Blurry Face (yandere ticci Toby x reader) part: 2

/35/H҉A҉Y҉L҉O҉F҉T҉

(WARNING: for anyone with emetophobia this is probably not for you, this chapter is a little more... graphic, also depersonalization will kinda be implied so if you struggle with that it's probably best to skip the flash back, I might not know how hard it is to deal with it but if you ever struggle and need to talk about it my DMs are always open, you're never alone and I'll try my best to help you remember that)

February 27th, 2010

6:00pm:

     The worms didn't go away. No matter what you did they always seemed to stay inside. Squirming violently, tickling at the lining of your stomach to the point where you would love to ease the sensation with a knife.

They festered inside your throat. Like weeds. Like parasites.
Leaving you unable to speak correctly.
You tried gagging them up. Nothing came. It only left you a wheezing mess over the sink as excess saliva dripped from your dried up tongue.

They probably poisoned your mind too.

Delilah's death still hung over you like a dark, inevitable cloud.
The events stripped you bare of anything remotely... well... you.

That god forsaken forest only granted you in return a bunch of dirt shoved down your esophagus.
Creating a whole toxic ecosystem of vines, worms and... static.

Where did the static come from?

Turning off the sink with a shaky hand, you make the effort to look up at the stained, oval mirror in front of you.
Instead of your reflection all in return was a body. Your body.
But where was your face?
No matter how hard you tried to narrow your hazy eyes your facial features remained blurred out like an unfocused camera.
You've become faceless, a blurred mess.
Where are you?
Where did you go?

Who are you?

There was no use in trying to look for yourself.
You can't find someone if you don't know what they look like.

Your mind disintegrates like cotton candy coming into contact with dampness. Your entire being flipped upside down, leaving you physically burdensome yet... coming to the sickening apprehension that gravity had no palpable clutch on your soul.

A knock at the door is barely audible.
"Come in."
Your voice sounds miles away from your actual body, low and scratchy like a bunch of needles sticking through your sore throat.

"Honey, are you okay? You've been in here for twenty minutes, your food is getting cold and Lyra's awfully worried."
You didn't need to look up to know who's speaking.
Connie.
She's always had that warm, honey voice that could burn through any barrier like melted glass. Delicate yet powerful.

You slowly nod, looking down into the porcelain sink.
"I just feel a little sick."

A chilled, callas hand reaches your burning cheek and in response, you willingly melt into her touch, closing your eyes as you move closer to her. Sore feet dragging against the tiles of the bathroom floor.
The sensation is holistic, granting you some sort of ease like a popsicle on a scorching hot day.
"Dear lord, _______, you're heating up. You could rest upstairs if you'd like while I go get some medicine... maybe getting in touch with your mom as well is a good idea... though I doubt she'd answer," she sighs deeply,
"Say, when is she supposed to come home from work?"

Opening your leaden eyes once again, you glance up at Connie, ready to push out a reply.
Though just like your own reflection, the woman before you was unrecognizable, not only distinct facial features but the rest of her is a fuzzy mess... along with her followed the sink... and the curtains... and everything else in view.
Your heart almost misses a beat as you frantically pull Connie
into a desperate embrace,
eyes squeezed shut as your arms wrap tightly around her nearly anorexic built.
It's better if you stop looking.
"I'm sorry I just..."
tear stains slightly build in small patches against the silky fabric of her black dress.
"I'm... scared..."