☁️Red Fields☁️

🌧XVI. Guilty🌧

words; 2,810
tws; panic attack
A/N; am I getting better at writing? Yes or no?

❝The only hell is the hell in your head.❞

I've basically been a carrot for a couple of days now. Rinsing and repeating my days. Dream seemed to only be background noise the  more he started showing up. He wouldn't talk to me, and we sort of had this unspoken barrier. I haven't moved back into the room, in fact, I haven't even seen it in a while. I want to mend things with him and fix everything I'd done to him, but every attempt is meaningless void attempts. Not that there's much I did try, in all honesty. Not much I could think to do. That's my own fault, but isn't this all my fault? I only feel bad for me because I'm me. I want to justify my actions but I know I fucked up. I fucked him up. I fucked us up. What's the point in whining about it? I was the villain to him.
I would just avoid the world, everyone and anything. The only thing on my mind was Dream. But even my mind was starting to mute itself and I just worked on autopilot. The only thing I can think is of how I did all of this. This is my fault. Not Wilbur's, not Tommy's, not Dream's.

So I sit by the window, dust particles floating in the air as the sun sets in, rays of sunshine start to slowly turn away towards another part of the planet. Maybe in some other place, where the crows flock to and the fish swarm towards, maybe there someone is waking up, and staring at the same sky I do. Or maybe somebody near me is staring at the same moon and letting the reflection of the sun onto the moon shine onto their feet. Maybe the stars flicker in the sky tonight and we both stare at it, but I wouldn't know.
Dream is resting somewhere in the bedroom, and I don't think I should bother him. I made tea and now drink it by the window, feeling an unusual feeling of calm but not quite. Uneasy. The queasiness seems to intensify at the sound of banging on the door. Aggresive, intense banging. I flinch, and my tea flushes around, and I set it down onto the windowsill, hesitantly getting up. Who could that be at this hour? I walk towards the door, gently opening it in confusion. Who the hell-- "Tommy! You don't have to knock so hard." Dammit. Why now? What the hell do they have left to say to me?
I keep my head behind the door, but my precense is known. "Heyyy, Fundy." I restrain a groan as Tommy speaks to me. I just want to dig my head into the ground. I hear footsteps moving around, though they only sound like a set of two. "I'm sorry, Fundy. We came to check up on you since we haven't seen you in a couple of days." I hear Wilbur's voice say. It's kind of sweet he cares, but I know I don't deserve his pity visit. "I'm fine." I simply say, trying to end the conversation. Honestly I don't want to speak to them right now. "You don't sound like it." I hear a bitter voice say. "Tommy, shut up." Puts a small smile on my face. "Uhm, we just wanted to check in. We're preparing to head onto the fields soon, and since you said that you did join, well..." There's hesitation in Wilbur's voice. "We understand if--" Tommy cuts him off, "Wilbur understands," Wilbur sighs and continues, "If it's too stressful. You don't have to go. I understand. But this," He inhales sharply, every word piercing into my skin and burning into it. They almost feel like they're ripping apart the bandages and throwing me onto the crowded one loud battlefield. "Once we're out there, there's no returning. I made the mistake of making you decide on the spot. You should get some rest, think about it. We'll be on the fields in L'Manberg at dawn." I just stand in shock and without being able to put any input, they seem to be gone just like the gust of the wind. I slowly close the door, my hands shaking at the thought. There's no words to explain how bad this is. What is means. What it could be, what it will be. No words or emotions to be sufficient for the oceanic wave that just pushed me onto shore, leaving nothing but a husk of what was a human. I feel my head sting at the pain of collapsing against the familiar material of the door, and my body hit the ground as I use the door for support since I know nothing else will be. I feel my body start to bend over, curling into a ball as I hug my knees. My breath picks up as the idea settles in. This is..
This is war.
This is fucking war.
The man-- the man just down that fucking hallway is the same man I'll have to fight, I'll have to shoot and make efforts to weaken. The same man who kissed me on our wedding day is the same man I'm going to have to harm if I do join them.
If I don't?
I betray and backstab the same man who saw light at the end of the tunnel because of me. I betray and backstab the man who raised me by his own hands. The man who has done nothing but try to support me. He might've been faulty, but aren't we all?
I feel the walls closing in as my brain becomes a fumbling mess and my body becomes practically an earthquake. I choke on air, I feel my throat closing up and my eyes start to get heavy with the familar salt water that I give up on trying to repress and hide. It seems to settle it much quicker than it should've, all of my protective walls being broken down and torn apart at the seams.
