#anyways I ended up locking myself in the bathroom and screaming myself hoarse because I couldn’t just fathom why he seems to just. hate her

[checkadii]

Horribly easily to tell if my dads drunk

[hawkinsindiana]

i should go

ALMOST PARADISE: PART TWO - CHAPTER FOURTEEN OF FIFTEEN

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!reader

word count: 2.5k

a/n: these are scary and confusing times. so here ya go. i hope everyone’s staying safe and healthy, i love you all <3

masterlist

You don’t know why you thought things were going to get better. You should’ve known better; you’ve never been able to catch a break, even before all of this happened.

The dreams have been getting worse, and more frequent; now, they’re about the kids too. You’ll be back in those tunnels, the ones crawling with vines, and their voices will bounce against the walls. They’re calling out, desperately crying for you to help them, but they’re never found. 

It feels like you run in circles for hours on end, throat going hoarse from screaming their names until you wake, pebbles of sweat dripping from your brow and body frozen in terror. 

Those seem to scare you more - the ones about them. Because it’s your duty to protect them, and you’ve come so close to failing so many times. 

Those ones never let you sleep; you’re left to lie there until morning, fear bubbling inside that something’s happened while you were asleep, thinking they’re gone now and there’s nothing you could’ve done.

Your brother hears it every time. When your careful footsteps approach his door at those ungodly hours, and the door creaks open just a touch so you can quiet your restless mind; Dustin’s always there, safe and sound underneath the sheets, Tews tucked against his feet.

You’ve done that six times now - he figures he should ask what that’s about. Maybe he’ll bring it up to Steve, see if the older boy knows anything. 

But with the town buzzing with holiday cheer, they’ve barely seen you around. Extra shifts at Radio Shack have filled your schedule as the people of Hawkins flock downtown for gifts, especially now that Bob’s no longer there for his usual hours. 

Dustin thinks you should take a break while you’re off from school. He can tell that it’s exhausting when you come home and don’t have the energy to return Steve’s call, but you always have the same answer:

“I need to keep myself busy anyways.”

And Steve - he understands the circumstances. But that doesn’t make it hurt less when Dustin has to deflect and apologize on your behalf.

God, you hope it’s not too much on him-

Your mother snaps you from your trance, tapping the phone against your arm before placing it in your hand, “It’s for you.”

You hadn’t even heard it ring. You don’t know how long you’ve been standing here, shoulder pressed to the wall and eyes focused on the evening news.

You answer it with a sigh, “Yeah?” A perky voice flows easily through the receiver, unfazed by your delivery.

“Hey, it’s Stacy, from the dance committee? We’ve got an emergency over here.”

Mike and Lucas thought it might be a good idea for you to help organize and plan the Snow Ball. Since the group of middle schoolers would be attending this year, they wanted your help to ensure that it was the best one thrown yet. You weren’t so keen on the idea, until you remembered how lame it was a few years back when you went.

“I don’t have to come down there, do I? I thought we took care of everything last night.”

The girl nervously laughs on the other end; you can hear the music from the gym echoing in the room. It almost makes it hard to listen.

“Turns out we need three more bottles of soda. Simon only got five. Since you’re the only one with a car-”

“Yeah, of course,” You interrupt, “I’ll grab some and bring it over. Be there in a jif.”

After ending the call, you grab your cash off the counter on your way to the bathroom. 

“Hey Dustin, I gotta bolt. Can you find-” 

You’re greeted with the sight of your brother, putting the finishing touches on his look for the night - a can of Farrah Fawcett hairspray in one hand. You can’t help the laugh that bursts from you. 

“What, Mom buy you that?”

His head snaps to you in an instant, cheeks turning bright red as you lean your weight against the doorframe. The product’s out of sight immediately afterwards, quickly shoved behind his back, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Dustin swallows harshly at your squinting eyes, arms folding over your chest as you study him. You decide not to ask.

“Uh huh.”

A few tense, silent moments pass as he waits for you to comment further; he hates that smirk on your face, “Did you, uh, need something?”

You clear your throat, shifting on your feet before replying, “Yeah I gotta get to the school now, can you find another ride? Maybe Mrs. Wheeler can come take you?”

Dustin’s expression grows confused, “What are you talking about? I already have a ride.”

Your brow raises in surprise, “You do.”

He shrugs, “Yeah, Steve’s takin’ me.”

And then it clicks; your grin grows. 

“Oh… okay. I’ll see you afterwards then,” You go to grab the door on your way out, but not before adding something else with a wink.

“Don’t worry,” You say, “I won’t tell anyone. And keep this open a touch, yeah? I’d hate for you to suffocate on the fumes.”

—

The gym’s loud and filled with prepubescent teenagers. You can’t wait to get out of here, back to the comforting security of your home.

That feeling intensifies when you lock eyes with who’s standing behind the punch bowl; you already feel yourself retracting inwards before a conversation even begins.

“I didn’t realize you were coming tonight,” Nancy speaks first, letting a small smile spread over her face as you approach the beverage station. 

She seems so much lighter, so much happier since you last saw her. You’re glad that she’s been able to finally move on, even if it is at Steve’s expense. Nobody deserves to be trapped in a relationship they don’t want to be in; you can’t blame her for that. You just wish it hadn’t happened the way it did.

“Oh, I’m not,” You answer, gesturing to the liters of soda you carry in your arms; they’ve started to grow tired from the weight, “I’m just dropping these off.”

Nancy’s expression drops a touch as you place the bottles on the bleachers behind her, “I figured you’d be bringing your brother.”

You brush the condensation off onto your jeans, “No, uh, Steve did that already.”

Confusion is evident as she grows speechless, turning back to face you; the expression she has on her face is enough to explain her emotions - that doesn’t seem like something he’d do.

You laugh at her, “Yeah, I know. Trust me, no one’s more shocked than I am.”

Nancy shakes her head in awe as your back straightens, and she chews on her lip as she debates bringing it up. She decides to.

“Remember when we came to this thing?”

Your eyes move to see her, leaning back against the table, knuckles turning white as she grips the edge. A scoff escapes your mouth as you nod, “How could I forget? Jimmy Hawthorne spilled punch all over my dress twenty minutes in.”

Nancy laughs at the memory, remembering the priceless look on his face as you threatened him, right in the middle of the dance floor, “God, it took my mom all night to get that stain out.”

The silence between you that follows her comment isn’t… uncomfortable. If anything, it’s another step in the right direction. But you still chose to retreat; it’s almost too much, seeing her look at you like that again.

“I guess I’ll see you around, Nance,” You mutter before moving past her, jingling the car keys in between your fingers. All she musters back in response is a wave as she’s swarmed by an incoming gaggle of girls.

The cold air invigorates you as you exit the school building; you don’t know how much longer you could’ve been cooped up in there, surrounded by all the memories. And as you’re making your way to your mother’s car, that’s when you spot him.

“What the hell are you doin’ here?” You raise your voice while you approach, arms crossing over your chest. Steve’s attention is brought up to see you, walking across the parking lot, a lazy smile growing over your rosy cheeks.

“I could ask you the same thing, Henderson,” The corner of Steve’s mouth quirks up as your brow raises at his response, “I asked you first.”

He sighs before running the hem of his sweater between his fingers, “Oh, I figured I should stick around just in case. You never know...”

You snort lightly after Steve allows his sentence to trail off, “Jesus, you’re starting to sound like me. I’m supposed to be the protective one.”

“There are worse things to be,” Steve’s focus is gentle as he watches you come to his side; he’s appreciating every single little detail about this moment. 

