You're Not Alone (Slenderman X Reader) ch 17

    Slenderman’s POV

    I finally come to my senses, but it is too late; the damage is done. __________’s body is dyed red from her own blood. Her skin is rubbed raw and is covered in long cuts and trails of bruises. Her collarbone is punctured with multiple bite wounds. I lightly run my finger over a bruise on her cheek.

    I can’t believe I did this to you. I never wanted it to happen like this.

    All I wanted was for __________ to love me back. I worked so hard to protect her. I worked so hard to become part of her life. I worked so hard to get the chance to hold her close. Now, it seems I have only been able to push her further away from me.

    The memory of her pleas ring through my head. I wanted to stop, more than anything, but I couldn’t. I watched as instinct took hold of my body, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. All I could do was watch as I raped you.

    “I’m so sorry, __________. I promise I won’t do that to you ever again.”

    I push back a strand of blood-soaked hair from her face. Even with crusted-on blood and tears covering her face, she is still absolutely beautiful. I begin stroking __________’s (length), tangled hair.

    “I couldn’t take it when you called me a monster and told me you that you hated me. I just snapped. I love you so much, and all I want to do is to help you smile.”

     I pull _________ closer in my arms.

    “I know I am selfish for bringing you here, but I cannot live without you anymore. I need you by my side. Maybe, if you were to love me in return, I, too, can be happy one day.”

    The child snuggles her face into my chest. Warmth builds up in my body as she subconsciously draws closer.

    She will be waking soon.

    I would rather stay here, holding ____________ in my arms, but I need to dress her. I gently remove myself from the bed, careful not to disturb her. The clothes she wore earlier are no longer in one piece, so I drift to the corner of the room where the box of clothing sits.

    Inside the box are piles of clothes that, though once neatly folded, are now in a messy heap.  I dig slowly through the box as I try to recall the articles of clothing that she wore the previous night. I come across a thin, triangular piece of fabric. The shape seems familiar, so I remove it from the container.

    However, one piece of fabric is not enough to properly recover the child. As I toss the clothes to the side, several land outside of the box. Finally, I find the...device that women use to restrain their breasts.

    I rise and gravitate towards the bed where the child still sleeps. I stretch the first piece of fabric between my two hands and am confused by which of the three holes goes where. I slide the cloth over her feet and slowly move it up her legs. However, I quickly notice the uneven sides. Muttering several profane words, I remove the fabric and try once more.

    The action requires several more attempts before the undergarment is correctly in place. I let out a growl at the accursed articles of clothing as I reach for the next. I begin to place the breast contraption on the child. I successfully situate it on her, then groan as I find the article to be difficult to latch.

    Suddenly, __________’s body jerks away from me, and a gasp escapes her lips.

    “S-S-S-Sl-Slen-der-m-man!”

    Her eyes widen as she quickly scurries away from me. Her stare is set on me as a single tear falls down her cheek, quickly followed by many others.

    “_-__________, I-I’m…” I reach my hand out to her.

    She takes in a sharp breath and stills. The room’s suffocating silence is broken by her quickly pounding heart. ___________’s fearful eyes watch me.

    “I never meant to….” I stop myself, realizing that I had not even considered my words before speaking.

    “I’m so sorry, ___________. Please, just let me  make it up to you.”

    She does not respond. Her face is quickly becoming pale, and it is obvious that she is not breathing.

    “___________,” I whisper, inching closer.

    She inhales sharply as she scurries sideways, nearly falling off at the corner of the bed. She glances over her shoulder before looking back at me. When she does, she has that familiar look on her face: absolute terror.

    I lower my head. Its no use. She’s too scared of me, now. What have I done?

    I give her one last look before getting up and leaving the room.