Just A Cancer. •Symbrock•

Act 1: Part 2: Pretty Lies

Eddie's eyes bore into the ceiling above, the nightmare still fresh in his mind. He steadied his breathing, blinking in the bright light from the TV and window. He hadn't expected to wake up, and the soreness in his bones made him wish he hadn't.

The longer he stared at the pop-corn ceiling, the more he couldn't help but feel he was forgetting something. But what? It hurt just to think, and his arm still felt as if it were ablaze from last night. Last night. Realisation hit him like a brick to the temple. The tater tots.

He got up on the couch with some difficulty and stood up. As soon as his feet hit his carpeted floor he nearly collapsed, only saving himself by bracing himself on the couch. He swallowed a yawn and stretched. His spine popped like a pack of bubble wrap, a hot pain surging through his back. Everything hurt.

The bandages he applied the night before barely held onto his skin, large gobs of congealed blood soaking each one. They peeled off as he stretched, falling to the ground like wet leaves. Most of his wounds had scabbed over while he had slept, save it be for the few that small droplets of blood leaked from.

Eddie headed to the kitchen.

There was no sugar coating it; his apartment was completely trashed. His couch and coffee table were flipped on their sides, the box tv teetering atop the table's thinnest section, easily explaining why Eddie had so much difficulty getting it to stay the night before. Shards of glass from his broken window, blood and Drake's men littered the floor. His weights stuck out of large dents in the drywall, spattered with blood where they'd made contact with human skulls. Bottles of medication laid in the sticky, pink bismol lake, the demolished bag of tater tots spilled across the counter, and last but not least, his knocked over trash bin filled with chunks of half digested chicken tipped out on the kitchen floor.

Despite the shitshow, Eddie had a strong craving for chocolate. He didn't know why, he just did. Some part of him had the irresistible urge for chocolate, more than he'd ever felt before in his entire life. And who was he, in his right adult mind, to deny himself a pleasure so simple and sweet as he reached for the very cupboard where his chocolate stash was kept?

He forced his hand back, instead grabbing a sack of tater-tots from the freezer and ripping it open. He dumped the puffs onto a metal sheet and slid the tray into the oven, but as he waited idly for the timer to tick down, he could no longer control himself.

Pulling open the cupboard, he took a small bar of chocolate from inside. But now that he held it in his hand...- really? One bar? It just wasn't enough. He got two. Still, he felt he could use a little more...just one more couldn't hurt, right? He got three bars- then four- five- six- seven- oh, who was he kidding? He emptied the whole cupboard into his arms, even taking the shitty chocolate sprinkles that tasted like wax.

He laid it all out on the counter, and the chipper, metallic chime of his oven went off, signalling the tater tots were done. His mind was still clouded with chocolate, and he nearly grabbed the tray with his hands, only remembering an oven mitt at the last second.

Limping down the hall, he made it back to the bathroom. He peered around the doorway briefly before entering, but only saw the bathroom as usual. He entered, flicking on the lights.

Yellow light flooded the bathroom, and a large tendril instantaneously shot out of the bathtub in response, picking up his toothbrush from the floor and throwing it at his head. He ducked, only narrowly avoiding it as it lodged itself in the wall behind him with a loud thuk.

He turned the light back off and darkness swallowed the room. A hesitant moment later, the symbiote peered over the wall of the bathtub, its torn eyes narrowed slits. He put up his free hand as if surrendering. The nightmare was still fresh in his mind, and the alien liquid could make drowning in complete darkness a reality with ease.