The snow is just right - there’s enough of it to create a picturesque scene around you. The muffled love ballads that echo from the school make him feel warm in his chest - he thinks about you when he hears them. The streetlights illuminate your face enough for him to notice when the bridge of your nose scrunches at his words, “Aw, I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“The kids,” You nudge Steve before your gaze drifts to him; your heart skips when you catch him already peering your way, “They’re making you soft, Steven.”

Steve’s grin spreads wider as your laugh fills the space between, rolling his eyes as he falsely acts annoyed by your observation, “Great, just what I need.”

“Oh, also,” Your tone makes him meet your mischievous look, and it ignites a bit of anxiety in him, “Farrah Fawcett, really? You thought I wouldn’t figure that one out?”

Steve grows shocked by your deduction in record time, further spurring on your joy; it almost counter-balances his embarrassment.

“Relax, your secret’s safe with me,” You say, and Steve just shakes his head, “You and your brother are so dead if anyone finds out.”

You bring your fingers to your lips, faking to lock them before throwing the invisible key over your shoulder. And then it hits him - he hasn’t seen you since that night, after the funeral. That night where you almost kissed him.

”Why aren’t you in your car?” 

Your words catch him off guard, and he simply shrugs in response, “The snow’s nice, dontcha think?”

“I guess, but Christ, aren’t you cold?” You ask Steve as you shiver and pull your hooded sweatshirt tighter against your frame. 

He inhales before going to answer, but he decides that his words aren’t enough. His arm gets extended outwards before he gestures for you to move closer, “Come on, get over here.”

You feel your heart beat in your throat as a misty breath expels itself from you and into the night sky. It’s almost like the air gets thicker the closer you get to Steve, but you can’t stop yourself from tucking your body into his side. 

His arm drapes heavily over your shoulder as soon as you’ve settled, and you decide to pull him closer with the limb that would’ve gotten trapped between you. Steve emits a light laugh at the feeling of your arm wrapping around his middle, tugging him in further; you both relish in the heat that emanates from the other.

A few silent moments pass - neither of you has the courage to comment, even though both of your minds are running wild with what to say. 

Steve shifts beside you, adjusting his feet against the parking lot pavement. The action prompts you to spin your focus in his direction and you freeze as he does the same - his eyes landing on your gentle expression.

Seeing Steve look at you like that makes you feel like you’re floating - the admiration in his eyes is enough to silence any doubts you had about… well, whatever this is. Your heart thuds against your ribs when he somehow inches even closer and you tighten your hold on him after he does so, hand curling around the material of his sweater. 

You want to pull your gaze away from him, because fuck it’s getting to be too much; the way he feels by you side, the way you slid into him to protect yourself from the chilly December evening, the way that neither of you can find any words to describe how you’re feeling.

But then it clicks inside your brains. And maybe, you think, nothing needs to be said at all.

You lean in first, and it doesn’t take Steve much longer to react and do the same. He grows surprised when you pause, mere millimeters away from meeting your lips, brow creasing as your nose brushes his.

Even though you’ve been craving this very moment for about a year, you can’t shake the thought that hovers like a cloud over your psyche. This changes everything. There’s no going back if you continue down this road - it almost makes you afraid, no matter how much you’ve wanted things to be different.

It dissipates quickly, as Steve doesn’t give you much time to ponder; he takes the leap. His lips are pressed to yours. And it’s just like the first time you fell for him - every doubt you’ve ever had about Steve vanishes instantly. 

The kiss is so soft and so filled with emotion that you feel like you could cry. His presence is overwhelming your senses and you melt against his palm that slides up your jaw, past where the bruises faded. 

You can’t process when your fingers begin to card through his hair, pulling him closer to you because you’re desperate to let him feel everything that’s been churning inside for over a year. You’re still so in love with him that when he finally pulls away, you feel like he took a piece of you with him.

The music starts to fade and your little bubble along with it; you struggle to find something to say. 

You don’t know how long you’ve waited to be able to do that. None of your daydreams could have ever compared to this; you’re almost lost in the moment. All of that heartache, all of that pain - it’s finally been released.

Neither of you knows what to do.

But then Steve clears his throat, his thoughts jumbled inside his head because holy shit - he wasn’t expecting it to feel like that. 

The silence afterwards is deafening. Your breaths fan against the other’s rose tinted cheeks, still barely inches apart. 

“I should uh,” You mutter, fingers trailing down his arms, slowly pulling yourself away from his warmth. You’re suddenly overwhelmed with far too many emotions, all of which you can’t even begin to decipher while standing here in front of him. 

Steve grips your hands in his as you lean back; he knows what you’re going to say, but God, he wishes that you didn’t have to.

“I should go,” You finish. It shatters his heart a bit to hear you say it, but he only nods. 

“Yeah,” He manages, “I’m sure your mom wants you back.”

You swallow harshly before your touch leaves him completely. Steve can still feel where your fingers were pressed on his palms - it lingers as you turn to leave, and begin your walk to your car.

—

taglist: @stevebabey / @mrs-skywalker / @hannarudick / @crazycookiecrumbles / @hellisateenageheather / @alewifex / @l0ve-0f-my-life / @naomiiiiiiiiiii04 / @daddystevee / @thecaptainsgingersnap / @let-the-imaginationflow / @asianravenpuff / @im-a-stranger-thing​ / @mikariell95​ / @pilunb​ / @harringtherin​ / @royalestrellas​ / @ultrunning​ / @buggs177 / @poutfull​ / @yoheyyosup​ / @duchessdaisybat​ / @janieavalos / @sassisaluxury​ / @beththebubbly​ / @i-bitch-you-bitch​ / @captainstilinskis​ / @juliebean247​ / @im-nada / @whatabeautifulsurrender​ / @rexorangecouny​ / @pass-me-jeez-it / @ahoy-scoops-troop / @halefirewarrior​ / @jointhehunt67 / @wallacetdog​ / @ketchuplukehemmo​ / @m-a-r-i-n-t-p / @fangirl485 / @emmegirl827 / @lookalivesunshine-x​ / @elite4cekalyma​ / @marjoherbo​ / @just-my-fandom / @idumpyourgrass​ / @alafolieee​ / @mochminnie​ / @phantomalchemist​ / @dustyblueboo​ / @alonewolfsblog​ / @ggclarissa​ / @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​ / @bippityboppitybabe​

if you wanna be added to the taglist, just lemme know!

[worldwidemochiguy]

Can you write BTS yandere reactions if you try to hurt them or even kill them to escape? Love your blog x 💜

ahaha thanks and here you go!! bc there’s seven of them and i wanted to do unique ones for each i kind of don’t stick exactly to the prompt, but i try to include at least one element of it in each thing, anyways i hope you like it 💞💞

Namjoon

“Really, Y/n?” Namjoon doesn’t even look up from the file he’s leafing through at his desk, despite the gun you’re pointing at his head. His tone is — as always — nonchalant, as if he’s almost disappointed in you for daring to challenge him. You feel regret curling its fingers into the back of your head, but you try to stay strong despite your trembling hands.

“Let me go.” You say, with a much weaker tone than you intended. He looks up this time, an eyebrow flicks upwards condescendingly.

“I have no intention of letting you go, Y/n. Does that mean you’re going to shoot me?” You whimper quietly, your finger loosening on the trigger guard. “I really thought you were more intelligent than that, but I guess you will have to be taught another lesson.”