The air feels as though it's filled with smoke, polluting my lungs and making my throat burn. I try to calm my nerves, but the idea of it all strikes me down. I try to gasp for air yet it only seems to bring in smoke, making me try to gasp for air again yet having the cycle continue. I lean towards my left, holding my head that was drowning in thoughts, curses, faults, taunts, empty promises, panic. It all just feels like one big scribble.
Really?
Is this fucking it?
Is this what I have to face?
After stressful days and sleepless nights of guilt consuming me and the world breaking apart and collapsing in on itself, of my own faults, my own actions, my own fucking insanity, always worrying about myself and for what? Because I'm selfish? Is that what the world wants to hear? I've been so caught up in this sticky, annoying web of events like a fly in a spider's trap, impulsively making decisions and wrecking minds and homes while I'm at it, I've been so caught up and stumbling over my own actions and then blame other people for it? I'm selfish. Is that what you want to hear? Do I have to shout it at the universe? I'm fucking selfish, okay? I can keep dreaming for that happy ending, I guess. Dreaming. Dream. Dream deserves better. So much better. He's the only one that seemed to actually care. The one that loved me, the one I fucking promised to love and care for then I go out to do this. I go out and hurt him time and time again and he still puts up with me. Wouldn't blame him if he were to cheat on me. Would I be upset? Definetly, but I know I don't have the right to. I don't have the right to cry over him finding consolation somewhere else and kissing some other boy. Hell, that George boy would be able to care for him so much better than I have. And this is what I do. Faced with the choice of going to war or to reside with Wilbur's enemy. Faced with the choice of having to witness to ruthlessness of war all to help this country built upon wanting to sell drugs or to reside with the man everyone antagonizes and hates so much, to betray everyone that had hoped for my (unhelpful) return. It's stupid. It's so stupid. I'm stupid. I did this.
I barely can even lift my head and with tears blurring my vision all I can see is the flickering fire from the candle by the kitchen counter and the darkness seeping into the hallway of the bedroom. I put my head back down, trying to take a bit of air from what seems to be nothing. I breathe, but I don't. I feel my body shutting down and aching in pain. From the emotions? From the burns underneath the bandages that I still need to replace? I don't know. The house feels like it's burning down with smoke burying my lungs and my skin starting to burn. Yet when my eyes open, out of the blurry sight all I see is darkness. I cover my ears out of habit.
Just like when I would hear what was my dad crying in just the next room over. Just like that stupid petty kid, I'm covering my ears. For nothing at all, reality is reality no matter how much I block it out it always seems to reside in a main part of my mind. Always there, creeping, screaming, scratching at the walls, crying, burning. It aches but there's nothing I can do to fix it. To fix me.
As if I'm a broken plate that's only been tried to be fixed with tape. Useless, just throw it out already. What are you gonna do with it? You can't eat on it. You can't even wash it. For decoration? It's ugly as fuck.
It's useless.
The "fix" was never a fix to begin with, it was always just minds toying with eachother and trying to find meaning out of thin air.
People keeping me around and for what? Because I can be used as a disposable one use shield? Why do those even exist? They're stupid.
I can whine and cry about how it burns as much as I'd like but that doesn't stop the fire. It doesn't stop my skin from bleeding out or aching in pain.
My mind suffers the consequence just as my lungs. I struggle, like a fish out of water, I struggle to find sense out of nonsense and struggle to breathe. My hands shake and covering my ears doesnt seem to block out the pain. It never did, what was I expecting? Am I really that stupid? Like that stupid petty child who whined over every small thing, who whined for a mother that was never to be. Whining for a future that's not meant to be.
My hands try to find something to latch on and naturally they go off on their own, trying to calm the burn in my arms. My cries aren't silent, I'm a coward crying in a corner as if I'd just lost a loved one when really I just lost my mind like an idiot. A mumbling fool. My hands only seem to make the pain worse though as they scratch at the bandages. Just out of panic? Fear? I don't know know.
It's as if it's my body's reaction to trying to numb the pain. Like when someone digs into someone's palm when they're in pain. I scratch more at the bandages, opening my eye for a split moment to see the bandages unraveling on the floor. I needed to replace them anyway.

