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MCA #4, Tuesday Morning
Sparkle had fashioned a little trauma fortress out of the bathroom. It had every houseplant he could carry, his stuffed cat, a fish, and a small mountain of Pop-Tarts, which had mostly been left untouched since he'd hauled them in with him on Sunday night so that he would have something to snack on while he cleaned. And how he had cleaned. He'd cleaned all Sunday night on into a chunk of Monday morning, and at the rate he was going the mirror was going to be so polished that it would develop the ability to see through time or something.
And then he'd settled in for a shower. He hadn't even taken his clothes off, he'd just kind of stumbled into the tub around noon on Monday, and he'd stayed there, scrubbing blood off his hands, off his face, out of his clothes, not really satisfied, not ever feeling clean enough. If he looked at his hands, he could swear there was still blood under his fingernails, and he was filthy besides, and then he'd have to clean the blood out from the tub, too, and--
It was an ugly cycle. He hadn't even thought twice about falling asleep in a ball under a stream of water, fully dressed with the fish tank tucked into the tub next to him, out of the shower's path. It would have been hard to think twice, anyway, since he hadn't really slept in days, by that point and fatigue had finally taken the wheel.
Someday, if he looked back on this year, it would go down as the one where he'd basically given up on trying to function.
[OOC: For one in particular! I'd say open for phone calls, but let's be real, his phone is probably dead in his pocket.]
And then he'd settled in for a shower. He hadn't even taken his clothes off, he'd just kind of stumbled into the tub around noon on Monday, and he'd stayed there, scrubbing blood off his hands, off his face, out of his clothes, not really satisfied, not ever feeling clean enough. If he looked at his hands, he could swear there was still blood under his fingernails, and he was filthy besides, and then he'd have to clean the blood out from the tub, too, and--
It was an ugly cycle. He hadn't even thought twice about falling asleep in a ball under a stream of water, fully dressed with the fish tank tucked into the tub next to him, out of the shower's path. It would have been hard to think twice, anyway, since he hadn't really slept in days, by that point and fatigue had finally taken the wheel.
Someday, if he looked back on this year, it would go down as the one where he'd basically given up on trying to function.
[OOC: For one in particular! I'd say open for phone calls, but let's be real, his phone is probably dead in his pocket.]