Forget Something? (eyeless jack x reader)

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Cold and wet. That's all I can think of. Until those sensations are replaced with the feeling of being torn apart. In this moment I can't even acknowledge how I ended up like this, or what's to come. Every thought that crosses my mind is only filled with fear and the feeling of being diced up. These thoughts are scattered across my mind intermittently, mostly because I think I keep passing out and coming back to life every few minutes. Would death be better than this? Every time I wake up to see the moldy white ceiling and beaming light in my face, I think that I'll finally be able to die. But that thought gets pushed to the back of my mind when I see the giant saw and syringe filled with black goo. I can't come to any conclusion as to what's happening to me. I also can't tell if I've been drugged up, or if my brain has done the pleasure of releasing hormones into me to try and save my sanity.

Though, all of this is forgotten when I officially wake up. I feel a tenderness around my neck, among other things. Drowsy and teetering, I try laying side ways. Propping myself up on my right elbow, I face the room I've presumably been confined in. It's large and open. There's a top level where I face that's connected to the bottom with stairs. I'm in the bottom portion. There's windows to my right, brightening the room slightly. Though- if I had to guess, I'd say it's almost 8 pm. My eyelids are heaved, and my head wobbles back and forth. For some reason, it feels as if it could fall off at any moment. This scares me. Deeply. I opt to lay my head down on the..metal table?

I finally notice just what it is I'm laying on. An operating table with a drainage system above my head. This was all just..so..avoidable. The need to cry passes by momentarily, but somehow I just can't manage to give myself this relief. I pull a hand up to my face. Looking at it helps me ground myself, which I desperately need, considering I can't decide whether this is a dream or not. But doing this only leads to more questions. I never painted my nails black..why are my nails black? Being so caught up in a whirlpool of questions meant I didn't notice when somebody else entered the room. I only bothered to look up when the gaps of my fingers were filled in with black. Behind my hand stood the masked figure in which I've been trying to avoid for the past few days. I couldn't care anymore. I especially couldn't care about dying. Something deep inside me told me that had already happened. I pick my head back up, still facing down. It was so heavy.

"Whad.. zinn..hnng m-muh.", why can't I talk? And what was this comedic attempt of speech? My head warbles and falls down more. My stunned, yet emotionless expression now staring down at the stained metal table I'm resting upon. Exposed shoulder blades raised above my head catch a cold chill. I almost forgot how foreboding his presence was. Remembering this makes me realize how deep the room's atmosphere has grown. A gloved hand catches my right cheek and gently raises my head to fully see just what was standing in front of me. The gesture is sensual and soft, I almost feel at ease. Almost.

"It'd be best if you didn't speak for a while.." the satin like voice spoke. My eyes were unfocused, but the sudden shock brought my eyes back together to look up at the all too familiar mask. My eyes half lidded and mouth slightly open, the striking blue mask comes back into focus. I guess he cleaned it up, because there's no more spillage beneath his "eyes". His other unoccupied hand makes his way to my forehead, where he briskly pushes past the hair covering my eyes. For the guy who's been incredibly creepy and menacing up until now- this is getting very freaky, very fast. It may be the drugs and hormones in my system talking, but I think I'm enjoying it. What? Ew. What am I talking about. He practically snapped my neck. Well..I guess I snapped my own neck. But he shouldn't have been strangling me in the first place. Ugh. Whatever. My brows knit together.

"Hm.. You had a bit of an accident, you could say?", this is accompanied by a light chuckle. Yeah, ha ha, laugh it up. I want to ask what he did to me, and what happened. Where's that shit head, Tyler? My eyes begin pleading when my being awake starts bringing me pain. All over my body is aching. Another attempt of speaking passes my lips, but it only comes out as a laughable squeak. God, I feel so pathetic. Why couldn't he just let me die? That thought brings me more questions. How aren't I dead? Or at least paralyzed? I move my legs a little and try to prop myself up further. He continues to hold my cheek near the start of this, though this evolves into him holding me under my arm. But he also has one hand.. on top of my head?

"I'm sure you have your questions," he says bending down a little to catch my gaze. "Yes?" He continues. His voice is not loud, it's soft and muffled by his mask. Its deep richness could give me chills. I nod, timidly. Just because he's being nice now doesn't mean that'll last. Both of his hands still being on me gives me the stability I didn't know I needed, and also the feeling of being trapped.

"Well..to start..", he says while standing back up to his true height. The table is probably 3 or 4 feet off the ground, and me sitting up is only a few inches taller than my normal height. Even so, I'm only about as tall as the bottom of his ribs.

"You died." Hearing him say this does hurt. It hurts and it's confusing. The last time I checked, once you're dead, that's it. But then again, things haven't been normal as of late.

"Your friend ran away after he saw you go limp." He continues, his hand leaving my arm and traveling up my body to my neck. Never leaving my skin. Once it reaches my neck his other hand on top of my head tilts it back. He begins inspecting my neck.

"I had to play a little doctor to get you back.. But, of course, we lost some of you during that.", His voice is so monotonous. What's he talking about anyway? I didn't loose any limbs, I can feel all of me? My eyes dart around and I try to look at my cold body to gauge what he's talking about. His fingers trail across a line on my neck, and I feel... I feel a line? My hands reach up to my neck to feel where he is and I touch stitches. A straight, horizontal line of stitches.

"Don't worry, any Y/N we lost, we just replaced with some me." Another laugh comes after his confession. Now the fear begins to set in. I grab the hand on my neck and squeeze, my nails digging into it. My mouth forms into an open toothed gnarl, tears welling into my confused eyes.

"Wha- whatd..nyou.." I was finally about to choke out my long list of questions when the gloved hand on my head moves to my mouth. After a second, he removes it and moves it to a shushing movement in front of his mask.

"Ah ah ah.." He coos. This cocky bastard thinks he can just raise the fucking dead and then shush me? This anger beats anything I could've felt when dealing with Tyler, and he got me livid. My hands fall to my sides and hit the metal table. The tears that were brimming in my eyes finally fall and a groan passes my lips. It does kind of hurt when I talk. He puts both of his hands on either of my cheeks and wipes away my salty tears with his thumbs.

"I had to take your head off to put your spine back into place." One gruesome confession after another. He says it so coldly, almost as if breaking this news to me is normal for him. My arms feel limp, and my head tilts down in defeat. Though, tilting my head down only reveals my bare chest exposed to the cold room. I quickly fling myself backwards in embarrassment and cover myself in my arms. Kicking the man away with my newly weak legs. I position my chest to the table, so now I'm facing the other way. My breathing quickens, and I wonder if I'm fully naked or not. How didn't I notice how cold I was sooner? I take one arm and free it from covering me, using it to feel my bottom half. Thankfully, I still have my pants on. Letting my head fall on the table, I bring my arm back up to my boobs to bring some comfort.

"Ah." I can hear him walk away a few feet. My chest heaves up and down. One shock after the next. He returns and promptly picks me up by my waist and puts me in a sitting position facing away from him. From behind me, he hands me my missing apparel. I weakly grab it and hear him walk away again, which I take as my cue to clothe myself. Once I do that, my criss cross apple sauce position leans on my hand, once I put it on the table. Leaning over my shoulder I look behind me to where he went. A row of drawers and some tables line the wall. He grabs something and comes back over. The jingle from this object reveals it as keys.