Another lesson. Your mind flashes back to days spent alone, locked in a room so dark you couldn’t tell if it was night or day. Nothing around you, completely untethered and suffocated at the same time. No. Your muscles tense up and, without meaning to, you pull the trigger.

“No!” You scream, even as your finger tightens on the gun.

But the trigger has already been pulled. You squeeze your eyes shut, not wanting to see the bullet exit the chamber, not wanting to the man who’s tormented you splattered against the wall.

You hear a quiet chuckle, and the gun is gently tugged out of your loose grip.

“Silly baby, did you really think I was going to leave a loaded gun where you could find it? No, this was a test, and you’ve failed, Y/n. It doesn’t matter, though, I’ll just have to give you another lesson.”

Jin

“Jagiya,” Jin’s hurt voice caused you to whip around immediately, without realising the half-full vial was still in your tight grip. “W-What are you pouring in the pot?”

When you had volunteered to make dinner that night for the both of you, Jin had been ecstatic, content that you had finally settled into your place as his loving, doting wife. Little did he know that you had hatched a plan to poison him and run away. You had never been a particularly violent person, but you were desperate to escape. You had realised by now that Jin was never going to willingly let you go.

“U-Uh,” You stuttered, glancing down at the vial in your hand, “…it’s seasoning.” His expression instantly showed his disbelief and he stalked over to you, yanking the poison out of your grip and crowding you against the kitchen counter with his intimidating broad frame.

“Jagiya, when I trust you with these things I expect you to be worthy of that trust, not betray me like some common slut!”

The sting of the slap is the first thing that registers before the side of your face goes numb. He hits you again, making your head jerk to the other side. Hot tears track down your inflamed cheeks, exacerbating the stinging. Jin grips your chin roughly, forcing you to look up and into his manic, crazed eyes.

“Listen to me very carefully, Jagiya. If you betray me like this again, you will be the one who ends up dying. But it will not be by a quick and painless poison, no, it will be long and agonising. Is that what you want, huh?”

Yoongi

You slam him against the wall, hard enough to make the pictures rattle.

“Talk to me!” You scream, and your voice breaks on the last syllable, no longer able to choke down the sobs. But Yoongi just stares at you, silent as he had been ever since he discovered your plan to escape.

You had booked the plane tickets, you were so close to freedom you could practically taste it. But, on the morning of your getaway, you woke up in a completely different location. Yoongi had moved the two of you to a secluded safehouse while you slept. When you ran out of the door, he hadn’t stopped you, and soon you realised why.

The warehouse was literally in the middle of nowhere. You ran around for miles, screaming for help until your throat was hoarse. There was no one there to hear you. Eventually, night fell and you stumbled back to the only shelter for miles around, to Yoongi. For a while you were terrified you couldn’t find it, and it was hours before you were back and safe, for a loose definition of the word.

Yoongi has given you what you wanted. You wanted to get out of that house Yoongi had imprisoned you in, and now you were far away from it. You desired freedom, and now you could roam for miles, untethered. You wished to never speak to Yoongi again, and since the morning of your relocation he had not breathed a word to you, despite how much you begged him to.

He was, as far as you knew, the only living soul in the vicinity, and having him not even acknowledge you, especially after having his devoted attention for so long, was tearing you apart. And you had started to resort to any means possible to get him to talk.

“Yoongi!” You yell, wrapping your hands around his throat and squeezing as tightly as you can. He doesn’t react beyond his face redening, and you can feel his pulse weaken beneath your fingertips. You could just kill him, right here, right now. There’s no one around to see it. And after all he’s done to you…

You let him go and he slumps against the wall, panting slightly. You raise a hand to brush away your tears, damp on your cheeks, but it’s useless. They’ll be replaced by fresh tracks soon enough.

“Please,” you beg, staring at his blank face, “Please just talk to me.”

His eyes meet yours for the first time in this new hellhole, and you realise what he wants.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. Just- please,” You bury your sobs in your hands, body shaking with the force of it. A pair of warm arms encircle you, helping your body to still and relax.

“It’s okay, baby, I forgive you. I’ll always forgive you, and you don’t have to worry anymore about your freedom, because I’ve taken us to a place where other people won’t even be able to touch us anymore. Do you feel better now, angel?”

Hoseok

“Y/n!” Hoseok bellows, and you feel that familiar helpless panic surge within you.

A man had approached you at your table when the two of you were at a restaurant while Hoseok was in the bathroom. You had immediately turned him down, telling him you were taken, and the man left disappointed. However, Hoseok saw the exchange and was convinced you were somehow cheating on him with that man. And now he was mad.

“Get back here!” He screams as you dart into the sitting room. You know running will only make it worse for yourself, but you can’t stop from trying to escape from him when he gets like this.

“Y/n! Stop this right now!” His enraged voice rattles through the walls and a second later, he bursts through the door. He sees you on the far side of the room, quivering in terror, and runs at you with his fist raised.

By pure instinct, you dodge his punch. Gaining awareness just in time to watch, horrified, as his knuckles crunch into the plaster. You think you can hear them break, and a second later, Hoseok has his hand clutched to his chest with a wail of agony.

“Oh no~” You whimper, immediately drawing close to him and reaching out to cradle his injured hand in your own. He hisses in pain and you look up to gauge his expression. It is full of discomfort, washing away all of his previous fury.

When you first started dating, it had been difficult to adjust to his constant mood swings, from loving boyfriend to violently jealous to depressed and insecure. Now, you were used to it enough to realise that you had to cherish moments like these when his anger had dissipated.

You lead him upstairs to the bathroom, whispering apologies whenever he made a noise of discomfort or pain. Soon, you have him sat on the edge of the bath as you dab a cotton bud of antiseptic onto his wounds. Three of the knuckles are broken, and all of them badly bruised. Your guilt is a heavy weight on your shoulders.

“I’m sorry.” You say quietly as he hisses when you apply the badages.

“For what?” He snorts, despite the pain in his voice, “For talking to that guy, for causing me to get injured, or for wrapping my wounds too tightly?”

“I-I promise you, Hobi, I didn’t want to talk to him. He approached me but I immediately said I was taken, just like you told me to say. But I am sorry for the other things, Hobi. I’m really sorry.”

He sighs, then runs his uninjured hand through your hair, petting your head softly.

“I only do these things because I love you, Y/n. You’re the one that does this to me, and you make me suffer all the time. Are you going to be good now? And stop making me do all these crazy things for you, huh?”

Jimin

“Aww, baby, you’re so sweet!”

You pause, incredibly confused. When you told your possessive, ridiculously clingy boyfriend that you were leaving him, and had booked plane tickets to leave the country in order to avoid him, you hadn’t expected him to delightedly clap his hands together and coo.

“Jimin… d-did you hear what I just said?”

“Yes, of course I did, Princess! Oh, you’re so cute. I can’t believe you got us plane tickets to France to visit Disneyland Paris!”

“Uh, what?” Your brow furrows, “Jimin, that’s not- I got plane tickets for myself so that I could leave the country. Because of you. And these tickets aren’t even to Fran-“”

“Baby,” Jimin interupts, and you can see the danger on the edge of his loving expression. “I know you’re joking, but don’t upset me now. And getting fake tickets just to prank me is going a bit far.” He reaches out and deftly snatches your plane ticket out of your hand, before you can even react.

“I mean, who knows? You might even confuse these with the real tickets for our trip, so I’ll just-” He rips up the ticket. “-get rid of them for you.” He giggles. “You’re welcome, babe.”

