Okay. Okay. Don't panic. It's fucking over and there's nothing you can do to change it, Jim.
It doesn't matter, apparently, his pulse speeding up again, vision skittering past Hunter and into some middle distance for a moment as Jim fights to pull himself together, to keep himself from flying apart. He was so hungry, then. But now he isn't, not like that. Just normal hunger, like he's a few hours late for lunch.
What... what did I do?
He doesn't remember. But... nobody said that anyone was still missing, right? When they all... got back. But maybe someone had gotten pulled into the Nightmare and no one noticed, and when they didn't return... But maybe it's all just paranoia, and it haunts him that he doesn't know.
He swallows hard, forcing down the nausea before it gets any worse, old fear gnawing away at him not to waste anything he's already eaten, no matter whowhat it was. "I... I think I'm... ready to get out now."
His hands are clean, the blood scrubbed out from under the fingernails and from the cracks in his palms, even though he can still see it in his mind's eye. Won't stop seeing it for a while, he's pretty sure. What, will these hands ne'er be clean? But staying here in the shower longer won't help, won't wash away the black marks from his soul, just as it can't wash away the bruises in his flesh.
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It doesn't matter, apparently, his pulse speeding up again, vision skittering past Hunter and into some middle distance for a moment as Jim fights to pull himself together, to keep himself from flying apart. He was so hungry, then. But now he isn't, not like that. Just normal hunger, like he's a few hours late for lunch.
What... what did I do?
He doesn't remember. But... nobody said that anyone was still missing, right? When they all... got back. But maybe someone had gotten pulled into the Nightmare and no one noticed, and when they didn't return... But maybe it's all just paranoia, and it haunts him that he doesn't know.
He swallows hard, forcing down the nausea before it gets any worse, old fear gnawing away at him not to waste anything he's already eaten, no matter
whowhat it was. "I... I think I'm... ready to get out now."His hands are clean, the blood scrubbed out from under the fingernails and from the cracks in his palms, even though he can still see it in his mind's eye. Won't stop seeing it for a while, he's pretty sure. What, will these hands ne'er be clean? But staying here in the shower longer won't help, won't wash away the black marks from his soul, just as it can't wash away the bruises in his flesh.