#John stop trying to make her feel at home you're confusing poor Doll

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Chapter 5 - Wouldn't It Be Nice?

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Contains: No Y/N, Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Dubcon, Plus-sized Reader/OC, female Reader/OC, John introduces Doll to some normal people, Everyone learns new things about each other, Manipulation, PTSD, Doll has a tragic backstory, Doll is kinda sorta Catholic? Who knew (me I knew)

~3.8k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above but honestly this chapter is pretty mild all considered.

Ghost, Soap and Gaz come back a few hours later with the blue sports car (a bit scratched up, but tail-light repaired) and a pick up truck that looks a lot like the one John had before, but a generation older, and green instead of gray. John speaks to them briefly before he coaxes you into the truck and drives off, promising that the others will be gone before you get back.

He drives a few miles down the road, and pulls up in front of a little farmhouse. It looks idyllic, children and a dog playing in the yard. Two people on the porch wave, and John hops out and circles around right quick to open your door and help you down.

The couple trots up to greet you both. "Who's this?" The woman asks, looking at you and beaming. "You finally introducing us to a girlfriend?"

"Doesn't feel like the right word, does it, doll?" John winks at you, like your circumstances are all just a funny little blip, nothing nefarious or terrifying about it.

"No, it doesn't," you agree, keeping your face carefully neutral. "I'm Dalisay. Nice to meet you, um, Melissa, right?" You stick your hand out and shake hers. There’s no sense in being rude to them, just because they know John. He’s probably smart enough to keep his old life, and his boys away from his new one as much as possible.

"The very same! We were a bit worried John was going to be an eternal bachelor. Nice to see he's found someone." She introduces her husband, Rob, and her kids, Hannah, Haley and Jackson, who are ten, seven and five, respectively.

"Do you want to see the puppies?" Haley asks, grabbing your hand. Jackson grabs the other one and they pull you along to the garage, not waiting for an answer. You very deliberately don’t look over your shoulder at John, because you’re fairly sure that he’ll be looking back at you with a sickeningly hopeful expression. His comments from last night still ring in your ears, and you’re not willing to indulge that foolish fantasy of his.

The puppies are in a play pen with high enough walls to contain them, but still allow their mother to hop in and out. She hops out to inspect you, sniffing your outstretched hands warily. Her tail starts to wag after a moment, and you give her a proper pat, smiling. The dog has soft ears and a silky, black and tan coat, but you're not sure what type of dog she is.

"What's her name?" you ask, kneeling down.

"Bonnie-bell," Hannah says. "And our other dog is Charaid."

"Proper Scottish names," you say. The kids all have a slight burr, and although Melissa sounds scouse, it's the first hint as to where you are.

"Da said we was gettin' too English, livin' in London," Haley says. "I like it better here anyway. Mum says maybe we can get some coos. "

"I grew up near Aberdeen," you say. "But I've lived in Manchester too long. Lost my accent."

"No' far off, then, aye? We're only about an hour and a bit south and west," Rob says, appearing at the open garage door to supervise. His stern face looks friendlier now that he knows you're not proper English. "Was worried John dragged some poor city girl out'f England to live out here."

You hum. "Well, I am something of a city girl now. Been in Manchester since I was seventeen."

"Weel, welcome home then," Rob says with a wink. "We'll get ye proper re-acclimated soon enough." He leans over and plucks a puppy out of the sleeping pile inside the pen, and hands it to you. The pup is at the age where its somewhere between looking like a potato and a proper dog, maybe six or seven weeks old. "Gordon setter, by the by," he says. "Good dogs."

"Cute too." You settle the puppy in your lap, petting its soft little head. Bonnie-bell licks your wrist and hops back into the pen to lay down next to the others.

"Ye want one? This girl's no' spoken for yet. John's been hemmin' and hawin' about it, but I figure he wouldna want ta leave ye home alone, neither."

