Long Live L'Manberg

Chapter 49: Healing Scars

tw//mentioning of physical abuse, vomit

But nothing happened.

Mortified, Quackity's eyes snapped open in horror, diverting toward the gun in his trembling hands. He had pulled the trigger, but Schlatt still stood in front of him, completely unharmed. He was in such a state of shock when he ripped open the cartridge, his body shaking with fear when he realized it was empty. Schlatt however was utterly drunk on his rage, a disgusted look wiped across his face.

"It's for display, you fuckin' moron," he spat as he watched Quackity tremble with fear in the corner of the room. "You really think I'd keep a loaded gun on my wall with someone as unstable as you around?"

Quackity was utterly speechless. No matter how hard he tried to choke up a sentence, his panic swallowed the words. He can't believe he had tried to kill him. This wasn't like him- he wasn't a murderer. The fact that Schlatt was able to bring out such a side of him that was willing to corrupt his own morals made him physically nauseous, his gut twisting as he processed what he had just done. Schlatt locked his eyes on Quackity, feeling nothing but sheer unbridled hatred.

"Get the fuck off my property," he growled. "You're fired."

Struggling to formulate a sentence, Quackity began to choke on his words, the entire situation being too much for him to handle. "I didn't mean to, I-"

"Get out!" Schlatt roared, causing him to drop the gun. Quackity desperately pleaded, staring into the eyes of his old friend.

"Schlatt-"

"NOW."

Terror ripped through his body as Quackity fled the room, swinging open the wooden doors as he scrambled out of the office and into a nearby bathroom with a hand pressed over his mouth. He heard the door behind him slam, only causing his legs to run faster. He darted into a nearby bathroom, the door swinging shut behind him as he threw his body over the toilet, his mouth dripping with saliva.

Quackity felt his torso clench, his body convulsing as the feeling of vomit arose in his throat, rapidly exiting at a rate he couldn't control. His body forced out what little life it had left as he hunched over the toilet, gasping for air in between sobs. Strings of saliva dangled from his mouth as he continued to cry, pouring everything from the last couple of months out of his soul. He had tolerated such heartless, inhumane abuse the moment the ink of his pen met Schlatt's contract. And yet, all of the things he had seen were no excuse for what he had just done- or at least, what he tried to do. He knew exactly what he wanted, and that was the part that scared him the most. He wanted Schlatt dead- and for that, he was no better than the very man he just tried to kill.

Quackity wiped the last of the vomit off his chin, clenching his teeth as he let out a guttural sob. He used the last of his strength to prop himself up onto the counter. He knew he needed to get himself out of there- the longer he stayed in this building, the worse things would be. Bolting over to his room, he ripped out a suitcase from underneath his bed and threw it on top, rapidly stuffing it with what little clothing and memorabilia he owned. He leaned his full weight on the suitcase, zipping it shut tight.

Storming out his bedroom door, he walked down the corridors of the Manberg White House one last time, the sound of rolling suitcase wheels against the hardwood floors echoing throughout the halls. He opened the door only to be greeted by a torrential downpour, rain streaming diagonally from the sky. Putting one foot in front of the other, he took his final steps off Schlatt's property, a liberating feeling coursing through his veins. He shielded his eyes as he looked up to the mundane sky, raindrops cascading down his face. It was at that very moment when he gazed heavenward at the clouds that cried a thousand tears he realized that despite everything, he was finally free.