You watch in shock as your freedom flutters in fragmented pieces to the floor. Months of waiting, saving up, planning, all wasted.

“Well?” Jimin prods, and you look back up at him. “Aren’t you gonna say thank you?”

You just stand there stock still for a moment, before all of that longing, and pain, and anger washes over you and, without even processing it, you’re slapping Jimin as hard as you physically can.

He gasps, and then runs out of the room before you can react. You pause for a second before running after him. You find him in the kitchen, stooped over the sink. When he hears your footsteps, he turns around and you see his lip is cut, blood streaming over his chin and down his neck.

You gasp, and running over to him and taking his face in your hands, all thoughts of escaping replaced with bitter guilt. You are so distracted with him that you don’t notice the discarded knife resting behind Jimin’s hand, fresh drops of blood gleaming on the side of the blade.

“Ah, you hurt me really bad, Princess. I can’t believe my perfect angel would do something like this to me. You’re sorry, right? Tell me you’re sorry. Tell me you love me, and I’ll feel better. Just tell me you love me and I won’t punish you, please?”

Taehyung

It has always been extremes with Taehyung. Either he was the most artistic, dorkiest, sweetest boyfriend in the world, or he could be violent, possessive to a ridiculous degree, and controlling over every aspect of your life.

You found yourself growing more frustrated each time he asks you about who your friends are, what they’re saying to you, when you’re talking to them. He doesn’t trust you, and whenever you confront him about it, he tells you that it’s because he loves you too much to lose you.

But that doesn’t make sense. You can’t have love without trust.

“Who is he?” Taehyung screams, and it’s midnight and you’ve had this conversation more times than you can count and you’re just so tired.

Your mom’s been calling, she hasn’t heard from you in a while thanks to Taehyung cutting you off from everyone you knew, including your family.

“It was my mom, asshole! I showed you the contact on my phone! It was my mom!” You spit back at him and he chuckles in fake amusement and you know you’re hurtling headfirst into dangerous territory but you just can’t stop yourself.

“Yeah? Well I don’t fucking believe you! Why won’t you let me call the number back, hmm? What are you trying to hide?”

“I just don’t want you calling my mom because you’re a creep and I don’t want you talking to her!”

He shoves you against the wall and your head swings back painfully. Before you can even register the pain, Taehyung’s lips are on yours, licking into your mouth harshly and biting so hard you taste blood.

It’s more of a fight for dominance than a kiss, and you’re determined not to lose this time.

You twist around and shove him against the wall, hard enough that his head makes a twin indent to yours, and you hope it gains him the same dizzying quality that’s leaking into your vision, so that you’re on more of an even playing field.

He smiles down at you lazily and you feel disgusted with yourself. What’s wrong with you? Deliberately exacerbating fights with your boyfriend just to chase the high of being fought over, the bittersweet pleasure of darkening bruises and words so painful they scream their way out. He smiles at you because you’re just like him, you enjoy the pain, and feel helplessly drawn to it. Maybe that’s why you just can’t leave him.

“Fuck, baby girl can give as good as she gets, is that it? You like a little bit of pain, huh? Well don’t worry baby, I’ll give it to you. Trust me.”

Jungkook

A snort is not the reaction you were hoping for, but it’s what you happens when you take a deep breath and point a dagger at Jungkook. The jewelled handle feels cold and heavy in your palm. It’s the dagger Jungkook keeps beneath his pillow each night in case of intruders, and judging my his little amused glance at it, he recognises his own weapon.

“So, what’s the plan, baby?” Jungkook asks you, remarkably calm for someone with a knife pointed at his chest. “You’re gonna stab me?” Absurdly, you nod when he asks you this. He laughs, then nods himself.

“Ok then, you’re just gonna commit a little murder then. Are you sure you’re capable of that?”

“…uh huh.” You reply dumbly. His eyes twinkle with mirth, and he continues his line of questioning.

“Alright then, you’ll murder me. I guess you’re not gonna clean up the body, considering you’re working alone?” He pauses for a response, and when he receives none he smiles to himself and keeps going.

“After that, where are you gonna go? What are you gonna do? After all, it’s not like you know anyone in this area.”

“That’s not true!” You pipe up, “My uncle Minyoung! He’s helping me leave.”

“Oh, your Uncle Minyoung.” Jungkook gasps in realisation and you nod again. “You mean this Uncle Minyoung?” Jungkook takes a Polaroid out of his pocket and hands it to you. You attempt to take it with your right hand, remember you’re holding a dagger, and take the photo with the other hand instead.

The photo shows a broken corpse, its head detached and pointed towards the camera. Jungkook is posing next to it, winking at you. Right next to him is your Uncle Minyoung’s severed head.

“Oh.” You say, and drop the photo. It flutters gently to the floor.

“Oh,” Jungkook echoes, “Well, what’re you going to do now? Your uncle had all the travel information, right?”

“Right.” You repeat distantly.

“So… how are you going to escape?”

“…I guess I can’t.” You realise, and the corners of his mouth curl into a smug smile.

During your conversation, Jungkook has moved closer and now stands directly in front of you, so close that the dagger is pressed against his chest. You watch as the pointed tip distorts the expensive fibres of his shirt. You wonder how much give they have before it tears.

Jungkook takes the dagger from you delicately, and then sweeps you up in his arms.

“Little baby, trying to escape from me? When will you realise that you will never be able to? You’re just so dumb! You’re lucky I’m here to look after you, or you really wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. You’re so lucky to have me around.”

[lyonrhodes]

One Bad Day #6: Outlaw

Red Hood x OC, Batman/DC Fan Fic

Summary: Dora has lived in Gotham her whole life and is accustomed to the rampant crime and corruption. Her life gets worse when Black Mask takes over the city. She thinks all hope is lost but a new vigilante appears, calling himself the Red Hood. However, he’s not your typical knight in shining armor. Dora must decide: does she dare fall in love with a revenge-driven killer? (Romance, Crime, Action)

Chapter 6: Outlaw

Loud banging penetrated the walls again. Carla yelped. “No! They found me! Fuck, Dora, we have to get out of here!” She grabbed Dora’s t-shirt and pulled her toward the front door. “They got guns! We have to run!”

Ptnng! Ptnng! Womp!

The sounds made it clear that the men after Carla had shot the locks off the back door. They were inside the kitchen. Dora looked at the four deadbolts locking up the front door of the bar and cursed. At the rate it usually took her to fumble with them, they would never escape in time. They were trapped.

Holly had realized the same thing and hissed in a loud whisper, “No time to run! Just hide! Now!” She pulled Dora and Carla down behind the bar. They both hit the floor hard.

The kitchen door swung open.

Dora heard footsteps and voices. She guessed at least three men entered the bar, but she didn’t dare peek over the counter to be sure.

“Where the fuck is the little bitch?” said a man’s voice.

“Well, look for her, motherfucker!” said another man. “She’s gotta be in here. Check the bathrooms and under all the booths and shit. Don’t just stand there looking at me like a retard! Ahora, cabron! Andale!”

Dora put her finger to her lips, looking at Carla and Holly with wide eyes, urging them not to make a sound. Carla squirmed, tears running down her cheeks. A sob gurgled in her throat, but Holly clamped her hand over her mouth. Her other hand gripped the baseball bat tightly. Dora mimed holding a phone to her ear, but Holly shook her head. Understanding, Dora bit her lip, cursing their luck. They couldn’t call the cops. Holly had thrown away her work phone, Carla’s phone was with their mom because she was grounded. Dora’s own phone was charging in the office along with the landline, which might as well have been a million miles away.

