Predator (DWT x OC)

8

TW// Mentions of torture (the act is not described, but the aftermath is)

The smell of blood never does go away. The heavy copper sinks into the walls, brown stains that can't be scrubbed away. It hangs in the air, raw and acrid, festering in my lungs. It never helps when it's your own, either.

Fundy wanted to send a message. He carved into my skin, thin angry stripes of red rope decorating my forearms. They wrap their tendrils around my wrists, and trail the lines of my muscles, ending in a delicate curl around my pinky. I passed out once he made it past the hands. 

I carefully dab a wet cloth over them, clearing old blood and cooling the angry inflamed skin. They aren't too deep, and as long as I'm able to prevent infection, they will heal nicely. I gently smear antibiotic ointment over the lines, tracing the way they waver through my skin. Cleaning my hands with a towel, I pick up the cotton bandages, winding them around my arms and wrists, taping neatly at the ends. Once I put my jumper, you can hardly notice I've been hurt at all.

Except for the nightmares.

When Wilbur first found me, my nightmares were about creatures tearing my body apart in the woods. Eret always held me tightly, and I knew the animals couldn't get me. When Dream took me, I woke up screaming as walls closed in, and the air was squashed from my lungs. Eventually though, Dream would curl his arms around me, and the nightmares stopped coming. In my house, jumbled jigsaws of disturbing horrors would freeze my in my bed, paralysing me. But they would go, and I wouldn't see them for a while. But now, I scream for help as knives carve into my skin, like a pig for Christmas ham. No one comes, and I wake up crying. 

It will never stop hurting that it was Fundy. That someone I loved could do this to me. I had thought, for the tiniest while, that he would see sense, that he would realise and let me go. But I saw his eyes, the way he looked at me as I thrashed and screamed, completely devoid of humanity. His face didn't even change when I started begging for my life. 

So I lie in my bed, swathed in old clothes that Fundy gave me, scratchy blankets pulled up to my chin. I'm stiff as a board, but being comfortable means sleeping, and sleeping means revisiting hell. I don't worry about holding myself together anymore, because it would just be easier if I finally broke apart. 

I made myself a promise though, back when I chose myself over anyone else. A promise that I will hold on, for the girl in the future, even if I just want today to end. So every morning I drag myself out of bed, and I brush my hair, and do my teeth, and eat my food and I hold on. No matter how tiring it is, and no matter how much I want to just give up, I keep fighting. And not for Dream, or for Wilbur, or Niki, or Tommy, or Tubbo, or George, or Eret, or Sapnap. I keep fighting for myself. 

I miss them so much though. It feels as though a piece of my heart was ripped from me, still back home with everyone. I miss Wilbur's kindness, and Niki's laugh, and Tommy's ear splitting screams. I miss stumbling on George passed out on the couch, and Tubbo excitedly pulling me in the direction of a bee. I miss Eret's hugs and Sapnap's stupid jokes. And I really fucking miss Dream's forehead kisses, his soft lips on my skin.

You can't survive with a torn heart. So I fill in the spaces with rage and hatred, rebuilding the shredded edges with blazing fury that sets my chest on fire. I've sat and wallowed in my own self pity, and I've fallen into deep holes filled with darkness and despair. But it's different now. Of course, I still grieve, I still cry, I still sit quietly, staring off into empty space, too exhausted to move. But there's one thing that still drives me. It's anger. 

And so I make another promise to myself. That I will get out of here, I will be free again, and I will make him pay for what he did to me. I still hope that Dream and Wilbur find me, that they will rescue me. But if there's one thing that I've learned, it's that this is not a goddamn fairy tale, and there is no fucking Prince Charming. Luckily, this princess is perfectly capable of doing shit herself. 

I know Fundy's plan, at least roughly. Put the pressure on Dream, by threatening to hurt me, if he doesn't give l'manburg independence. They get independence, Dream gets me back. It's all very barbaric and old fashioned and quite frankly insulting, but what was I expecting, really? War gets ugly. You just never expect it to get so bad when it's supposed to be finished. 

And even still, I'm surprised when Fundy barges into my room, chains in hand.

"Get up. We're going to say a little hello to your boyfriend."

Well, it was nice knowing you Fundy.

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A/N A little bit of filler, I wanted to give insight into Rosie dealing with such a traumatic event. Why Fundy hurt her will be explained more thoroughly next chapter. I couldn't even bring myself to write a description of it happening, but I feel like often such horrific and big things like this are more jarring with the subtleties. Also I'm watching The Handmaid's Tale while writing this, and so if Rosie seems a bit more intense and powerful it's because I want to punch Commander dipshit in the face.

Please vote and comment, I really do appreciate it and it helps a lot!

Hope you enjoyed,

Oopsies x