"Oh, I'm not sure I'll be staying that long. I'm only here because there was an incident at my apartment and John wouldn't hear of me staying anywhere else." You're not certain why you're stretching the truth to fit around what he and his wife think is happening, but you have no idea what John would do if you did say something. Maybe he would laugh it off like you were making a joke, or maybe he would snap. You don't really think he would hurt these people, but there's a wide-eyed prey animal in the back of your mind that warns you to be cautious, to be careful.

"We'll talk about it," John says from behind you. You hadn't even noticed his approach, with the noise the kids had made when they dashed back outside. "I'm trying to convince her to stay."

"Ye've gotta buy her a ring, ye daft bastard," Rob says, laughing. "A good catholic girl isna goin' ta wait for you ta get yer head out'f yer arse."

"If you don't, I'll introduce her to some lads in town that will," Melissa threatens. "Pretty girl like her has better options than you, old man. Better make your move before she realizes it." She swats John on the arm playfully.

You laugh nervously, touching the little cross around your neck absently. The puppy in your lap seems to sense your discomfort, because she starts wiggling in your arms and trying to lick your chin, little tail wagging. John kneels down beside you so he can pet the puppy too, eyes creased with a smile. "Is that it, doll? You need me to buy you a ring?"

"John," you say warningly. "We don't need to talk about this right now."

"No, I suppose you've had a rough morning. I'll try again later."

"You're impossible."

"Think you might kind of like that about me," he says.

"Not remotely. I think you're an awful, stubborn man," you tell him. Your voice comes out softer and sweeter than you intend, like you don't really mean it, even though it's true. The smile around his eyes grows deeper.

"I am." He picks up the puppy and holds her up in front of his face. "What do you think, girl?" he asks. The little dog's tail wags furiously, and she answers with a high pitched yip. And then she endears herself to you by trying to bite John’s nose. He looks stunned for a moment, but he grins when you start laughing. “Guess we’re all in agreement then,” he says, setting her down in the pen and standing up.

You accept his hand up, and quickly put a little distance between the two of you, before he anchors you to his side with a solid arm, or tries to reel you in close for a kiss. Rob and Melissa invite you in for a cup of tea, and somehow you end up sitting at a dining room table that’s obviously mostly used for crafts, and handed a piece of blank printer paper by Haley, and told by Jackson that you should draw dragons with them. The walls of the dining room are filled with tacked up juvenile masterpieces— Dragons seem to be a particular fixation of Jackson’s, whereas Hannah and Haley have more varied portfolios.

John stands leaning in the door to the kitchen, talking to Rob and Melissa quietly enough that you can’t quite pick up his words over the children’s chatter. You hate him a little for this, dangling Rob and Melissa’s idyllic little life in front of you. The implication is obvious. We could have this, his blue eyes seem to say when you look his way. Wouldn’t that be nice?

It’s frustrating, and confusing. You want to keep him at arms length for your own safety, but he’s already doing his best to roll right past your doubts and better judgment, like they’re just silly barriers between now and the future he’s dreamed up for the two of you.

And worse, you do want it.

“Didn’t know you were an artist,” he says on the drive back. Jackson had been so excited about the dragon that you drew for him that he’d shown his parents and John.

“There’s a long list of things you don’t know about me,” you say.

"For now. We'll get there, sweetheart."

You hum, looking out the window. Spending time with the Stuarts has you wistful and homesick for something you can't get back. Days like this, you'd usually pour yourself a glass of wine, look through your family photo albums and have a good cry before going to bed early. It's been a while since it's caught up with you like this, but you'd always been reliant on your routine, burying grief in structure and familiarity. "Do we need to?"

"I'd like to."

"I'm not going to be what you want me to be."

John drums his fingers against the steering wheel. "What is it that you think I want?"

"Some little housewife. Someone soft and sweet to come home to."

"You seem plenty soft and sweet to me."

You sigh, pulling your arms around yourself. "I'm not consistent. I don't know what Johnny told you I was like, but he only knows me from work. I'm not like that all the time."

"I don't expect you to be."

"You say that now, but you'll change your mind."