They only had a few seconds before they were found. After the bathroom and office, behind the bar was the next place the thugs would look. Dora belly-crawled to the end of the bar. She reached up and jabbed the screen of the cash register. The drawer popped open with a sharp clatter. She cringed, forgetting that it always made that sound when it opened. It was already too late.

“Oye, behind the bar!”

Without standing up, Dora reached under the cash tray and fumbled around the back of the drawer.

Carla shrieked then. A thug had come behind the bar and spotted them, leering. Holly tried to swing her bat at his legs, but Carla had latched onto her in fright, limiting her reach. “Dora!” Holly cried for help desperately.

“Hey, she’s here! She’s got friends!”

Dora finally grasped the handgun under the tray and pulled it out of the drawer. She cocked it and took aim. “Get out!” she shouted. Her thumb flicked off the safety and her grip tightened.

But the thug was armed too. When he lifted his gun, Dora reacted.

She pulled the trigger twice. Pow! Pow!

Wood splintered behind the thug, but he yelped in pain and grabbed his arm. While missing one shot, she had landed a hit with the other. She was glad she had forgone her glasses today and chosen to wear contacts instead, or else she would have missed both.

“The cunt has a gun!” the wounded thug yelled as he crawled away, returning a few haphazard shots with his lame arm. The girls all hit the floor, and all his shots missed.

“Puta!” spat the head thug. Dora recognized him by his distinctive Santa Priscan accent. “Light them up!”

It’s assholes like these guys that give us Priscans a bad rep. But Dora had no time to dwell on that because a barrage of gunfire showered the bar. Liquor bottles on the shelf exploded, raining glass and alcohol on the three girls. The cacophony was deafening. Holly and Carla both screamed. Dora felt like screaming too, but she held it in.

A cold chill squeezed her heart as panic set in. She had six rounds left in her Colt 1911 now, and only eight more in an extra magazine shoved in her pocket. Her father had taught her how to shoot, but she wasn’t good enough to hit three moving targets. Targets that shot back—and he had never taught her how to return fire from cover. She prayed the tenants upstairs had heard the gunshots and had called the cops already.

“Just give them back their dope, Carla!” Holly shouted over the gunfire.

Carla fumbled with the backpack, shaking with terror, and shoved it onto the counter. “You can have it!” she shouted, but frightened as she was, it came out as a hoarse croak. “Take it! L-leave us alone! Please! Please!”

The gunfire stopped for a moment. “Grab the bag, dude!”

“No way, man, she’ll shoot us if we get too close!”

“Don’t be a pussy! Do you think that little bitch can shoot better than us? Go get the crack or I’ll fucking shoot you myself, pendejo!”

Dora heard a thump—she guessed it was one thug hitting the other to prod him forward. Footsteps sounded as he approached.

Her heart had been pounding in her chest, but it suddenly jumped into her throat. She could feel it pulsing in her temples, hear it beating in her ears, in rhythm with the thug’s footsteps. Then it stopped, replaced by an ascending screech.

Pow! Splat!

Dora realized that the screeching sound was herself screaming, muffled by her deafening heartbeat and an overdose of adrenaline surging through her veins.

As the thug had come up to the bar to retrieve the bag, she had popped up out of cover and shot him.

In the face.

Gunfire erupted again. She had ducked back down just in time.

“Dora!” Holly cried. “What the fuck?”

Dora’s nostrils flared as she sucked in breath, after breath, after heavy breath. The gun smoke burned her lungs. She didn’t dare breathe through her mouth. She was too dizzy. She would vomit otherwise. Her resolve would break.

“Dora!” Holly yelled again.

Staring straight ahead, she tried to stop the room from spinning, but it was no use.

I just killed a man. I took a human life. I’m a killer. I’m a murderer.

The red mist sprouting behind the man’s head kept replaying over and over in her head. Being so focused on him, she didn’t count how many thugs were in the bar.

“What the fuck! If they weren’t going to kill us before, they’re sure going to do it now!” Holly shouted.

Dora finally spoke, cold reason tumbling to place. “Think, Holly! They’re going to kill us anyway even if we gave up the drugs.”

“Hey, stop!” the lead thug said. “I said stop! You’re wasting ammo, dumbasses. Tontos, pare! Dios mio!” His men obeyed, but even after the guns stopped firing, Dora could still hear them echoing in her head. “Now listen, puta, let’s make a deal. We won’t kill you.”

“Shit, they heard us,” Holly cursed, whispering now.

The thug continued. “If you give yourself up, we won’t hurt your friends. But as for you—”

“Esa perra mató mi hermano y jodio mi brazo!” one of his men said.

“What the fuck did he say?” Holly asked Dora.

“Doesn’t matter,” she whispered. It really didn’t, though she understood. The man she had just killed was the brother of the man she had shot in the arm. And he wasn’t in a mood to negotiate.

“Chill, homie!” snapped his boss. “Look,” he said to Dora again, “don’t be selfish. You stole our dope and killed our friend, so we can’t let you go, but your friends can still walk free.”

“Voy a joder esa puta, y luego voy a matar. Muy despacio, escuchame,” grunted the wounded thug.

Yuck, Dora thought, is every thug in Gotham a fucking rapist? She heard Holly whimper and Carla sob. Carla had curled herself up into a fetal ball, making herself as small as possible—completely oblivious, almost catatonic. She sobbed, mumbling something in Spanish Dora couldn’t hear or distinguish. A prayer, she realized. Carla didn’t speak Spanish often—the only time she did was to recite Catholic or Santeria prayers from memory that their abuela had taught them while growing up.

It was hopeless, Dora thought. Even if she gave herself up, these men would never let Holly and Carla go. They would have seen the thugs’ faces, and the thugs wouldn’t trust them not report to the police.

If I give up, we all die. If I fight… we might die, but…

Dora sank back down and gripped her father’s pistol tighter. It was a Colt 1911 he had used while he served in the Marines, in the Gulf War. His initials were etched into the wooden handle. Even against bleak odds, Dora knew her father would still want her to fight until the bitter end—especially if it was for family.

“Come on, girl! We ain’t got all night. This deal isn’t going to last forever!” For emphasis, the thug fired a warning shot. It hit the wall of the bar. Shelving broke and liquor bottles fell and shattered. Holly shrieked. A bottle tumbled off the counter and hit Dora on the shoulder, narrowly missing her head, but it did not break. She grabbed the bottle. Valdushka. Vodka. Rubbing the sore spot, she got an idea. “Holly, give me a lighter.”

“I don’t have one,” Holly sniffled.

“Carla?”

But Carla didn’t respond. She was fully catatonic now, not even praying anymore. Fear had completely shut her down. Dora remembered her father telling her about this. Carla was shell-shocked. She wasn’t a soldier on the battlefield, but she was a teenage girl staring death in the face for the first time, so why couldn’t it happen to her?

“Check Carla’s pockets,” Dora ordered.

Holly frisked her, but Carla didn’t seem to notice. Dora popped the vodka bottle open. She didn’t have to look at the label because its smell told her it was 50-proof. Perfect. She looked around for a dry bar rag, but there none to be found.

Dammit. She ran a hand through her alcohol-drenched hair in frustration. Making a Molotov was a stupid idea anyway. She was covered in alcohol, so lighting one could easily set her on fire too.

But a thought struck her. I’m drenched in alcohol. And she had nothing to lose. She grabbed a shard of broken glass from the floor, the hem of her shirt, and tore off a piece to make a rag.

