Dead Plate Oneshots Get Out OF MY Body

Rody shot up in bed, breathing heavily as his mind struggled to catch up with the unfamiliar world around him. This wasn’t his apartment. Everything was wrong—too clean, too modern, too sterile. His heart pounded in his chest as he scanned the room, trying to place himself in some kind of context that made sense.

Manon.

He should’ve been missing her, should’ve been consumed by the grief of knowing she was gone, dead because of Vincent. Vincent, who had killed her, cooked her, and served her to him as a grotesque final act of cruelty.

Yet the grief wasn’t there. His heart clenched at the memory of her, but the overwhelming despair he expected didn’t come. Instead, there was this gnawing sense of emptiness, like something had been taken from him and replaced with a hollow echo.

As he pulled on a jacket, he felt strange, like his own body didn’t belong to him anymore—like he was moving on autopilot, following instincts that weren’t entirely his own. The air in the room was cold, crisp, and sterile. Nothing like the old place, nothing like the mess he called home.

And then, a voice—quiet but persistent, inside his mind.

“Don’t leave, Rody. Please… just stay. You don’t need to go anywhere tonight.”

Rody froze mid-step, his breath catching in his throat. The voice wasn’t his. It wasn’t some stray thought or instinct. It was like someone else had crawled into his head, speaking to him with an intimacy that was unsettling.

“What…?” he muttered aloud, half expecting someone to answer from the shadows of the room. But it remained still, quiet, save for the voice in his mind.

“You don’t need to go anywhere. If you leave, it’ll just make things worse. Please… stay home. Vinny’s going to be worried if you’re gone.”

Vinny? Who the hell was Vinny? The name meant nothing to him. A wave of confusion and irritation bubbled up inside him. Was this some kind of trick?

He ignored the voice, pulling the door open, stumbling out into the hallway. Everything about this place felt off, like he was in a dream where nothing was quite real. His body felt disconnected from his mind, his movements automatic. He needed to clear his head, to make sense of whatever the hell was happening. Maybe a drink would help.

“Please, Rody, don’t go! Vinny’s going to think something’s wrong if I’m not there when he gets back. I—I don’t want him to worry…”

Rody gritted his teeth, trying to shake off the voice. “Who the hell are you?!” he hissed under his breath as he made his way down the dark, unfamiliar street.

The voice paused, like it hadn’t expected that question.

“I… I’m you. But—just trust me. We need to stay here. Vinny loves me. Don’t do something we’ll both regret.”

The frustration surged in him, a pulse of anger that finally cut through the fog. “I don’t know who you are or who the hell this ‘Vinny’ is, but I don’t care! I’m not staying in that place!” He was tired of the voice, tired of the confusion. He needed something to make sense, and if nothing else, a stiff drink would help.

The bar wasn’t far. It had a warm glow spilling from the windows, and without thinking, Rody pushed open the door and walked in. The noise, the clinking of glasses, the hum of conversation—it grounded him, made the world feel a little more solid beneath his feet.

But then he saw her.

Manon.

Alive.

Sitting at the bar, smiling, laughing—alive. His heart stopped, the world tilting on its axis. He froze, staring, unable to process what he was seeing. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be anywhere. Vincent had killed her. He had—

“Rody, who’s that?” the voice asked, confused. “You’re acting weird. You shouldn’t be talking to her.”

Rody ignored it, his feet moving on their own as he approached Manon, his mind racing. “Manon?” His voice was barely a whisper.

Rody stood frozen in the dim light of the bar, staring at the woman seated just a few feet away. Manon. She was laughing, her head thrown back as if nothing in the world could touch her. But she shouldn’t be here. This wasn’t possible. He had seen her—Vincent had killed her.

His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he slowly approached her. He couldn’t stop himself, drawn to her by some instinct that overpowered the confusion and fear swirling inside his mind. As he got closer, the warmth of her presence hit him like a wave.

And then she turned. She didn’t recognize him. The smile she gave was the casual kind you’d offer a stranger.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her voice soft and kind, but there was no spark of familiarity in her eyes.

Rody’s throat went dry. “I… you’re—” His words caught in his throat. What was he even going to say? That she was supposed to be dead? That she didn’t belong here? But even as those thoughts ran through his mind, there was something deeper, something pulling him away from the weight of the past.

“Rody, don’t. Please.”