"I'm not stupid enough to change my mind based on a bad day or two, doll. You're allowed to be upset. I wouldn't blame you if you spend the next week slamming doors and snapping at me. I'm still going to like you." He puts a hand on your knee and squeezes gently. Men like him shouldn't be allowed to have such attractive hands, and you shouldn't be attracted to hands like his, scarred knuckles, a few fingers broken and healed crooked. You know he's killed people, know it would be so easy for him to kill you. It turns your stomach that you feel any kind of desire for him at all.

Men like him are no different than the ones that killed your parents. Dealing death is not a noble trade, there's nothing honourable about exporting violence.

You push his hand away, and keep your eyes trained on the window.

He sighs, but he doesn't press the issue, just clicks on the radio to fill the silence.

When you get back to his house he sets you up in a cozy room down the hall from the more open main space where the kitchen is, an office of some kind with a couple of arm chairs and a desk with a clunky looking laptop set on top. The room smells kind of smoky, but you're just glad to have a door you can close while he "moves some things around". He opens the laptop up so you can watch something, but you just curl up in one of the armchairs and fall asleep.

When you wake, the door is open, one of your blankets is draped over you, and there's a mug of tea sitting on the desk, alongside a couple biscuits. You uncurl, your muscles stiff and joints cracking from not moving for too long, and pick up the tea. It's cold, like it had been left a while ago, but you drink it anyway, and eat the biscuits. There's a note underneath, explaining that John had run out to the shops, and that he'd be back by 18:00. You shake your head, and check the time on the laptop. 18:00 exactly.

Military habits must die hard. You imagine he’s usually prompt too, so you wander out into the main room, and put the clean dishes in the rack away. You realize that the living room side has been rearranged, condensed to a slightly smaller footprint, with some open space left by the far corner behind the bigger couch. The smaller leather sofa has been replaced with the little red love-seat from your apartment, and your T.V. is sitting on it’s familiar perch on the refinished credenza that you’d painted twining vines and little red flowers up the side of. You’d found it on by the curb on the Kinsey’s street a few years ago, and your friend Ripley had bused over and helped you carry it all the way back to your apartment.

You’re not sure you like seeing more of your things merging into John’s house, like any of it belongs there when you still want to insist that you’ll be leaving soon. You hate him for being presumptuous, but you can’t help but think it’s sweet, too, that he makes space for you so readily, that he’ll happily include your painted flowers and colourful blankets and bright red couch into space that was all his just twenty four hours ago. That he would leave you tea and biscuits for when you woke up, that he would tuck a blanket around you while you slept. You’re not used to someone wanting to take care of you, and it feels strange.

Strange, but nice too.

You glance at the clock on the wall, realizing that it’s twenty past six, and John still isn’t back. It’s getting darker out there, the sun nearly setting, and as much as you try to tell yourself that you’re not worried, it’s hard to deny the stab of relief when you finally see the truck's lights pull up the wooded drive.

You slip on your trainers and step outside as he parks. He grins at you around a lit cigar as he hops out. “Did you miss me, doll?” he asks, insufferably smug.

“Your note said you’d be back at six,” you say lamely. “I just wasn’t sure if you’re usually on time.”

“Usually am. Got caught talking to Wells, down on the corner. Seems someone drove right through his fence last night. Teenagers, like as not. I’m goin’ to help him fix it tomorrow.”

“Oh.” You grimace. He must know it was really you. “Sorry about that.”

“No harm. By the sounds of it, you’re quite the driver. Soap said you nearly ran him off the road. That what they teach these days?”

“Defensive driving is well and good, but offensive driving gets you the last good spot in the lot,” you say.

He laughs out loud at that, and leans over to pick up a big paper bag from the passenger side. “Here, can you take this in while I grab the groceries?”

You take the bag (which is slightly greasy and smells like curry), and shift it to one hip. “Can I take anything else?”

He nods and hands you a second paper bag, this one with two wine bottles inside. “Wasn’t sure if you liked red or white, so I got both.”

You settle the bags in your arms and turn to walk away. “Bad time to tell you I like rosé hm?” you tease, glancing over your shoulder.