“Here.” Holly tossed Dora a lighter.

Looking at the lighter, Dora felt a sharp pang in her chest. It was her father’s Zippo; Carla must have nicked it from his footlocker. Maybe they had a chance. It seemed their father was looking out for them from beyond the grave tonight.

“You’re not doing what I think you’re doing, are you?” Holly asked, looking at the items in Dora’s hands.

“I am. If you see an opening, take it and get Carla out of here.”

A thug shouted, “Okay, that’s it. Enough waiting. I’m going in, man. Cover me. Now!” His friends opened fire again.

Dora stuffed the piece of her shirt into the bottle of vodka and flicked the lighter on, holding the materials as far away from herself as she could. The rag caught flame immediately—but so did her hand.

Gritting her teeth to bite back the searing pain, she endured long enough to toss the bottle over the counter.

She heard the bottle shatter and a woosh as the alcohol ignited. The thugs shouted curses in surprise. Taking the chance, she grabbed the nearest water-soaked rag to douse the flames on her hand before it could spread up her arm and engulf her. Then she drew her father’s gun and ran out from behind the bar. “Go!” she yelled at Holly.

As she ran, she counted five men. One was dead, one was wounded, and three were standing, but distracted by the table that had caught on fire in front of them.

Dora took aim and fired. After two shots, the fire died down to a blue smolder, and the thugs pointed their guns at her. Behind them, she saw Holly drag Carla into the kitchen unnoticed. She cringed internally—she could have escaped with them. The additional distraction was in vain, but she couldn’t dwell on her mistake because she was being shot at again.

Returning fire, she aimed as best as she could while running to the other side of the room. By the time she slid into cover behind a booth, the pistol’s trigger had gone stiff. There were no more rounds in the magazine.

Out of the five shots she had fired in her mad distraction, Dora counted only one hit, and it was center-mass. She didn’t dare peek over her cover to check if the man she had hit had actually gone down. The booth she was behind gave her less solid cover than the bar had and no route for escape. It was four against one now. The thugs would kill her before the cops arrived, if in fact any of her neighbors had called them already. The police didn’t respond the last time guns were heard by the bar, the night Red Hood saved her life—Dora had to call them in herself. Gunfire was common place in Park Row and the police were useless; even Detective Montoya had admitted as much.

Dora lamented, but only for a moment, remembering that Carla was safe now, and Holly, too. If she died now, at least it was worth it. She took a deep breath, then reloaded and cocked the pistol. It was her last magazine.

“You’re really dead now, puta!”

“Yo sé!” she shouted back. She kissed the handle of the pistol, where her father had carved in his initials. See you soon, Papi.

But the thugs didn’t open fire. “Oye, escucha,” one of them said to another. “Es la policia?”

Dora heard something strange too. A humming coming from outside the bar. As it grew louder, she would have guessed it was some type of muscle car, but it had to be the police. However, she heard no sirens and the humming turned into a roar. Light bathed the bar through the plate glass window in the front, but it was white, not red and blue. Headlamps, Dora realized. And the light was getting brighter.

“LOOK OUT!” someone cried.

The roar died a split second before the Alibi’s plate glass window exploded. Shards flew everywhere in the wake of a motorcycle flying into the bar.

The thugs jumped out of the way, but the one with the bullet in his gut wasn’t quick enough. The motorcycle barreled into him, sweeping him off his feet. The bike pinned him to the pool table behind him with a spectacular gush of blood. There could be no mistake. He was dead.

“Shoot him!” one of the others shouted.

Dora turned to the broken window and couldn’t believe her eyes.

Red Hood vaulted through the opening, so swiftly she almost missed it. No sooner had his boots hit the floor, than he juked and rolled, avoiding the thugs’ gunfire. In just a few seconds, he had crossed the room and wrapped his hands around one thug’s neck.

Feet dangling inches off the floor, the thug gurgled, not even able to gasp for breath because of Red Hood’s tight grip on his neck. The other two thugs shot at Red Hood, but he used the captive thug as a human shield. Bullet holes peppered the thug’s back, and when his friends stopped to reload, Red Hood snapped his neck and tossed his body at them. The two were barreled down, their guns falling out their hands.

“Enough foreplay.” Red Hood sounded playful. “Now it’s time for some real fun.”

Frozen in shock, Dora watched him pounce on the two remaining thugs and give them a sickeningly brutal beat down. She couldn’t look away as their ribs were caved in and their faces were rearranged. As Red Hood focused mercilessly on one thug, the other tried to crawl away… but before he had gotten anywhere, Red Hood dragged him back and curb-stomped his face on the seat of a chair, killing him instantly.

The last thug laid broken and wheezing as Red Hood rolled his shoulders and massaged his bloody fists. Dora heard his joints and knuckles pop as he released a satisfied groan. He turned to look at her. “Dora.”

“Y-yeah?” she stammered, shocked that he remembered her name.

“Give me your gun.” He held out a large gloved hand.

She looked down at the pistol. Seeing the holsters on his waist and thighs, he obviously had his own, but she knew what he was going to do with it. Something in her mind begged her to say no, but she still found herself handing it over.

Red Hood gave the pistol an inspection. He de-cocked it and released the magazine, checking to see how many rounds were left. Seeming satisfied, he reloaded and chambered a round. He looked down at the one thug still alive.

“Pweath thon’th,” the thug begged with a broken jaw and shattered teeth. He held up a trembling hand.

But Red Hood didn’t care, of course. He brushed his hand aside and shot the thug in the face.

Dora released a shuddering breath. She felt like she had been holding it for hours. Relief washed over her. It was over. She was safe now, and so were Holly and Carla… although only physically in Carla’s case. What she went through tonight, Dora lamented. She almost died. And saw me kill a man.

Dora remembered how broken she was after she saw Black Mask kill her father. But she was already an adult, and Carla was still just fourteen years old. How would this experience affect her?

“What happened?” Red Hood demanded.

Her attention returned to the present. Red Hood had just spoken to her. She looked at him, staring into the glowing white slits of his faceless mask. She could almost sense the stern expression on his face behind it. “Come on,” he said, “I don’t have a lot of time.”

She crawled out from behind the booth and took a seat. Her hands shook so badly she had to knit her fingers together to keep them still. She cleared her throat and explained. Hesitant at first, reluctant to relive the traumatic experience that had only just happened, eventually the story spewed out in distinct detail. As she recounted, Red Hood walked around the bar, looking this way and that, over and under, crouching here and there, aiming down the sights of her father’s pistol. At certain points, he seemed to actually be reenacting what had happened.

When Dora finished, he said, “I’m impressed.”

She looked at him blankly. “What?”

“You killed a man, and wounded two more.” He chuckled. “You’re pretty scrappy for what? Five-foot-nothing and a buck-ten?”

More like a buck-thirty. “My father taught me how to shoot.” But not well enough. Eight shots and only three hit their mark. “That’s his gun you’re holding.”

Red Hood studied the pistol in his hand again. “Yeah, it’s a good weapon. I carry some M45A1s myself.”

“What?” She didn’t know gun models half so well as her father had. He had only taught her how to shoot them.

“Never mind. I’m going to borrow this for a while.” He holstered her father’s gun somewhere inside his jacket.

“But…” Dora stood. She wasn’t sure if she really wanted to refuse him, just after he had just saved her life. “Why?”

“So I can take the credit for killing these guys. Like last time.”

She frowned. “You mean the blame?”