The voice in his head trembled with panic. His voice—no, not his, some strange version of himself that had been speaking to him ever since he’d woken up in this strange, modern world. It had been whispering ever since he spotted Manon, more frantic than ever now.

“Don’t talk to her. Just go home. Forget about her, please. I don’t know who she is, but you can’t do this. Vinny—he’ll think something’s wrong. You can’t let that happen.”

Rody’s heart pounded in his chest, confusion and irritation bubbling up. Who the hell was this “Vinny” that the voice kept talking about? A lover? Was this some kind of cruel joke? But the voice—the one in his head—it felt like his own. It felt too familiar. Too close.

But he ignored it. He couldn’t help himself. This was Manon—even if she didn’t remember him, even if this didn’t make sense, he couldn’t walk away.

“Mind if I buy you a drink?” Rody’s voice came out surprisingly steady, his hand gripping the back of the bar stool as he tried to ground himself in this strange, surreal moment.

Manon smiled politely, giving a small nod. “Sure. I don’t usually take drinks from strangers, but… you seem nice.”

That stung more than it should have. To her, he really was just a stranger now. His mind reeled, but something primal, something instinctive, kept pushing him forward. Maybe if they talked long enough, things would start to make sense again.

They spent the next hour exchanging idle conversation, Manon’s laughter bubbling up at some of Rody’s clumsy attempts to keep her entertained. It felt almost too easy. Like nothing had ever happened.

But the voice in his head wouldn’t shut up.

“Please, Rody, don’t take her home. Don’t do this. I’m begging you. You don’t need to—Vinny’s probably waiting for you. Just go back. She doesn’t matter.”

Rody ground his teeth, trying to drown out the insistent plea. It was growing more desperate, more frantic. But this was Manon—the person he had sacrificed everything for, who had driven him to madness, who he had loved.

Yet… the more the night went on, the less the pull of his feelings felt like love and more like habit, like he was going through motions he thought he was supposed to. Why wasn’t it magical like it used to be?

By the time the bar was closing, Rody found himself walking with Manon toward his apartment. She didn’t ask many questions, didn’t seem to find anything odd about this stranger leading her through the night, and for a moment, Rody felt a sense of familiarity return, a sense of rightness. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it?

But the voice in his head was frantic now, practically crying.

“Rody, please! Don’t take her back! Don’t do this! I don’t know who she is, but I love Vinny! Don’t hurt him! He’ll be so upset. Please, for the love of God, don’t sleep with her!”

“Shut up!” Rody muttered under his breath, his frustration spilling over. The woman beside him shot him a confused glance, but he quickly masked it with a nervous smile.

Manon didn’t seem to notice his internal battle. She didn’t know who he was, didn’t seem to care about the intensity of what he was going through. As if she were just a shadow of the woman he’d known, going along with whatever this strange version of reality had scripted for her.

When they reached his apartment, Rody hesitated at the door. His hands trembled, the key feeling heavier than it should as it slipped into the lock.

“Rody, don’t.”

The voice was soft now, tired, heartbroken. “Don’t do this to Vinny. He’ll think you don’t love him. He’ll think you’re leaving. You don’t want that. Please, just stop.”

Rody’s grip tightened on the doorknob, anger and confusion swirling inside him. Who the hell was Vinny? Manon is the only one he’s ever loved. What was this voice talking about?

But as he opened the door and led Manon inside, something inside him twisted painfully. Not at the thought of betraying her, or betraying himself—but at the thought of what Vinny would think.

Why did that matter to him? Why did he care what that person—someone he doesn’t even know—thought?

He didn’t have time to think about it as he pulled Manon into the apartment, trying to drown out the voice’s broken whispers, trying to shut out the growing guilt gnawing at the pit of his stomach.

As they moved toward the bed, the voice gave one last, desperate plea.

“Please… don’t hurt Vinny. I love him.”

Rody hesitated, the voice in his head pleading desperately, but the temptation of having Manon, of making this surreal night feel real, overpowered him. Despite the voice’s frantic warnings, he led Manon toward the bed, his movements driven by a mix of instinct and confusion.