“Terrible timing. But that’s alright. One more thing, doll.”

You turn back toward him, and he’s right there. One big hand cups your jaw and then his lips are on yours, pressing a kiss that tastes like smoke against you. You stand frozen, holding onto your cargo for dear life, too surprised to do anything. It’s just as well, because in that moment you’re not sure if you’d slap him or pull him closer.

He pulls away without trying to deepen the kiss, which is a relief. You’re certain that you’d drop dinner and the wine.

“John, that wasn’t fair.” Your feet are still frozen in place, and his hand is still on your cheek, his fingers threaded into your hair.

His eyes practically sparkle. He’s entirely too pleased with himself. “Not fair because I kissed you, or not fair because I stopped before we got to the best part?”

Your cheeks flame hot, and you pray that he can’t feel it. “You can’t just— You’re impossible.” It takes concentrated effort to take ordinary, measured steps to the door instead of running. The effect he has on you is apparently very obvious. He never would have tried it if he didn’t know you were teetering on the edge of giving in already.

Boundaries need to be set-- Set and followed-- before you can really even contemplate letting this get any further. Unchecked, you have no doubt that John will have you underneath him in a matter of days. Once that happens you know he'll never let you go, and you'll never have peace of mind if you don't really get to know him first. You know he's not as good as he makes himself out to be, but you suspect he's a better man than your deepest fears might whisper to you. He's genuine about his wants, but that's not enough. You need to know him before you can trust him.

You set your packages down on the table and turn to open the door wide for John as he carries a tote full of groceries into the house. “Thanks, doll.”

The paper bag rips when you open it to pull take-out containers out, setting them on the table neatly. "John, can we talk?" You ask, glancing at him as he stows things in the fridge.

"Course, doll. What's on your mind?"

Nerves threaten to choke you, so you take a steadying breath, in and out, trying to quiet the sea of dread that pitches back and forth in your stomach. “You can’t just take what you want from me. Not if you’re serious about wanting this to be something. I’m afraid of you, John, and I’m not going to fight you. If you push me, I’ll fold, and I’ll hate you for it.”

He pauses, holding a box halfway lifted to the cupboard. It takes a moment before he moves again, setting the box on the shelf slowly. The silence is palpable in the room, settling across both of you like a thick blanket of snow. You fold the ripped takeout bag flat, nervous, the crinkle of heavy paper hardly breaking through the rush of blood in your ears, the panic that grips you by the throat. It’s as though the admission has given your body the chance to catch up with everything that’s happened in the last two days.

You’d been drugged and taken from your home, you’d been handed off to someone you didn’t know, with no clear indication if you’re free to leave or not, you’ve been picked up and manhandled and shot at.

Darkness flickers in the corners of your vision. All you can hear is the pounding of your own heart, the sick, dizzying drums of war, and high pitched ringing like a flat-lining hospital monitor, and screaming, and the rapid burst of machine gun fire. No. The screaming you hear is just in your head, the gunshots aren’t real, they can’t be. It’s not happening, it’s over, it’s been over for a decade, you’re safe.

Except you’re not safe.

Hands land on your shoulders. You lash out, fists striking something solid, knocking the hands away. You have to get away, you have to hide until it goes quiet again. Arms wrap around you in a tight hug, stilling your thrashing limbs and bringing you down to the floor gently.

“Doll! Dalisay, sweetheart, you’re alright, come back.” The voice has authority. You know that voice. It rumbles, shaking loose memory. “Come on, love, breathe slow. You’re okay.” You breathe in, warm spice and tobacco smoke, not burning petrol, not scorched flesh. You’re kneeling on the floor, and John is holding you tight, thighs bracketing yours.

The fight melts out of your limbs.

You’re not safe, but you’re not in danger either. John loosens his hold on you and cups your face, his worried face eclipsing all else. “Doll, where’d you go?” he asks. “What happened?”

“Panic attack,” you lie, because that’s easier to say than My parents were killed in a terrorist attack while we were visiting London ten years ago and sometimes I get so stressed out that I forget it’s not still happening. “I’m fine, I’m sorry.”

