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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 hours ago

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compos mentis 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, chronic health issues, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a long court case, your mother stays attached to her lawyer, bringing even more contention into your life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: this decrepit pervert is back.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You’re restless. What’s worse, is you have no energy. You never really do. Living is the most exhausting thing you’ve ever done.

You lean in the window sill, half hunched as you stare out at the suburban street. It’s a nice neighbourhood. Your mother lives in a condo, on one of the highest floors. You hate it. This place isn’t so bad. It’d be nice if it was just you.

That last thought makes you sad. You don’t know that you’ll ever be able to be alone. You hate being such a burden. What you hate most, is feeling like you’re on a leash. Sometimes literally as your oxygen tube keeps you bound to the tank.

All your existence, there’s been something wrong with you. In high school, it got so much worse. You didn’t even realise until your mother pointed it out. Then the appointments doubled, the tests too, and it never stopped. Will it ever?

You’re trapped in a holding pattern. If living is so difficult, should you even try? That’s a bad thought but you can’t help it. You see your mom, you see Andy, and they don’t need all these medicines or this thing to breathe for them. They have lived full lives, they have jobs and a home. You have nothing.

You turn away from the window. The tall trees and peaked rooftops are no longer so beautiful. They’re just another reminder of everything you don’t and will never have.

A knock at the door startles you. You cross the room and inch it open. You peer out, disappointed to find Andy again. How long is your mom going to sleep?

“Hey, sweetheart, I was thinking you might want to come with me. It's pretty quiet around here,” he says.

“Come with... where?” You rasp.

“I was going to go to the pharmacy and get your script filled, like your mom said,” he explains and holds up the doctor’s paper. “Found it in her purse.”

“Oh, uh...” you hesitate. You don’t know what to do. That he’s even asking makes you feel obligated. “Sure, I... okay.”

“Take your time, I’ll warm the car up,” he assures you. “Anything I can help with?”

“No, sir, I’ll grab my bag.”

You shut the door before he can respond. You pause and feel bad. You hope that didn’t seem intentional. You go and grab your belt bag. You check that everything is in it, then drag your tank back to the door.

You come out and the hall is empty. You go around to the bathroom and rinse off your face. You don’t have a toothbrush so you use your finger to spread some paste around your teeth and rinse your mouth. You’re overly aware of your day-old outfit. You do what you can for your hair then resign yourself to being the same mess you always are.

You take the stairs slowly. One at a time as you prevent the wheels of the tank from thumping. Andy’s house is so nice, you don’t want to ruin it. You get to the front door and pull on your jacket. You put on your sneakers and awkwardly angle out the front door.

The SUV whirs in the driveway. Before you can get to the first step, Andy is there. He helps with the tank and sets it on the flat ground. You quickly take the handle and thank him.

“You alright?” He asks. You wish he wouldn’t be so worried. Your mother doesn’t ever ask, only if it’s for show.

“Fine,” you assure him.

You roll the tank past him and he calls after you as you get to the SUV. “Hey, you don’t gotta sit in the back.”

“Uh, right,” you say.

You go around to the passenger door and he opens it for you. Once again, he lifts the tank. Before you can react, he does the same to you. You lurch up into the seat and wriggle until he lets you go. He doesn’t seem to notice your discomfort.

You sit straight and steady the tank between your knees. He shuts the door and you get the seatbelt clicked in. As he climbs in the other side, you take out your vaseline and smear it under your nose. It’s particularly raw this morning.

“Shoot, is that from the AC? I can turn it down.”

“No, it’s... okay,” you stare through the windshield. You want to get this done and over with. Your brows furrow at the thought of your mom waking up to the empty house.

“What’s the matter?” He asks.

“Nothing,” you insist.

“You look worried,” he says.

“I... my mom. She’s in rough shape.”

“Hungover,” he clucks, “it’s a good thing you don’t take after her with that.”

You nod, not sure what to say. He does up his seatbelt and checks the mirrors. He shifts and backs out of the driveway.

“Feel free to put on some music. I don’t think you want to listen to my oldies,” he chuckles.

“It’s okay,” you hug yourself with one arm, your other hand on the tank.

The silence buzzes in your ears. It’s too late now to change your mind. Besides, you’re so indecisive about your music. You wouldn’t exactly brag about your taste either.

The drive stretches on as you huddle into the door, distracting yourself with the passing light poles, houses, and so on. You don’t know this area. It’s not anywhere near your usual pharmacy. You often wait in the car when you do go with your mom.

He pulls up along the curb and park. It’s a nice quaint street in the neighbourhood. There’s a park on the corner and an organic store on the opposite side. You peek out at the local pharmacy’s moniker, hand-painted unlike glowing banner of the department store where your mom usually goes.

“Should be able to get this filled,” he says as he shuts off the engine.

You just nod and hum. He gets out quickly, easily. You envy that. You can’t do anything easily. He comes around as you push the door open. He once more brings down your tank but you’re certain to climb out on your own. You nearly stagger as you do.

You wheel out of the way as he closes the door. You look around at the other pedestrians. A woman with a stroller, a family just across the way babbling in glee. You turn away before the scene can make you morose.

Andy leads you to the pharmacy door and pulls it open with a chime. He lets you in first. There’s only a few aisles inside, the pharmacist’s counter is at the back, another till near the front where they sell chocolates and candy.