Red Hood’s sculpted shoulders shook as he laughed. “No, I mean credit. These guys’ hermanos are gonna want revenge, and you don’t want that shit-storm coming down on your head. As tough as you are—and believe me, you’re one of the toughest women I’ve ever met—I’m just better equipped to handle it.”

Dora wasn’t sure if he had meant to compliment her, but she shrugged it off. “But why do you need my father’s gun for that?”

“Well, that’s part of the shit-storm. I don’t want the GCPD pinning a manslaughter charge on you, just in case. I’m sure you don’t either.”

“Manslaughter? This was all self-defense!” She pointed at the man with the bloody hole in his face, the man she had killed. “They were trying to kill me. And my sister! And my friend!”

“Half the GCPD is still in Black Mask’s pocket, along with the district attorney. These guys weren’t part of my crew, so guess who they answered to.”

Dora was at a loss for words. Detective Montoya had been right about the corruption in the GCPD and the DA’s office. After all she had gone through tonight trying to stay alive, the courts would side with the assholes that tried to kill her and the people she cared about.

“You get it now, don’t you? Why I do this?” Red Hood’s glowing white pupil-less eyes seemed to penetrate her mind.

She wanted to say yes, but she still wasn’t entirely convinced Red Hood’s approach was the best. Sure, Gotham’s criminal justice system was both corrupt and incompetent, but there were already people out there making up for it—people like Montoya, like the Bat Family.

Dora looked at the bodies sprawled all around her bar. Five dead men. She had only killed one of them, but bullets from her father’s gun were inside the other four. The Bats weren’t lawyers. They weren’t cops. They couldn’t save her from a manslaughter conviction and ten years in prison.

“Fine.” She frowned. “Just please don’t cut off their heads.”

Red Hood chuckled. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

She looked around her bar again—over the crime scene. “What should I tell the cops? If you want credit, we need to get our story straight.”

“I was getting to that.” Red Hood walked over to Carla’s backpack full of coke, miraculously untouched by the hail of bullets that had struck the bar only minutes ago. He zipped it up and slung it over his shoulder. “Just tell the cops you were being robbed by these guys, and I came in and saved your ass. It’s pretty much the truth.”

“I... I, um...” I killed one of them, she wanted to say. I didn’t need you to save me this time. But she knew it wasn’t true. She would have been dead without him. But at the very least she was responsible for Carla and Holly still being alive. Red Hood couldn’t take credit for that. Even if she had to keep it secret from the whole world for the rest of her life, Carla and Holly would still know she didn’t need a man’s help to defend her loved ones.

“You’ll need an alibi,” Red Hood said. “Hit me with your pepper spray.”

Dora almost asked what he meant, but he anticipated that and pointed at her waist. Instinctively, her hand went to her belt loop. Without looking, her fingers touched the carabiner clipped there, which held her keys and her small can of pepper spray. She cringed. It had been there the whole time, and she had opted to use a gun instead.

“Come on, do it,” Red Hood prodded.

With shaky hands, Dora unclipped the carabiner and aimed the small can at Red Hood’s faceless mask. “Are you sure?”

He chuckled, knocking on his helmet. “I don’t wear this red bucket just for show. It has its uses. Go ahead.” He curled his fingers toward himself, almost taunting her.

Dora squeezed the nozzle, but Red Hood stepped aside. The squirt went over his shoulder and splattered on the floor. He snickered. He was taunting her. “We have to make it look good for the CSIs. Come on, hit me now.”

She sprayed him again, aiming at the eye slits of his mask. This time he stood as still as a statue. This close, Dora could feel her own eyes water and nostrils flare from the caustic chemical, but Red Hood didn’t so much as flinch. He actually wiped the liquid off his mask and flicked the moisture away, as if Dora had done no more than squirted him in the face with a cheap water gun. It sprinkled on the floor.

“There. Now CSI will back you up.”

Woopwoopwoop! Sirens. Finally. The police were close.

Red Hood turned his head/helmet toward the shattered front window. “That’s my cue.” Dora could make out faint flickers of red and blue light reflecting off the disparate surfaces of the bar. “Take care, Dora.” He lingered to look at her—a moment too long, she felt. It was awkward, but thankfully, he was already escaping through the kitchen before the blush had fully bloomed on her face.

Her heart was racing, almost as much as it had when bullets were flying only minutes earlier. Instead of the acute repulsion she should have felt sharing the same air as a cold-blooded killer, she felt... something else. Gratitude, she thought. No, something else. Whatever it was, it made her uncomfortable.

[v0.3.15.1]

[my-emotional-self]

Let Me Protect You Chapter 10/?

Pairings: Chris Evans x OFC Emilia

Word Count: 2,131

Warnings: Swearing, LOTS OF ANGST!  This chapter is pretty much PURE ANGST

Trigger Warning:  Self-harm. This chapter is heavily descripted with self-harm, so please read at your own risk if that triggers you!

Rating: R

Summary: After Emilia’s fiancé cheats on her, she moves to California to live with her brother Eric, who just so happens to be good friends with Chris Evans.  Follow Emilia and her roller coaster life through heartbreak, love, and emotional trauma. Will Emilia choose to let Chris into her heart, or will she remain broken and alone forever?

 Could it be possible for someone to become more broken then they already were?  How could someone manage to live like this?  The constant roller coaster of life; one day life is great, and then it’s terrible for a week, then amazing for a month.  It’s just too much for someone to handle.

You were all alone, literally and figuratively.  You left Charlie because he cheated on you, you had to put your dog, who was your best friend, down because she was sick, your brother left for a month because of work, and now it looks as if Chris went back to his ex.  His ex, the girl who pushed you into the pool at your brothers’ party.

Maybe it was planned all along.  Maybe Chris knew all about your emotional trauma and planned this with Minka. That’s a possibility right?  But Chris doesn’t seem the type of person to do evil like that.

“AAARRRRGGGGHHHHHHH” you screamed as hard as you could.  You moved out to LA to get away from this shit!  To heal yourself!  And now you were in an even worse position!  

You needed the dark of your bedroom; the blackout curtains will give you shelter.  Your head was pounding from all the tension of emotions filtering in and out.  You tried to breathe through it as much as you could.  Sweat was starting to bead on your neck from your life crashing down around you.  

You shuffle into your bedroom with what little energy you had left and collapse on the bed.  All you wanted to do was take that razor blade and dig deep somewhere on your skin.  But it had been a week since you had done it, and you didn’t want to resort to that anymore.  You wanted to pull up your big girl panties and handle this like a normal person; cry for days.

You were jolted awake a few hours later from your dream, well, more of a nightmare.  A nightmare of memories you would have rather never had to think of again.  Trying to regain your breathing, you look at the clock to see it was almost 6pm. Fuck, you slept the whole day away; but as your mind becomes less foggy, you realize why that happened. Chris.  Chris and Minka.  Pictures of them sitting in his car, smiling at each other.  Charlie.  Charlie texting you to come home because he misses you.

Whimpering at the throbbing pain inside your head, you grab a cup of water.  All that crying and screaming in frustration really dried out your throat; it felt really hoarse.

After quenching your thirst, you start searching for your phone, afraid to see if anyone had texted you. Of course they had.  

Chris: I’m so sick of interviews!! What are you up to beautiful?

Chris:  You still sleeping?  It’s after 1pm silly

Chris: I have so much gel in my hair I’m going to have to take a three hour shower to get it all out haha

Chris: Ems it’s after 3pm now, I’m starting to get nervous. Did you get lost driving around LA? Are you stranded somewhere?

