Jousettes attached (Undertale error X reader)

Chapter 6: Poetic suicide

Well the phone book was definitely a thrilling novel!And also the very last book in the house.... Setting it down, I look up to the ceiling in boredom, it's been about 2 weeks, this error guy hasn't showed up much, but the moments when he does, I seem to appreciate the visits more and more.

Although maybe that's just loneliness kicking in.

He says he's too busy with 'work' whatever he's doing. He checks up on me every day or two, as if he's waiting for me to go crazy, practically hypothesizing I will like I'm some sort of test rodent.

Well,

He's won. I can't take this loneliness anymore. I don't want to admit it to him though. I won't. There's only one solution to these feelings, only one medicine that can save me from this limbo of reality.

Let's end it. End it all. Nothing petty, no cries for help through slit wrists, just a desire, a craving for the blissful relief of death, the thought of simply not existing being my new drug.

Stepping into the bath, the cold surface makes my back retreat from how frigid it actually is. Barley turning on the faucet, it seeps icy water onto the tips of my feet. I turn the faucet far enough for the water to pound at my feet;  yet close enough for the water to keep cold.

I wait for the water to reach about 2 inches, And once I hold the knife in my hands , I use my own blood from my palms and legs as a mere unit of measurement to tell if it's cold enough yet:

If the warm blood will mix with the water, or if the blood will stay a single mixture.

It's not cold enough yet. I reach over for the cup of ice cubes, filling the tub to the brim with ice, just enough for the water to cool down even more.

Yeah it kind of sounds stupid, but this is how I want to go. After all it's the most poetic death in Hamlet, maybe in all of Shakespeare. When Ophelia fell into the lake, she didn't want to be saved either. Even though she could save herself easily, she didn't, she already knew her true self was long gone, she wanted to escape her fate

Slowly watching as my finger tips turn blue, I lean down into the water, trying to rest my back on the surface of the tub through rigid breathing, I can't do it. I retreated back to hugging my knees. It's, it's so cold. Yet just a little bit more and... And I'll be gone....

Maybe I'm not like Ophelia. I actually want something. Just for someone to hold me. To tell me it's okay. To end my loneliness..

Then again maybe I'm like her.
We don't want to worry anymore.
We don't want to cry anymore.
We don't want to fret anymore.
We don't want to feel anymore.

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It's not like I didn't want to see her, I'm just too busy with 'correcting' the universes.
To be honest,
After all of this bloodlust, after all of the bloodshed, she's the only one keeping me sane.

Although I didn't visit her much, I still treasured the times we did spend together. I couldn't help but stare at her complexion. The way she'd look at me, her Patience, how she'd- nonononono, I shouldn't be thinking like this.  But I just can't seem to help it.. It's almost as if we're on the same wavelength in a way.

Swiping my hand up, I create a portal to her house. Knocking on the door, she doesn't answer. After waiting a few minutes, I decide to let myself in.

The house is quiet. Every footstep I took was the only thing that gave the house life. No lights were on, no books scattered about the coffee table, no glasses on the table. As if no one was here. Searching room by room, I couldn't find her... Did she really leave? Calling her name, only silence answered me.

Just as I was about to give up, I find a light shining through the bottom of the bathroom door. Knocking on it, I get no answer.

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Blood mixed with the water, creating a faded pinkish color over my ashen skin. The blood felt warm compared to the water. I almost regret bleeding, but I decide this will only suspend the inevitable for a little while longer.

I can feel it. My senses finally fading, my breathing slowing. I'm almost dead.

*knock knock knock*

I hear at the door, almost making me jump out of my skin.

"_____, are you in there?"
I can barley hear.

If I say something, he'll notice my frozen stuttering, yet if I say nothing he'll just come in anyway.

"Are you okay?" He asks

I take a deep breath before answering "y-yeah" I say, moving my blood covered arms to wrap around my knees.

"What are you doing?"

Why is he asking so many questions? Like he actually cares about my well being. Like he's actually been here all these lonely nights. Like he's ever given me the slightest spec of attention.

Before I can say anything back. I can't. I'm simply too weak. It's as if my organs have finally stopped in place. Like a broken clock. 

My grip loosens on my knees, I slump to the side of the bath tub making a 'thump' sound.

I can barley make out the scene. Everything's so... Fuzzy... Like static... him calling my name along with a louder crash. He opens the curtains of the shower to find my figure there, holding my knees and crying like some failure.

I can see it now. He'll just laugh at me, and leave. He has better things to do after all.

I wait for it. Bracing for the impact of the events to unfold. Quivering in my own frame.

But nothing came.

I feel warm arms wraps around me. Is- is he hugging me? It's so warm in contrast to myself, feeling as if he doesn't want to let go ever. More tears stream down my cheeks, not from dread, yet from hope.

I just continue to cry like a mess as he stays there, hushing sweet words into my ears as I fade. He moves a hand to the drain, unplugging it.

"Just wait right there" he urges, what's this feeling?

The water slowly leaves the tub, along with my blood as I try to hush my cries.

Is it hope?

There's nothing left in the tub but my cold figure and a few unmelted ice cubes. My breath still rigid.

Is it faith?

A blanked wraps around myself, I'm put onto the bed as I face my purple toes.

Is it relief?

My wounds are cleaned, wrapping gauze around the deep marks and regrets.

Is it happiness?

I'm brought to the fireplace. Wrapped in tons of blankets, you could have mistaken me as a abnormally large cocoon.

Is it trust?

He sits down besides me, continuing to tell me blissful words while holding my hand, showing no signs of letting go.

Is it love?