“That wasn’t a panic attack, doll. Worked with Simon long enough to recognize PTSD. You were somewhere else.”

It’s hard to imagine that Ghost is as fallible, as human as you are, but you suppose there’s no shortage of opportunities for even the the biggest, toughest military men to to wade hip deep in trauma. The worst day of your life would be just another mission for them. The worst day of their lives would probably kill you outright.

"Yeah, I guess it was," you admit haltingly. "Everything just caught up with me. I won't let it happen again."

He shakes his head. "Did I set it off? I need to know— I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart.”

"No, it's not like that. It’s just stress. It's been building since I got here."

"I guess that's what you meant in the truck, huh?"

You nod weakly. "I don't think I can explain it any better right now. But maybe tomorrow."

"Alright." John sighs, some of the tension in his shoulders releasing. " I don't want you to be afraid of me, doll."

"Then you're going to have to give me time, and space. I need to know what kind of man you are. And you should get to know who I am too.” There’s a wrinkle in his shirt, so you fixate on that rather than look right at him, smoothing it out with your fingers. “Let’s worry about becoming friends, for now. And then we can see if there’s something more.”

He doesn’t like that, you can tell by the way he pulls his hands back, reluctant to let go of you. But still, he nods, and smiles ruefully after a moment. “Guess I’m not as patient as I think I am. Too eager to get to the good part.”

You laugh lightly, the sound shaky from frayed nerves. “John, if we can be kind to each other, and come to an understanding, then it’s all the good part. You can’t build the things you want on foundations like this and hold it all together with sheer force of will.”

“You sure about that?" he jokes, trying to lighten the mood. "I’ve heard I’m pretty stubborn.”

Your eyes flick up to meet his. You still feel unsettled, your heart still pounding, your stomach still roiling with anxiety. The emotion in those blue eyes is something you can't identify, something fathomless that strikes you with a foreign kind of fear, the kind that's shot through with hope that you shouldn't feel.

“You don’t know me too well yet, John,” you say gently, “but so am I.”

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

[queenattheopera]

Opening Number, Part 5

Prompt: This is the story of the band that skyrocketed beside Queen and how their singer was fated to be with one of them.

Warning: Cussing and implied smut

If you want to catch up with previous parts they’re linked on my Masterlist in my bio

January 1, 1971

If it weren’t for the enticing smell of food I don’t think I would’ve considered leaving my bed. Sitting up I could feel my head pounding. I grimsed and closed my eyes. I refused to move for a few seconds. I could feel the intense pounding in the back of my head, it me a few deep breaths to find some relief but i knew that wasn't going to last. So I tried to redirect my attention to recalling what happened last night.

I took some shots, danced with Fred, and then I made out with someone. I couldn't seem to remember who it was but I remember how their hands felt as they roamed my body. I remember their lips exploring just as much as their hands did. I remember the smell of alcohol in their breath and how intoxicating their scent was. I sighed and opened my eyes. The noise in the kitchen hadn't stopped but I was too nervous to see who was causing it.

Who do i want it to be?

As I pushed myself off my mattress, I was met with nothing but cold air. I pulled the comforter off the bed and wrapped myself with it. As I'm tried taking the first few steps away from the bed frame I began to limp. Sore could barely describe how my legs felt. As I try to move further the blanket gets caught on something, not caring enough to find out I decide to yank it. I heard something fall but it didn't sound broken so I continued to make my way towards the mysterious figure in my home. The closer I got the more anxious I became. I could feel my heart begin to race. As it sped up more and more, it was all I could hear. I was about to turn into the kitchen when they stepped out.

I froze and forced myself to make eye contact with the them.

“...Noah?”

“I was wondering when you would get out of bed.” My stomach dropped. I don't think i slept with him, right? Not that he's not attractive, but he's my best friend. “Are you okay? You left really early last night, I mean I don't think you got any sleep going from the bags under your eyes.” I don't want to look at him because I felt beyond embarrassed but I need to know what happened last night.