I don't know.

It's all just one large scribble, biting away at my head, almost as if it's trying to break out the pain in my head that's scratching at the walls and crying out in pain for a happy ending that's so far down the well I've heard it splash into nothingness by now. It all feels so stupid. It is stupid. It's stupid. It's stupid. It is so fucking stupid.

I don't know.

As the burns make contact with the world outside of the bandages I just cry out in pain as they burn. I can't even get up to replace the bandages from before. I'm a mess. I'm on the floor in front of the front door crying over something that I've led up to. That my stupid action made happen. In some stupid way. I don't deserve to be crying like this. The people I've hurt and affected do. They deserve an apology. A right from all the wrongs I've caused over my own stupidity and blindness. I close my eyes tightly as if I'm trying to fade into the floor or be gone from the earth, but what somehow breaks me out of it is the touch on my shoulder. I jolt, my primal instinct wanting to step away but I'm hugging my knees on the floor with my back pressed to the door so that isn't possible. Through my blurry vision of tears I see a green hoodie, and a familiar face shape in front of me.
And I guess that.

It breaks me.

As the tears fell out and I caught a glimpse of his face.

It broke me.

My heart sinks into my stomach and my fuzzy mind somehow becomes fuzzier and hazier, instead of crying now I just start sobbing. It's so hard to catch air but in between sobs I call out his name and all he does is pull me forward. He struggles but does it, just to hug me. I don't deserve this. To be hugged whether out of pity or sympathy, he shouldn't have to be there comforting me for crying over hurting him. I mumble out useless apologies while trying to breathe for air, my throat swollen and my eyes tired and red from all the crying in such a short amount of time. I hadn't seemed to notice before, but he's talking to me. I guess my mind just got too loud. "Hey, hey, Fundy, Fundy, you're okay. I promise, you're okay." If only he knew.
Yet for some odd reason it seems to calm me down. He avoids hugging my burns and I can't even hug him back. "You're okay. I'm sorry, I didn't think it would get this bad. I'm so sorry." All I can do is just shake my head. It isn't his fault and he shouldn't be apologizing for my actions. "Stay here, you're gonna be okay." He slowly let's go of me and it feels like a piece of me dies once he does. I wait for what feels like eternity before feeling his touch again. His familiar fingertips against my skin, protecting my burns with bandages. Here I thought I would replace them myself.
He hugs me, and I can hug him back this time. I feel dizzy, sick, tired, sad. Obnoxious. So annoying for bothering him like this. However I can't voice it. And he just stays there. I grip onto his hoodie as though if I let go he would drop me off a cliff. I can't voice anything. So I just sob on his shoulder. Out of guilt, pain, I don't know.
I don't know anymore.
My mind loses itself and all I can do is sit in his arms and wait for the pain to overcome me. But he seems to sooth it over, and the pain never seems to come as hard as I expected it to. He practically cradles me like a child for a while, and I don't calm down for a while. I eventually do however, my sobs reduced to just cries as I listen to him trying to calm me down, hand in my hair and my face burrowed in his chest.
"It's okay. You can go."
I gently lift my head to try and look at him but there's still tears stinging in my eyes and all I see is a blurry version of him. I can't voice anything still with my swollen throat, all I can do is look at him in confusion. He avoids looking at me, just while running his hands through my hair. "With them. Wilbur." He clears his throat, "L'Manberg. It's okay, I understand. Just remember what I said, okay? I still love you." I process for a moment before nodding. And forcing words through my throat. "I love you too."
I shut my eyes and just let life pass me by, even if it were just for a moment. Just a tiny moment.
I'm in his arms, for now.
We are gonna be okay.
We're gonna be just fine.