🦇 𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬- 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 🦇

6- The Apprehension

My brain feels so melted right now, how do I even write?

Steve POV: 

BEEP BEEP BEEP

I rolled over, groaning, and slammed my palm to the alarm clock. After its annoying blares were silenced, I laid back down in bed for a few seconds. My blinds were open, and it was far too bright to fall back asleep. 

Was that all a dream? 

No, it couldn't have been. Vecna definitely happened. Yesterday happened. But what actually happened last night? 

Did hanging out with Robin happen?

I looked around. Surely it must have. We had a conversation about work. How else would I have known to set my alarm? It could have just been habit. 

Did... Eddie happen? Did he die? Did I actually save him? I doubt it 

Ok this was starting to stress me out.

I threw my sheets and blankets off. Normally I would've been hit with a wave of cold. But I was already sweating.

I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of my bed. Rubbing my eyes, the light shining directly on my face.

I sluggishly moved to my dresser, picking up boxers, socks, and pants, then went to my closet. I flipped through clothing until I found something that would make a suitable outfit for Family Video. 

I picked up the clothes and moved to the bathroom, setting them on the counter. I turned on the shower to a halfway and waited a bit before getting in. 

I took off my sleep clothes and stepped in. Wetting my hair. I massaged Faberge' Organics shampoo into my hair, rinsed it out, then put in the same brand but of conditioner. 

I washed my body, my tired state finally recognizing my stomach wounds. There were two punctured holes in my lower stomach. Torn flesh open, the rims were scabbing but everything else was a mix of dried blood. 

How the absolute fuck did I not realize this last night?

Now that I was looking at them, the more they started to tingle, then sting. The body wash I had rubbed across my chest was dripping down, onto the injuries. 

I hissed in pain, grabbing the towel off the hook and dabbing at them. 

Quickly, I tried to rinse my hair and the body wash off. Wincing at the water when it touched my stomach. Then I hopped out, towel-dried my hair, and put on my clothes. My wounds would have to wait, I guess. Since they weren't currently bleeding, it should be decently ok. Though every time I shifted my torso, I could feel my shirt scratch them, sending a shock of pain up my spine. 

I looked in the mirror at my damp hair. Picking up the bottle of Farrah Fawcett spray, I used 4 puffs into my hair and styled it. Then I brushed my teeth and flicked the light switch.

At the door I paused, flicked the lights back on and picked up a purple hairbrush.

With it in my hand, I became confused. 

Why do I need this again? 

But I didn't put it back. Instead, I left the bathroom with the hairbrush. 

I stumbled down the stairs. Not quite awake, but definitely no longer asleep. 

I walked into the kitchen, setting the hairbrush on the table. Then I went to cook what I had every morning, bacon, egg, and cheese on a sesame bagel.