Asylum (Yanderes X Reader)

Chapter Eighteen

Your mouth was bitter.

You slid your tongue around the roof of your mouth, feeling the thin film left from consuming blood, the same feeling one would get if drinking a thick hot chocolate.

River was persistent and with your waning morality and memory, you eventually allowed him to feed you blood. It was never easy for him, having to pin you down to keep you in place.

Despite these unpleasant happenings, River was still the highlight of your days here.

You can't move. Ever.

Just you and your thoughts (or what's left of them) confined to a table.

So yeah, River was actually somewhat pleasant.

"Tastes like shit." you mumbled.

"Everything does nowadays." River seethed and made erratic angry movements to remove a scalpel blade from its dirty packaging, unusual you believed.

"Pissed?"

"Incredibly. The roads are being closed. There's no gas, no carpenters, and no live livestock except chickens. And now all my supplies are being delivered on shitty carriage rides with horses with a life expectancy of 2 years.

There's no more medicine, no vaccinations, no syringes being manufactured or scalpel blades. You see this?" River lifted the scalpel blade, locked onto its handle, his fingers tight around it.

Upon closer inspection, the blade had scratches and grooves on the surface. Though most notable was the slight bend of it. For medical equipment, it was quite beat up.

"With no one making new blades and syringes, they're 'cleaning' the already used ones. One look at this shit show of a blade and even an idiot could tell it's unsalvagable."

"I never thought about stuff like that." You thought out loud.

Whoever thinks that zombie apocalypses are going to happen? Even if there are precautions, it seems to only be used for the rich.

No ones working oil rigs. No one can control livestock when every night the zombies can infect them. No one is chopping down trees and collecting lumber and, even if they were, there's no one building.

No medications are being made either. People are going to get very sick very fast.

There's no order. And no cure for illnesses anymore.

River looked you over briefly with his narrowed eyes as he fought to bend and sharpen the scalpel on the side of his metal table, the sound scraping.

With your mind able to at least conjure basic questions after all this time, you of course had to question why he needed the scalpel, especially since they are now in limited supply. How important could its usage be and why on you?

Your body might be numb, but your mind had a sort of tingling sensation that you were able to identify as anxiousness.

"What's the scalpel for?" Your monotone voice asked, fluctuations impossible for your raw undead throat.

River focused his piercing eyes on you once again, as though thinking for a brief moment, before returning to his work, "Initially, amputation."

...

Your brain is burning, like you stuck your scalp and skull into an oven. Scared? Maybe?

"With... a scalpel?"

You could sense River's internal sigh, but he's just the quieter type you suppose, "That was the plan, you're practically already sedated anyhow. It'd have been fine..." River paused, "...but I can't do it with this flimsy fucking scalpel-!" River exasperated, his voice still quite airy, holding the handle in his hand like he wanted to bash the already dull blade into the metal table.

Your comprehension was muddled. Well enough to understand that you don't want to lose a limb, but not well enough to rationalize why despite that it'd typically come easy. Your head to was very hot, or cold? Well, terrified.

River exhaled out his nose, "Relax. I can't continue with the majority of my research anyhow. Doctors can no longer take blood from patients without their permission. With no food for you to heal with, my planned experiments would just kill you."

The doctors were stealing blood from people? Brutal.

"That... still doesn't explain the scalpel."

River turned to face you, taking your wrist into one cold gloved hand as he maintained eye contact, pressing the blade shallowly into your arm.

Of course, it only felt like a pinch, but the sensation was still nauseating. In silent fear, with no way to express your horror, you could only witness the dull blade pop into your ill flesh and rip it open. To get more comfortable, River even sat beside your leg.

Feeling flesh parting in this way is like ripping a piece of paper, but only if that paper were grotesquely explicit with globs of horrendous blackened sludge that was clearly once blood. So acutely aware of the sensation, it was almost like you could feel your very own pores being split open.

As River pulled the stubborn blade from your arm, the flesh in direct contact to the wound rose slightly, like an inflamed wound would, but all to quickly. It was working very fast to heal itself, which would be fine if not for the way your eyes were able to see the mycelium buds begin to make an appearance within the wound.

You turned your head away quickly, not wanting to watch your flesh squirm to pull itself together. You had to focus solely on River's warm leg beside your own to avoid vomiting.

River may be a doctor, but as far as you're concerned he must also just be a freak. Throughout the whole healing process, several disgusting minutes, he didn't look away once. Even the screams and cries from elsewhere that'd usually make him grimace didn't faze him.

His eyes were fixed on your wound.

Finally, when all that was left was a darkened line, River eased and closed his eyes, humming to himself.

With the sensation fading you find it in you to speak, "I thought that my blood loss meant I'd need more food. I thought we were avoiding that." you pointed out as River dug around in a small leather satchel.

Oddly, River's response was grabbing your jaw and shoving something in.

Was this... mint? Is River... brushing your teeth right now?

You felt the bristles of the brush as River leaned in close to your face, his warm breath in the cold room subtly hitting your face. He was being extremely thorough in this with no explanation.

As River pulled the brush from your mouth you spat to the side, "No warning? If it smelt bad, I'd have rather you just said it..." your voice flatly pointed out. Inside, you were a little ashamed, but not enough to bother you.

"I actually prefer it that way... but this is necessary."

You... couldn't even begin to understand what the hell he was on about.

"Open." River commanded you, hovering above you once again, and you obeyed.

Cautiously, River pushed a metal bit into your mouth, a bar that prevented you from closing your jaw. It didn't hold your mouth wide but rather kept you from biting down.

It didn't make sense for a moment, but when River put a leg onto the table and pressed a warm tempting wrist against your mouth, it made sense.

It felt horrendously intimate to you, but your body didn't reflect that as your teeth shallowly pierced into River's wrist.

It was euphoric. To actually consume from a living person. You pushed your head up to try to get more. You wanted to thrash like a dog to get more blood from River's wrist but felt obligated to be gentle with the "fragile" man in your mouth.

In response to your eager hunger, River stroked your head, subtly pushing your head back onto the table and more firmly pushing his bleeding wrist onto your lips.

River, as he did whilst cutting your flesh, kept his eyes on you and your ravenous behavior. Of course, you were to preoccupied consuming what you could of him to notice.

"Drink plenty... I changed my diet to do this, so you're safe to drink quite a bit. Plus... you have a visitor tomorrow. You need be well for it."

1369 Words. Unedited.