“Wait so we didn't..?” He was silent for a few seconds before beginning to laugh, “Wow you must have been fucked up if you really thought that we would ever do anything.I mean no offense-” Before he could finish I punch his shoulder. “Shut up!” I feel my face growing warmer but I was relieved that he wasn’t the open who I had slept with.

“What the hell are you doing here anyway?” He walks towards the dining room but I don't make any move to follow him. “Cmon, at least take a look to see what I did.” Rolling my eyes I begin to make my way over while trying to hide the extremely obvious limp with the comforter. I'm sure he noticed after he snorted but he didn't say anything.

“Ta-da! I made you a birthday breakfast!” Seeing the table setup my eyes begin to water. He had made all my favorite foods and there were even a few gifts in the corner of my room. I looked at him and he had the biggest proudest smile plastered on his face. He was admiring his work but his smile disappeared when he saw that I began to cry.

“What happened? Did I do something wrong? I mean I know it's just me but I remember you told me not to tell anyone else and that you usually celebrate alone. I just thought you would like this.” I laughed at his rambling and wiped the tears away.

“It’s fine Noah, It's actually perfect, I just haven't really had a party or anything since my parents passed away. I- um Thank you..” His demeanor changed, and instead of getting a look of pity, he smiles and gives me a hug. “Why don't you go clean up and get dressed so we could eat and you could open your gifts okay?” I nod and go back to my room.

Walking back towards my room I see a puddle, I guess when the blanket got stuck I had knock over a glass of water resting on my nightstand. Bending down to pick up the glass I find a piece of paper under my bed.

Sorry I couldn't stay love. Let me make it up to you. I’ll pick you up tonight around 9. -hbsdcbaib I reread the paper a few times, then I just stared at the smug as I tried to decipher whose name was written.

I want to scream. I feel nothing but anger towards myself. If I hadn't spilled that water on the note than I would have known exactly who the I slept with last night. Instead my lover is faceless.

There was nothing I could do but wait. I grab some clothes and head towards the bathroom. Before I entered, I let the blanket fall than close the door. I standing in front of the mirror I take in every detail. My eyes look much worse than to what Noah had led me to believe. Then there was my neck and chest. I was covered in bite marks and hickies. When I turned to step into the bath tub I could feel some tenderness in my hips. Looking down I see bruises, resembling someone's hands. When looking at my legs, I’m met with two more hickies.

Ignoring the achiness I take a hot shower. As I'm standing there I think back to last night. I remember the passion and roughness that my counterpart used. When he had me against the wall or when his head was between my legs. He was confident with very move. He worshiped my body. Together we fit like puzzle pieces. I could feel the heat between my legs begin to intensify. I push it away and finish my shower. After I'm dressed I look into the mirror. I know Noah has seen most the marks on my neck but I still had the urge to cover them. I grabbed some makeup and covered most of them. The others were too dark to hide so I grabbed a turtle neck from my closest and changed. Satisfied with eth look I walked back toward the dining room.

“Finally, do you know how hard it was to have all this food but not to be able to eat any of it.” I laugh and sit down across from him. I don't say anything as I grab a fork and stab the food in the plate. None of it ever makes it into my mouth a dn instead just gets moved around. I could feel Noah's concerned gaze on me but neither of say anything. He comes around the table and bends down to my height.

“Did something happen? If something did you don't have to tell me, but just know that I'm here for you. And if it was one of the guys, I swear I'll kill them.” I smile and roll my eyes. “No you won't, you'll have Em do it.” He laughs but he still looks worried. I sighed, i think back to last night. “I was um, um I was almost attacked last night.” I can't bring myself to look up at him, I was embarrassed, blaming myself for what could’ve happen.

“Who?” I look at him and i'm surprised by how intense his gaze his. A few tears slip out, my anxiety and stress had finally taken hold of the wheel. “Don’t worry about it, Im fine, it was nothing. Its what happened after. Roger saved me. Then Brian and John comforted me. Then i slept with someone and I don't even know how. They left a fucking note that I ruined so now I have no idea who it was from. I’m confused and I don't know what to do and my head hurts and -” I couldn't finish my sentence because I began to cry. Well I was actually sobbing. This only increased the pain I was feeling and it made me feel weak and powerless.