You linger until Andy points you down the center row. You go ahead of him and stop before the long counter. He unfolds the prescription as he greats the man behind it boldly. Good mornings and niceties you struggle to get right.

“Hm, we have these on hand but it’ll be a wait. Been a busy morning,” the pharmacist explains.

“That’s fine, we can keep ourselves busy.” Andy says. You squirm. You can? Waiting that long will only add to the tension that makes your chest even tighter.

You back up as he turns around. He looks around for a moment, as if he thinks you wondered off, then smiles at you. “There’s a cafe across the street, how about it?”

“I don’t... drink coffee,” you say.

“I know, sweetheart, I remember,” he gently strokes your shoulder, “they have tea, too. Or smoothies. You must be hungry too.”

“I... if you want to, I guess...” you shrug.

“You know, I’m not your mom. I won’t say no,” he intones. “You don’t have to be so nervous.”

“I know, I... I’m sorry.”

“And you don’t need to be sorry,” he counters.

You almost apologise again, only to fill your cheeks with air and nod. You feel like you should be though. Like everything you do is a disappointment.

You go back down the middle aisle. Andy reaches past you to hold the door again. You come out and narrowly avoid a collision. You wait for the family of three to pass by before Andy nudges you to the curb. He takes your free hand as he tugs you with him, jaywalking through the lazy traffic.

The effort is enough to make your head spin. You get your wheels over the other curb and sway. Andy doesn’t let go. He takes you past the patio area of the cafe and swings back the door before he releases you, pointing you within.

The smell of coffee, the grind of a machine, and the chatter of diners greets you. You wait behind the two teenage girls at the counter as Andy comes up next to you. He stands close but you assume it’s because it’s such a tight space.

“Do you want to find somewhere to sit?” He wonders.

“No, I’m okay,” you say.

“Sure, uh, so what do you want?”

You look up at the hand-written menu. You might get a tea after all.

“The brioche egg sandwich is one of my favourites,” he says.

“You come here... a lot?” You wonder.

“Sure. I like to run in the mornings. I’ll grab a coffee on my cool down. And weekends I’ll have breakfast. Your mom’s usually still asleep if she’s around,” he tuts.

“Right, uh... that sounds fine. Brioche.”

The girls go to the further end of the counter and Andy waves you forward. The barista greets him by name. She’s very pretty. She has amber coloured braids with a zigzag pattern and cute freckles over her cheeks. You want to ask how she did her hair like that but you don’t want to be rude.

“Andy, how are you?” She chirps in recognition.

“Good, we were just walking through the neighbourhood,” he says, You adjust the tube under your nose self-consciously. The barista is gorgeous and reminds you of everything you’re not.

“Oh, is this your fiancee?” She asks. “She’s finally come around.”

Andy chuckles and you blanch. He doesn’t offer a protest and neither do you. You wait for him to correct her. He doesn’t.

“Sweetheart, what did you want to drink?” He looks at you and you nearly choke.

“Can I have the pomegranate tea, please?” Even your voice sounds ugly.

“Sure, what size, hon?”

“Small,” you croak out.

“Small pomegrante, and your usual?” She asks Andy.

“Yep, and two of the brioche breakfast sandwiches. Oh, and something sweet for dessert. Those cherry tarts look delicious,” he points to the display.”

“Got it, anything else?” She taps the till screen.

“That’s it,” he slips out his card and waits. He selects a tip amount before he taps, the machine beeping in acceptance. You spy the total right before it disappears. Oh, that’s expensive.

“I’ll bring it to you, Andy,” she smiles brightly, “you two enjoy.”

Andy takes your hand again before you can react. He brings you to the table and you sit across from him, right by the window. You feel like you’re on display. You hate it.

You push the tube into your nose as you think then trail your hand down the length. You stare off into the distance. You don’t know, it feels weird. It feels like he’s doing too much. Like maybe he feels bad for you.

“Whatcha thinking about?” He interrupts your trance.

You flinch and look at him, then avert your gaze to the table.

“You didn’t...” you begin then shake your head.

“What?” He prompts.

“Nothing.”

“Go on, sweetie, you don’t have to be shy with me. You can say whatever you need,” he leans forward as he crosses his arms over the table, “you know, your mom told me you’ve never really had a father figure. I’m here to help, to support you.”

You nod and pick at your dry lip then stop yourself, hiding your hands under the table. “You-- that woman... she thought I—that we—you didn’t say no.”

“Oh, I didn’t want to embarrass her,” he laughs. “It’s funny, don’t you think?”

“Yeah...” you nod at your lap. “It is really... funny. No one would really want to marry me.”

You cover your mouth as the thought slips out. You shake your head. Why did you say it?

“Huh? Sweetheart?” He leans in even closer, “you don’t think that’s true, do you?”

You shrug and peel your hand away, chewing on your sleeve as you slump low in your seat.

“You’re a nice girl. Pretty too.”

“I’m not,” you murmur into your cuff. “You don’t have to lie.”

“Well who says you’re not?” He urges. You shake your head again.

“Your mother?” He suggests. You shake your head harder. She would be livid if you told him that she did. He clicks his tongue, “well, however it is, don’t listen to them.” He reaches across to you, “hey, sweetheart, look at me.” You obey, trembling in humiliation, “you are very pretty.”

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #series #compos mentis #defending jacob #au #dark fic #dark!fic #fic

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