"Why in the name of God am I this heavy?" Many in his position will ask this same question, it had been ten minutes since he replied to whoever it was that had been at the door and till this moment walking had become no different than swimming against the tide of an ocean, so yeah, he was a push away from just flooring it.
"God damn it," His leg bumped against a shoe and he almost fell down, almost, just quite lucky he had held onto the wardrobe, if he fell down given how heavy this body was, there was no telling if he could get up again, "This is stupid," he grumbled, leaning against the wardrobe and breathing heavily like he had just ran through an entire city without stopping even once.
"Am I… dying?" he muttered, feeling the dizziness closing in on him once again and this time with full force. It was just so fucking ridiculous, how can it be this difficult to just WALK?
'If walking is this hellish… how the hell do I even run?' that… was a troubling question. If he could barely control his own weight how was he then supposed to run if the need came?
"Master… are you alright," he heard, the door knob then twisted, at this point he was grateful to whoever this body belonged to for locking the door before sleeping. He then clenched the handle of the wardrobe firmly, sighed deeply, then spoke, "Wait for me there… I am okay," He said, then turned his gaze once more to the door which seemed like the one to the bathroom, 'Fuck this!' he roared in his mind, steeled his resolve, this was stupid, he was done with this.. He clenched his fist, then took one step, then another, he let go of the wardrobe handle, took another step, another step, and then…
BAM!
"Fucking hell!" he gritted his teeth, just why was steering this body as difficult as riding a bicycle for the first time. It was so annoying and no matter how hard he tried, or how firm his determination or even how solid his will, he still couldn't control the freaking truck that was his body.
"Master?" he heard again.
"Shut it, I don't want to hear another word," he was angry yes, but even that sentence wasn't what he initially intended, it was like muscle memory, being so irritated that he said the first thing that appeared in his head.
"Well… it worked… I guess," he thought, realizing the voice had fallen silent after his command. Well, in a way it was expected whoever that was did call him master, so he was in the place of authority in some way. Somehow this felt weird to him, he was always the one to take commands all through his life as Lumiea, perhaps it was more different as Larson and the various other lifetimes but in a way, he still was under the control of someone, still a slave to the keeper, trapped.
So the feeling that came with being the one in power, felt… odd.
"Forget it," he groaned, placing both hands under his belly, pushing himself up with all his strength that it felt like he was pushing a lorry, "Ugh," he groaned, sweating but he still managed to get to his knees, with one hand down and another on his chest, he tried to catch his breath, he panted, his lungs burning for NO FUCKING REASON!
"What. The. HELL?!" He roared in anger, what in the world was this shit? He had been reincarnated so many times as Larson, so why the hell was this so different?!
"I have… to reach it," he thought, clenching his jaw, he then sighed and placed both hands on the ground, took in deep breath and then…
"Yes," he yelled in triumph as he stood, now it felt like he had finally started understanding the big blob he was, however the triumph was cut short as he found himself stumbling forward until he collided with the bathroom door.
"Ugh," he groaned, then cursed in anger, "Fucking keeper, couldn't you reincarnate me somewhere else?" he muttered, this body was an absolute mess.
Like how the hell was the owner using this thing?
"Tch," he clicked his tongue, then reached for the handle, he found it, his hand twisted it and then.
Swings
"Fuck!" he collided with the tilted ground as the door gave way and he stumbled before he could catch himself. He tilted his gaze up, "Whistle," He couldn't help himself, even in all his life as Larson, numerous times being the son of a rich entity, he still couldn't help but admit that this bathroom, was something else entirely.
Suddenly while looking at the faucet and toiletries and everything else, his gaze fell on the one thing he had sought all this while.
"A mirror, yes, fuck yes," he jubilated, it was weird to be so happy, but after spending about twenty minutes just to reach something in front of you, you were bound to be exhilarated, like who wouldn't be.
He clenched his fist tightly, pushed himself up, held the faucet and moved up until his gaze fell on this mirror, and then, just as his gaze met his reflection.
Whatever smile had previously been on his face gave way to this disgusted expression.
"Where is a god damn knife, I rather die!" he said.