remote.

"Oh god." I stutter. I'm horrified. "God...he did...that. He..."

If he came back, would I be... I swallow. A smudge on the wall?

Bile forces itself up my throat. I can practically smell the bodies. The screen goes black as I turn off the TV. I think I'm going to have a panic attack. The thick liquid burns my throat as I swallow.

This is...I...He...This can't...No...

I can't even finish my-

Clamping a hand over my mouth, I rush to the bathroom. Up it comes. I hurl violently into the toilet and collapse on the cold tile. After a good ten minutes, I slump against the bathroom wall.

People are dying. And it's all my fault. If only I hadn't driven Linda to the hospital. If I just told him, this could've been avoided.

I pant heavily, sweat trickling down my brow. Maybe if I had just- but I hadn't. And now it was too late. Now people were dying. Now he was killing them.

Nothing had changed. I couldn't fix him. He was a monster.

Play with fire, you get burned. I hadn't been burned for months. Now others burned because of me.

I let out a shuddery breath. Using a towel rack, I pull myself to my feet. Determined, I start the shower. I could stop this, I could...

Stumbling out of the bathroom, I head to my bedroom. Maybe...

I pull open a drawer on my dresser with a sigh. Pained, I pick out a pair of black pants, a silky black dress shirt with dull gold buttons and a black tie. An outfit the demon absolutely adored. So much so that I hadn't worn it for a long while.

Steam pours out of the bathroom, and I slip into the shower.

I was going to get all dolled up for the demon. We were going to make pancakes. Something. Together. We'd dance in the kitchen, like he'd tried to do with me so many times before. Then he could have his way with me in bed- where without a trace of doubt, I would surely be eaten alive.

But if it stopped him from from killing everyone- from killing more-

I shudder, despite the water being warm.

This plan was so stupid it might just work.

If he didn't kill me on sight, that is.

74.7 Miles away on the front porch of a certain prick...:

My hand closes into a fist around Steve. It makes a small crackling in my palm, and if anything, after that I hold it tighter. I bang the door down, stepping into the old house.

The air in here smells musty. Like if dead skin cells had a scent, this would be it. There's also the distinct tinge of sex. Ick. But the 'home' is empty, shafts of sunlight flooding in from the half-blinded windows.

The field out front remains the same. Thick yellowish-orange grass swaying in the late autumn breeze. The tables are still out. White tablecloths waving in the wind, the large tacky name cards bending to the winds will. Yellow police tape does the same.

Two tables are closer than the others.

Me and Stein's. Stein's and mine. Stein's and I's? Whatever the proper terminology is. Regardless, the tables are there. Nearly touching, but not quite.

Just like that whore who tried to fuck Stein. I hope she burns in hell. I mean, come on, he said no. It's fucked up I had to intervene.

People are goddamn monsters. Maybe that's why we get along so well. When I'm not busy making rock collections out of their kidney stones, that is. My old twitching grin makes a guest appearance on my face. 'I wonder if I could get her address...'