Chris: I really don’t want to pull this card but if I don’t hear from you soon I’m gonna give Eric a call.  I’m really worried Ems

Eric: I’ve called you a few times but you’re not picking up. Chris called me.  Emilia why won’t you answer him

Eric: Emilia damnit answer your phone.  You’re making me nervous now

Knowing you didn’t want Eric to call the cops to the house to check on you, you called him immediately to calm him down.

“What the fuck Emilia! Don’t pull that shit with me, why are you ignoring everyone?” he says anger and concern lacing his voice.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t feeling good so I have been sleeping all day” you lied through your teeth.  

“I call bullshit Em. Chris called me.  He’s stuck at his photoshoot and interview and is a nervous wreck.  What’s really going on?”

You blow out a sigh, knowing there’s no point in lying to Eric because he’ll get it out of you sooner or later.  

“Ugh, fine!  There is an article I happened to see on Twitter this morning saying that Minka and Chris might be back together.  There was also a fucking picture of them together in his car, and I know for a goddamn fact that it was from this morning, and not the past” you huff out in annoyance.

“Emilia, you listen to me. I can promise you they aren’t back together.  Chris wouldn’t get back together with her even if she was the last woman on Earth. It’s the tabloids Em, this is what they do.”

“I don’t care Eric. I’ve realized I’m no good for him anyways.  I’ll just drag him down in life, and I don’t want that for him.  Look, I gotta go.  Love you bro.”  You quickly hang up the phone, not wanting him to hear the heartbreak in your voice.

The second you hang up with Eric, you get an incoming call from Chris.  Not wanting to deal with that open wound, you ignore the call, letting it go to voicemail.  

*Ping*

“God fucking damnit. LEAVE ME ALONE!” you scream to nobody but yourself as you unlock your phone and dial your voicemail.

“Hey Ems it’s Chris. I just got done with my photoshoot and interview and I’m heading home.  But if I don’t hear from you by then I’m coming over.  Emilia I’m really fuckin worried about you.  I don’t know if you’re stuck out in the middle of nowhere or at home injured.  Please call me back ok. Bye beautiful.

The tears are like waterfalls on your face.  Never ending. How do you even have tears left to give?

You heard it all in his voice.  The concern, worry, and fear was all there.  He was worried about you.  Why would he be worried about you if he was back with Minka?

*Ping*

“PLEASE STOP!! PPLEEEAASEEE!!!!” you wail as you slide down against the wall.  

Eric: I pulled the big brother card and told Chris why you weren’t answering.  He’s on his way to talk to you now.  Give him a chance to explain Em.  It’s not what you think.  I love you. I’m only a call away if you need me.

That’s it!  Fuck your big girl panties, your taking matters into your own hands now.  

Heading into your bathroom you turn to lock the door.  You turn your blue tooth on, put your playlist on shuffle, and turn the music all the way up.  You needed to drown out as much noise as you possibly could.

Stripping your robe off, you’re immediately met with goosebumps all over your body.  Luckily because of your late night shower, all your bracelets were off.  That was something you didn’t think you had time to do; taking each one off your wrist.

You start digging around your cabinet for the only thing that can hopefully give your mind a break from everything.  Once you finally reached what you were looking for, you sit on the cold tile floor, back leaning against the cabinet.  

Avril Lavigne’s “Nobody’s Home” starts over the speaker, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at the irony. The song is everything you’re going through right now, everything you’re feeling.

As the song starts, everything but the lyrics fades away as your left there with a razor blade clutched in your hands.

I couldn’t tell you

Why she felt that way

She felt it everyday

And I couldn’t help her

I just watched her make

The same mistakes again

The razor blade slices into your wrist.  The blood barely trickling up to the top of the open cut.

What’s wrong ,what’s wrong now

Too many, too many problems

Don’t know where she belongs

Where she belongs

You still felt everything. Every single emotion and feeling swirling through your head, your body.  It needed to stop.

She wants to go home

But nobody’s home

That’s where she lies

Broken inside

With no place to go

No place to go

To dry her eyes

Broken inside

You drag the blade against your wrist again, putting more pressure down this time.  You welcome the pain that you receive from the cut.  The burning and stinging sensation pulling you from all your thoughts.

Open your eyes

And look outside

Find the reasons why

You’ve been rejected

And now you can’t find

What you’ve left behind

There is more blood than the first cut as it pools to the surface.  The feelings and emotions fading from your head.  You start feeling more relaxed.

Be strong, be strong now

Too many, too many problems

Don’t know where she belongs

Where she belongs

More and more fresh cuts start to litter your wrist.  The blood and pain freeing you from your thoughts; you even felt a bit euphoric at this point.  

You sit there and think and feel nothing, nothing but the burning from the fresh cuts.  This was your happy place.  Void of feelings.  This is why you used this distraction over anything.  

You sit there for a while, savoring the pain.  You start to feel a bit light headed and look down and realize why.  You couldn’t even see your wrists, they were covered in blood.

Slowly getting up, you turn the water to warm and rinse your wrist, bringing on even more pain.  It seemed sadistic you realize, but you were afraid something worse would happen if you weren’t able to contain it.  

The doorbell rang and you froze.

“Shit fuck damnit!!” you curse to yourself, trying to clean up everything as fast as you can.  You knew it was Chris; it slipped your mind earlier that your brother told you he was coming over here.  Pausing, you also remember Chris mentioning he still had keys to the guest house from when he lived here.

“Emilia?” Chris questions as you hear him walking around your house, your music long ago turned off. You become stiff, holding your wrist in your towel and looking at your door.  

“Ems, you in there? Listen, Eric told me what happened. Just open the door, let me explain myself.”

You were frozen.  You could not move.   Your feet were stuck to the floor, and you were utterly terrified of seeing Chris.  Talking to Chris.  You couldn’t do it.  

His knocking continued becoming rather persistent.  “Damnit Ems don’t make me break down this door.”

“I’m naked” you blurt out, not even thinking about it, “I mean I’m taking a bath”, you say putting your right hand up to smack your forehead.  

Damn it!  You had planned on completely ignoring Chris in the hopes he would just give up and go home.  But no, you crack under pressure, like you always do.    

“I guess I will just wait right outside the door then until you come out.”

“That could take all night Chris.  Just go home, please”, you say, a hint of anger in your voice.  

You look around your bathroom.  You’ve got the toilet, and water from the sink, you could very well spend the night in here.  You were stubborn when you got things set in your head, and you weren’t going to budge on this, at least not for a few hours.  

“I’m not going anywhere Ems. You need to hear what I have to say.”

“Then just say it, so you can be on your merry little way Christopher.”

That’s right, take that. You said his full name hoping he would get the hint that you were pissed off.  Hell, it was more like enraged.  At least the two of you didn’t start an actual relationship before this crap with Minka and him happened.  

“I’m not having this conversation with you through the door beautiful”, you could hear the playfulness in his voice.

“Well get comfy Evans, you’ll be out there all night.”

You started to get a little chilly, seeing as you were actually naked in the bathroom.  You had fallen asleep in just your robe last night, and hadn’t bothered to change since then.  You put your robe back on, being extra careful of your wrists.  You were able to stop the bleeding for the most part. There was still a little bit coming through your wounds, but it would be fine; it wasn’t enough to run down into your palm.

You grabbed a bunch of towels from the cupboard and made your own makeshift bed.  You laid down on them, trying to get comfy.

As you closed your eyes, your heart broke even more when you heard Chris sigh heavily from the other side of the door. 

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