“Please, Rody… don’t do this. You don’t know what you’re doing,” the voice begged, now trembling with fear and desperation. “I love Vinny. He’ll be so hurt if you do this. Please…”

But Rody’s resolve was wavering. He had been running on autopilot, and the pull of the present reality overpowered the disorienting whispers. As he and Manon lay down together, the voice’s pleas faded into the background, unable to compete with the overwhelming need for familiarity and comfort.

The night passed in a blur. Rody drifted in and out of sleep, a strange mix of satisfaction and unease mingling in his dreams. When morning light seeped through the blinds, he awoke to find Manon beside him, her face peaceful and serene. The sight of her, sleeping so contentedly, should have filled him with joy, but instead, it was tinged with a vague sense of dread.

Rody rubbed his eyes, struggling to shake off the grogginess. The voice in his head was now silent, as if waiting for something. The silence was deafening, making his own thoughts feel like a heavy burden.

He carefully slipped out of bed, trying not to wake Manon. As he moved around the room, the door creaked open, and Rody’s heart skipped a beat. Standing in the doorway, looking tired and disheveled, was Vincent. How was he alive!?? What was he doing here?!

Vincent’s eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, and his gaze flitted between Rody and the bed. His face was a mask of confusion and hurt, his normally composed demeanor shattered by what he was seeing.

“What—what’s going on?” Vincent’s voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper. His eyes locked onto Rody’s, a mix of shock and betrayal evident in his expression.

Rody’s breath caught in his throat. The sight of Vincent, alive and well, was jarring. The man who had haunted his nightmares, the man responsible for so much pain, was standing right there. The realization crashed over him like a tidal wave, leaving him disoriented and panicked.

“I—Vincent—” Rody stammered, struggling to find the right words. The confusion in his voice was palpable as he looked between Vincent and the sleeping Manon.

Vincent’s expression shifted from confusion to hurt, his gaze now firmly fixed on Rody. “So this is what you’ve been doing? You’re with her… after everything?”

Rody opened his mouth to explain, but the words wouldn’t come. The voice in his head had returned, but now it was frantic, desperate.

“Rody, don’t! Please! Don’t hurt him. He’s going to be so heartbroken. I don’t know what to do. Please do something! Say something to him! Please, just stop—”

Vincent’s face crumpled as he took a step forward, his emotions clearly raw. “I thought—” His voice broke, and he took another step, looking at Rody as though he had been physically wounded.

Manon stirred in the bed, blinking awake, her eyes darting between Rody and Vincent, confusion clouding her face. She sat up, pulling the covers around her as she noticed the tension in the room.

“Who’s this?” she asked, her voice filled with sleep and curiosity.

Rody turned to her, his heart racing. “Manon, this is—Vincent,” he said, trying to piece together the situation.

Vincent’s eyes widened, his face flushing with a mix of anger and pain. “So you’re cheating on me with her yet don’t even have the balls to tell her I’m your boyfriend?” His voice was barely controlled, and he looked at Rody with a mixture of disbelief and hurt.

“I—No, it’s not—” Rody tried to explain, but he found himself unable to articulate his thoughts clearly. The whole situation felt like a nightmarish whirlwind, and he was caught in the middle of it all. Why was Vincent saying they were boyfriends!?

The voice in his head continued its frantic pleas. “I love him, Rody. I love Vinny. Please don’t do this to him. He’s been nothing but good to me. He’s going to think I don’t care.”

Rody’s mind raced, torn between the desperate voice and the reality in front of him. He was overwhelmed, caught between the strange world he had been thrust into and the memories that still lingered, trying to reconcile the two.

Vincent’s eyes locked onto Rody’s, pleading and hurt. “Why? Why would you do this?”

Rody stood there, feeling paralyzed, as Vincent’s hurt eyes bore into him. He wanted to explain, to make sense of the confusion swirling around him, but the words eluded him. Manon looked between the two men, clearly lost, her face showing signs of discomfort.

“Vincent, I—” Rody began, but the words choked in his throat. His mind was a chaotic mess, trying to reconcile the pain in Vincent’s eyes with the unfamiliar reality he found himself in.

Vincent’s face flushed with anger and sadness. “So this is it, then? You don’t have anything to say after what you’ve done?” He gestured toward Manon, who was still sitting in the bed, her eyes wide and confused.

“No, Vincent, it’s not like that. I—” Rody struggled, his voice trembling. “I don’t know what’s happening. I’m lost. I don’t understand any of this.”