Noah holds me and doesn't say anything. He pulls away when I had started to calm down. “Its okay, it's going to be okay. Let's figure this out. You should eat, I'm going to call the gang and Freddie.”

After sitting there for a minute or two began to eat. I don't have much of an appetite but I forced myself to eat and drink a glass of water. When Noah came back he cleaned up and began to hide the gifts. I silently thanked him for still considering how I felt about my birthday. Just as we had finished cleaning up there was a knock at the door. It must have been Fred because everyone else had a key.

I walked towards the order. I was happy when I noticed that i could walk normally despite the ache. When I opened the door the first thing Freddie did was gasp. “Oh you poor thing! Come here love.” Freddie pulled me into a hug. I guess the crying made my makeup run and that's why he gasped. He didn’t say anything. All he did was shush me an rub my back. It was actually really comforting. When I pulled away freddie began to fix my hair. I smiled softly before taking his hand off my hair. I led him inside. “Thanks for coming Freddie, I'm sorry if you were busy, we shouldn't have called.” I didn't want to be another and I wasn't feeling my best. Frankly I didn't have the energy to be my usually bubbly self. “Nonsense darling, I'll always be here for you.” He rubs my shoulder and gives me the biggest smile.

“Alright love, since we dont know whos coming to pick you up, let's get you dolled up.”

“Lets get her comfortable first, Y/n, we know youre probably aren't feeling up to anything right now so here's what we're gonna do. You're going to take some pain medication, take a nap then we'll get you ready okay.” Emily had let herself in and was beginning to take charge. Usually Fred and her would annoy each other but after their silent communication Freddie turned to me and smiled. “She's right love, get some rest.” I looked between the too and nodded. Once I was in my room I began to run last night over and over again. I felt stupid, I got drunk last night for a reason, now I'll have to live with the haunting my actions for the rest of my life.

“Hey y/n, Em told me to give this to you.” Charlie handed me the medicine and sat at the foot of my bed. “I know how you are. I know you're blaming yourself right now but I also know that it's not. You're okay. We're here for you.” I took the pills and nodded. “Thank you.”

In the next few hours while I slept, my house guests cleaned and prepared everything for me. They had set aside an outfit they knew I would like and they spoke about how they would help me feel better.

When I woke up my headache was alleviated and I felt more nervous than ever. I stood up to find an outfit set hanging on my closet door. I put it on and reapplied my make-up. When i walked out of my bedroom I found the gang in my living room playing scrabble.

“Y/n you're up!” I walk to them and Noah gets up and offers me his spot. He then walks away. I turn to the others looking for soe response as to what they're doing.

“It's your turn.” When i look u at them, i realize they are speaking to me. I make a calculated move. Noah comes back with some tea. They don't bring up anything from yesterday and instead play a friendly game of scrabble. Their passive actions put me at ease. I became so focused on the game I forgot about yesterday. It was what Emilly planed. They distracted me, they took my focus away from all the bad and gave me a moment of peace.

Before I knew it, t was 8:50. “Alright y/n, your dates gonna get be here but were going to be in the bedroom. They’ll be here soon. I know you're going to be nervous, but if you ever feel uncomfortable, just know we're here for you.” “Yes darling, and if any of the boys do anything, then ill kick their arses. You know I was pretty good boxer.” I smile and nod. “Thank you, I mean in.” I pull Em and Fred into hug. Charlie and Noah don't hesitate to join. I watch as they walk into the bedroom and close the door. I take deep breaths but I could feel myself getting nervous all over again. I'll admit it's not as bad as before but I was still really anxious. I was spacing in the living room while trying to relax.

I jumped when I heard a knock at the door. I was frozen and I stopped breathing for a second. When they knocked again I let out my the breath I was holding in. I moved cautiously towards the door. I unlocked the door and put my hand on the doorknob. Here goes nothing.

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