Time: Past dusk
Location: Fourier Residence & Travel from Residential Area to Ember Grove Hospital (by foot)
Interactions: N/A
“He͟y…̷ He͡y…̨ A̸̧̢͜͢ ̷͏̸R̵̡͏ ̛͏E͟͢ y̶ou ̀li͘s̕t͝e̴nin̕g͟?”
The odor of resins, soaps, and linseed oil permeated the bathroom, wafting around the tendrils of steam that extended from the hot shower. Cain was never particularly bothered by it in the past, but today he had become hyper aware. It wasn’t acrid, moreso just pungent; but it’s assault on his nostrils was nonetheless a welcome distraction. It helped Cain think about anything other than the gaping hole in his chest where his heart had once resided.
The white linoleum, the wooden window frame, the metallic showerhead… he was focusing on all of these to keep his mind off the facts of what had just happened.
As he finished washing, it dawned on Cain how odd it was that he was not keeled over it pain. Wrapping a towel around his torso and lower body, he considered what he objectively felt: a non-harrowing twinge circumferencing the hole, and an itch similar to that of scabs. If anything, the only pain he felt was a dull thudding in his head akin to a migraine. It was at this point that Cain became subconsciously aware of the true nature of this night’s events; but he was unable to make peace with it in any comprehensible form and repressed the troubling conclusion. Though even with his full effort, Cain was unable to fully avoid the thoughts. Instead, in a dark corner of Cain's mind, they festered.
”Th̴e҉ ͡mo̢re yo͝ù t̶ŗy ̴t̷o͜ repr̷e̷s̛s͡ ́me, t͝he L̷ ͢O͞ ́U̷͜ ҉҉̨D҉ ̢͟E͜ ͡R͟ ̶I͠ ̷ge͞t.”̶
Like his troubling thoughts, Cain covered up the hole with a thin bandage he found in the bathroom’s medicine cabinet. Cain wrapped it around his chest several times, until his bound up breast resembled the kind of bindings used for broken ribs. It was uncanny how normal he looked once the hole was covered up. The lack of any blood was unsettling, the white cloth only became tinged pink where it rubbed against the sides of the absence. With such an incredible injury, he understood that it would be futile to seek medical attention. Such an injury was simply incompatible with life -- Cain being alive was beyond the laws of this world. With the only explanations for what Cain was experiencing... letting someone else know about this would only make things worse.
After he was done with this, he threw on a black polo and some khaki shorts. Cain’s damp hair, hanging in whatever style it whimsically desired, was left to its devices after Cain brushed it out of his eyes with his hands. After brief consideration, Cain returned to the bathroom to collect his blood soaked clothes. He wrapped them in a towel and returned them to his room, where he would find a way to dispose of them at a later date.
Having taken a shower and finally looking presentable, Cain sought to address a new problem: Ravenous hunger. He was actually impressed by his stomach. For him to have endured what he endured and still have an appetite… even the heedless Cain couldn’t believe it. He made his way from his bedroom to the kitchen downstairs, passing by his sister’s room on the way. Considering his circumstances, Cain did not know if he was ready to face her yet and continued on his way until he found himself in front of a medium sized storeroom. The Fourier family did have a private chef who prepared their meals as well as a housekeeper who would be more than happy to fix something up, but they had already left for the day. In order to prevent a dilemma often faced by one with nighttime hungers, Cain had taken it upon himself to dedicate a section of their pantry to snacks.
The gruesome thought crossed Cain’s mind that with a hole in his chest, his throat may be disconnected from his stomach. He couldn’t bear taking the bandage off and staring at it any longer, so instead, opted for experimentation. He grabbed a bag at random. Cain took a potato chip… and ate it. It was only after he felt the chip settle in his stomach that he grabbed another one. And then another one, and another one. So on, and so on, and so on, eventually grabbing handfuls of chips and shoveling them into his mouth. It was not long until the bag was fully gone. He grabbed another item from the pantry, some box of cookie-type pastries, and tore into this one too. It was as if he couldn’t control himself anymore as he ate and ate and ate. Even as his throat began to burn, he kept consuming until he stood in front of an empty pantry.
Cain was shocked, less so due to the sheer quantity of what he ate, but because he was still famished. He took a moment to recollect himself, and avoided asking himself what was going on. He knew on some level, but he couldn’t accept it. Somehow, it seemed like as long as he was able to hide the truth from himself, then it wasn’t the truth. Marceau’s pale face flashed across his mind, his sharp teeth gaudy and taunting. Those traits... his parents had talked about them before. He had sat in on meetings, reciting speeches fed to him by his dad about why certain objects could kill things with those traits better than anything else. And to come face to face with such a creature, yet still being alive...
No. Cain cast the thought away. It was impossible for him. It meant that he would lose everything, and that was something that the cushioned son of a businessman couldn’t comprehend. The hole had to be some sort of hallucination, as well as what he thought happened to him. The hunger was just because of his stress. This was the only conclusion he could let himself arrive at. With this in tow, he grabbed his shoes, phone, and wallet. He would head to the pizza place down the street and eat a whole pizza. And if that didn’t satisfy him, he would get another.
Slowly sinking into despair, Cain began the walk to Gino’s Pizza and Pasta.
"͝Y̶o͘ư can̛'t͢ k̵ee҉p ign͢oring͝ me.̛ A̷r̨én't you.̡..H̡͟ ̢̛́͜Ų ̶͝͞N̢͝҉͠ ̸̧͟G͟͝ ̷͘̕҉͡R̨̢͡ ̡́Y̕̕͝ f̸or ̨s͏om̨et͞h͘in͟g͞ e̛l͝se̕?"