Vincent’s eyes narrowed, filled with a mix of pain and disbelief. “You’re lost? You don’t know what’s happening? You’ve been running around, cheating on me with this woman, and you don’t understand?”

The raw emotion in Vincent’s voice cut through Rody, making him wince. He felt a pang of guilt and confusion, his mind racing as he tried to piece together the fragmented memories and emotions. The voice in his head continued its frantic pleas, a desperate whisper that refused to be silenced.

“Rody Please! he’s hurt. You know how much he means to me. I love Vinny! Please, do something!”

The voice was growing weaker, but its desperation was palpable. Rody’s confusion deepened, torn between his feelings for Manon and the haunting pleas echoing in his mind. He looked at Vincent, feeling the guilt and the strange sense of loss that came with realizing the intensity of what he had done.

Manon looked uncomfortable and awkward, sensing the tension but unsure of how to react. “I—I didn’t mean to intrude,” she said softly, her gaze shifting between Rody and Vincent. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know…”

Vincent’s shoulders slumped slightly, his anger giving way to a deep, weary sadness. “You don’t have to apologize. This is between Rody and me.”

Rody looked at Vincent, his heart aching at the sight of his tormentor so vulnerable. The guilt was overwhelming, compounded by the bewildering reality he was trying to understand. “Vincent, I—” He tried again, his voice cracking. “I don’t even know why I’m here. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

Vincent’s expression softened slightly, a mix of hurt and resignation in his eyes. “You don’t even know why you’re here? Then why did you lead me to believe otherwise? Why make everything so difficult?”

The accusation stung, but Rody understood it. He could feel the weight of Vincent’s pain, the anguish that had built up over their complicated relationship. It mirrored the anguish that the voice in his head had been desperately trying to convey.

Manon, sensing the personal nature of the conversation, slipped out of bed and dressed quickly, giving Rody and Vincent a final, uncertain glance before quietly leaving the apartment.

Rody watched her go, feeling a mix of relief and regret. The silence that followed her departure was thick with tension.

Vincent took a deep breath, his gaze now focused on Rody with a tired, searching look. “So, what now? What happens next?”

Rody ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his mind still a whirlwind of confusion. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s real or what’s not anymore. Everything’s a mess.”

Vincent’s expression hardened again, but the sadness remained. “You need to figure it out, Rody. You need to understand what you want and why. Because right now, all I see is a mess that I’m not sure I want to be a part of.”

Rody’s heart sank at Vincent’s words. He wanted to reach out, to make things right, but he felt lost. The voice in his head had fallen silent, leaving him with only his own turmoil to navigate. Yet, as he sat in the thick silence, he could almost hear the voice’s last desperate plea.

“Rody… Please… I… want to hurt Vinny. I love him so much. Please…”

“Vincent, I—” Rody tried to start again, but Vincent held up a hand, shaking his head.

“No, Rody. Just… just take some time to sort things out. I need to process this.” Vincent’s voice was tired, filled with a sense of finality.

As Vincent turned to leave, Rody felt a pang of desperation. “Wait! Please—”

But Vincent was already walking away, leaving Rody alone in the apartment, the weight of his actions and the confusion of his situation crashing down on him.

Rody sank onto the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. The voice that had been so insistent was now silent, and he was left alone with his thoughts, trying to make sense of a world that had spun out of control.

Rody sat on the edge of the bed, the apartment’s silence pressing in on him like a suffocating weight. His heart was heavy with guilt and confusion, a whirlwind of emotions that he couldn’t quite grasp. The voice in his head, which had been frantic and pleading, was now a whispering echo of heartbreak.

“Rody… why? Why did you do this?” The voice was soft, trembling with sadness and betrayal. “You’ve hurt him—Vinny. You’ve broken everything we had.”

Rody closed his eyes, trying to shut out the voice, but it cut through the fog of his thoughts, clear and painful. “I didn’t mean to. I’m so confused. I don’t understand what’s happening.”

“You’re a monster,” the voice said, its tone now cold and bitter. “I trusted you. I begged and pleaded and yet you still hurt him. How could you do this to Vinny? How could you be so heartless?”

Rody’s breath hitched, his chest tightening with the weight of the voice’s anguish. He rubbed his temples, trying to push through the crushing sense of guilt. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I—”

“You don’t even understand, do you?” The voice interrupted, its sorrow evident in every word. “You’ve shattered everything. Vinny… he trusted me. He trusted me.”

