#downside: there is now a monster in you and it’s a manipulative bitch hurting your friends

[unwilling-survivor]

(An interlude, following up this thread with @facesofthefog) (tw emetophobia) (basically an epilogue to that thread)

~*~

Sam’s eyes shot open, the blinding light of the campfire filling her view, and she stumbled away just in time.

Knees jarred against the ground, doubling over as she purged whatever poison seemed to be caught in her chest. Black bile, a bitter ichor that clung to her tongue and made her eyes water. Her palms stung from slapping the ground, neck ached, throat burned— bad. It was all bad.

Spitting, she tried to clear the taste from her mouth, swiping her sleeve across her eyes to clear the fog of unwanted tears. She ignored the dark smudge left on fabric, assuming it was just the wet of tears. It was too dim to see anything properly anyway, though she was still disconcerted— was it blood? What else could be so dark and - ew, clotted? Whatever it was it felt awful, and she quickly turned away, pulling up leaves and grass and debris to bury the evidence.

What the fuck had just happened? She felt sick to her stomach— well, apparently quite literally. She remembered it almost like a dream, as if she wasn’t entirely in control, and any degree of satisfaction was outweighed by guilt and the disconcerting sense of Other.

“Sam?”

She gestured loosely in the direction of the asker, trying to wave off any interest even as she scrambled for a believable excuse. “I’m-” Something caught in her throat and she spat, then tried again. “I’m fine.” Something believable? “Plague mori.” Hopefully no one just got out of a match with the rotting priestess to check her facts.

The excuse must’ve been credible enough, because her fellow survivor didn’t pry any further. And Sam was left to stew in what the fuck on her own, head spinning and mouth sour. Fuck, she’d kill for a bed and a cold bottle of water right now. But she may have just ruined her one shot at a safe haven, all thanks to… what? Spite? Anger?

Sam stared at the ground, unsettled. …Whatever that was, it was something beyond just one bad impulse.

Letting out a breath, she sat back on her heels, cradling a head that was starting to ache. Why now? Hadn’t she been through enough? This place was already hell, why add in this new element? The element of something is in your body and it hates you and everything around you. Then again, that wasn’t exactly a new thought.

Groaning, Sam let herself keel sideways and roll onto her back. She had to apologize to Simon. There was no doubt about that. Whatever had just happened, she hadn’t been in her right mind, hadn’t been in control, and undoubtedly she’d done something to lash out and hurt everyone involved. If she gave in to any darker impulse, that was usually how it went; no one was spared, especially not Sam herself.

The actual dissociating and physical manifestations of toxicity were new though.

Charming.

Hh. Okay, she’d just have to find her way back to Simon’s place. Or… or fuckin… make him a card or some shit. A half-hysterical huff of laughter jarred her frame before Sam pressed a hand across her eyes. It’s fine, you’re just insane. Calm down.

…But that creeping numbness seeping through her didn’t bode well for processing time. Gritting her teeth, she sat up and finally took a look at herself, mentally fumbling for some sort of plan to deal with the imminent trial as she took stock of her current state. On the plus side; she was fully clothed again, though it wasn’t the clothes she’d worn to Simon’s. And no flashlight (or shiv) in any pockets. But hey: she had a jacket, and even if she’d been stuck in a skirt, she also got tights, so that was better than nothing. And a nice set of shitkickers to run in. Because, undoubtedly, she would be running.