Sometimes money is always the answer to OJ. You'd spend it on something you like and you'd earn it it's all yours. But it's all gone, so he decided to maybe take a turning position and drop the hotel manager in him.
TW/CW
Gore
Heavy Language
Suicid...
Paper forgot about what it was like to move on. The past haunts him everytime he remembered his face, suffering, heart and pain. The group of objects shared one similarity they had, it was fear. Paper didn't know the word fear. He thinks that he's just useless, but fear? no. Which is why he is in the hospital.
Awake, he open his eyes to see. A hospital, so white and clean. He was walking through his balance at couldn't recall at all a single thing... not enough, he thought to himself. Every scar, every blood more and more could he ever done. (do you get the reference)
It doesn't work.
When he forgets time he doesn't know what place to go, meaning asking himself where he was. He circled around his empty mind, filled with brim with anxiety. Today was the day of visitations, meaning people will check up on him, he didn't really think he deserves it. He grabbed his phone and began texting Pickle. Swiping through contacts, he found Pickles contact and opened the messages.
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You know, forget about it. He thought to himself. He closed his phone and began to lay down on the bed, the bright light shines through his eyes as he stared at the ceiling. He wished he wasn't alone, but at the same time, he was happy he was alone. But he needed company. He let himself drift to sleep questionly closed. After a while, he woke up and went to check the time, it was 3 in the morning. Great, just great.
But he saw a person next to him.
“I'm back.” OJ laughed, Paper began to sink into his thoughts. Jeez, what is he doing here?! He squinted his eyes as OJ began grabbing his hand, squeezing it.
“What are you... doing here?!” “I don't know, what am i doing?”
In some ways, you gotta fight back, defend yourself or such. Paper can't do that, he can never do things he wants to do... never. It was pressuring him to say, atleast. Everything had happened so suddenly, why was he there? I thought he was dead? Didn't Mephone promise to kill him? Did he lie? Was he...
...
Paper cupped OJ's face and began squishing it, slamming him down on the floor with all his strength. Then, he got up and began stepping on OJ's head and gripping his hair. OJ began fighting back with his other hand supporting his injured hand and then grabbed Papers leg. It didn't work, however. As Paper flipped OJ and began biting his hand while kicking him.
“Hah— is that all you got?!” OJ said, catching his breathe.
“No.” Paper dragged OJ and threw him, he walked up to him and punched him in the face. “I'm tired! I'm tired of you bothering me and ruining my life! I wish you were still dead!” Paper said, still punching him in the face. OJ was only laughing at this.