Rody’s eyes burned with tears that he couldn’t quite shed. The realization that he had hurt Vincent—someone he still didn’t fully understand but had somehow become deeply entwined with—was overwhelming. “I… I didn’t know. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

The voice’s despair deepened, the bitterness turning into a wounded plea. “You were given every chance. You could have made it right. I told not to do this. But instead, you chose to betray him. I hate you for that. I hate you for breaking his heart.”

Rody’s hands shook as he reached out, as if trying to grasp some kind of solution or redemption. “Please, just tell me what to do. How can I fix this?”

The voice was silent for a moment, and when it spoke again, the sorrow was almost palpable. “I don’t know if you can fix it. You’ve caused too much damage. All I can say is that I hate you for what you’ve done. I hate you for hurting him. I hate you for making me witness his pain.”

The harshness of the voice cut through Rody like a knife. He felt the weight of its words, the sting of its hatred. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.”

But the voice’s response was a quiet, desolate murmur. “It might be too late for that. You’ve already made your choices. You’ve already caused too much pain.”

The apartment felt colder now, the silence more pronounced. Rody was left alone with the echoes of the voice’s heartbreak and his own guilt. He felt lost, overwhelmed by the consequences of his actions and the deep rift that had formed between him and Vincent.

As he sat there, grappling with the reality of what he had done, the only thing he could do was wait and hope that, somehow, he might find a way to mend the broken pieces of his life.

The silence in the apartment was oppressive, filled only with the quiet, rhythmic sound of Rody’s breathing and the occasional, shuddering sob from the voice in his head. The guilt that weighed on Rody’s chest was almost unbearable, a physical presence that seemed to press down on him, squeezing his heart.

The voice, which had been a constant whisper, was now more sporadic. It would break into heartbroken sobs, the sadness so profound that it seemed to fill the entire space. Each cry felt like a stab to Rody’s soul, a reminder of the pain he had caused.

“Why did you come here?” The voice’s anguish was palpable, each word punctuated by a sob. “Why did you take over? You had no right. You’ve ruined everything.”

Rody sat at the edge of the bed, hands gripping his hair, tears streaming down his face. The voice’s pain was merging with his own, creating a tumultuous sea of confusion and despair. He tried to make sense of it all, but the more he thought, the less he understood.

“I didn’t mean to—” Rody tried to explain, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know what I was doing.  I was just trying to find something—anything—good. I never meant to hurt anyone.”

But the voice was not interested in his explanations. It continued to sob, each cry a painful reminder of its own hurt. “You came into my life,” it wailed. “You took my body, my life. And then you hurt Vinny. You’ve betrayed him, hurt him. He trusted me, and you—”

The voice fell silent for a moment, and the quiet was almost more painful than its crying. Rody sat in the stillness, his heart aching with the knowledge that he had caused someone so much pain.

“I hate you,” the voice finally murmured, its tone bitter and resentful. “I hate you for coming here, for taking my life, for making me witness this. You didn’t have to do this. You didn’t have to hurt Vinny.”

Rody’s throat tightened as he listened to the voice’s grief. He could feel the weight of its hatred, the raw, unfiltered pain that seemed to seep through every word. He felt like an intruder, someone who had violated a sacred space and left destruction in his wake.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how much pain I would cause. I didn’t know what I was stepping into. I—”

“Sorry isn’t enough,” the voice cut him off, its sobs growing louder, more intense. “You’ve taken something precious from me. You’ve broken Vinny’s trust. You can’t just say you’re sorry and expect it to fix things.”

Rody slumped against the wall, feeling utterly defeated. He had been trying to make sense of this world, of his place in it, but every attempt seemed to bring him closer to a realization of how deeply he had hurt those around him. The voice’s pain was a constant reminder of his failures, a cruel mirror reflecting the damage he had done.

As the sobs continued, Rody could only sit in silence, trying to reconcile the pain of his own actions with the desolate cries of the voice in his head. Each moment seemed to stretch on endlessly, filled with the echoes of regret and sorrow.

He didn’t know how to fix what he had broken or how to mend the shattered lives he had touched. All he could do was wait and hope that, somehow, there might still be a way to make things right, even if the path ahead seemed impossibly dark and uncertain.