#tcoaal x fem!reader

[mihii-i]

Pls do something with Andrew and a fem reader I feel like there's too little content of him, of course you don't have to and I totally get if you don't want to just do it when you have time and if you want to

don’t you wanna make me proud?

Pairings: andrew graves x fem!reader

CW: nsfw, female reader, afab reader, dark themes, unprotected sex, marking, smoking, blood, murder, mild gore, decapitation, manipulation, argument, guilt tripping, established relationship, toxic relationship, but he does love reader don’t worry, reader’s also a bad person, there’s no incest shut up, ashley’s actually fucking dead, mild 3A spoilers, guy and woman kissing during pride month my bad guys, slightly ooc but for a reason I swear, crybabies that’ll unfollow me again lmaoo, I mean this shouldn’t be romanticized but this game’s fucked up anyway- INCEST FANS DNI AND SEEK HELP, not proofread.

A/N: I have to clarify this on EVERY tcoaal post, but no I don’t support incest don’t cry in my comments and yes, this game is actually good. it’s not as bad as you say it is, and if you somehow think this is gooner material, you have problems if you goon to this game. also again if yall unfollow thats ur choice on being uneducated so go interact with my other content tf….now playing — I like the way you kiss me by artemas. 🕯️

Warm, metallic flicks of the lighter dragging the flint wheel against chrome swiftly elicited a scratchy hiss that echoed throughout the cramped motel. Followed by a gentle orange glow crackling along the lit end of the cigarette, caving the off white rolling paper to crumple and darken into a blackening grime folding in a brownish gradient upward. Your jaw tightened at the nauseating hit of nicotine clouding the air as a wreck to your train of thought, with even the slightest sound equivalent to a pin drop serving to easily irritate you.

Your gaze narrowed over to the scrunched cushions of the torn up couch, rips and scratches littered over the grey cotton tugged down alongside a few stains of god knows what rubbed on various edges. Though, your boyfriend didn’t seem to mind much while he lounged carelessly on the couch, head tipped back over the edge and legs crossed over the opposing armrest with his knees barely bent to accommodate his taller frame within the confines of the annoyingly small sofa.

Andrew’s fingers kept on the thin cylinder of his cigarette pressed to his chapped lips, while his ring finger idly traced along his chin whenever he drew in a breath to ease his nerves, green eyes mindlessly dozing off into the distance as if he contemplated on an elaborate scenario that awaited you two. He hadn’t exactly been subtle regarding his clear distaste for the wretched situation the two of you had landed yourselves in, despite his eyes scripting a drastically different story from what his mouth said.

That sickening memory was all too clear, the outlines of her once intact skull flat against the carpet, left to drown in her own blood as seeping pools of crimson swallowed up the dampening fabric. Eyes devoid of any light, lacking unshed tears with her sliced head detached from her neck that carried the dead weight of the rest of her body in her usual clothing. Such a horrific sight to behold as you trembled, hand clasped over your mouth to choke in the feeling of your own hot breaths trapped in your humid palm while you couldn’t tear your eyes away from her corpse.

Yet Andrew on the other hand kept his sights fixed on the floor, face decorated with reddening splatters that ranged all over the left side of his face, along with his palm painted in his own sister’s blood as he gripped the polished wood of the cleaver—now tainted with the vermillion that he shared with the one who lay dead before his feet. Dread snaked its way within your senses at Andrew’s gruesome display of rage blinding the usually calm man, even more so whenever you were met with Ashley laying limp on the floor. Unable to respond, nor protest.

You hated her. Never was there a time you hadn’t wished death upon the disgustingly attached piece of shit that refused to grow up from clinging to her brother. Seeking to preserve a fantasy of having her caretaker at her beck and call in such deluded hatred and cuts of anyone else that seemed to come close to him. Hell, you wanted to find your own chance to cut her neck off with that cleaver, and delight in the sight of her gone to be plunged into the burning pits of the underworld.

Despite all that, you couldn’t even swallow back the pure trepidation lumped in your throat at the sight of your longing wish finally come true. Fuck, didn’t feel as good as you hoped…if anything it made you feel awful, retracting every mental thought that piled up to cover the initial elation to see those once hatred filled pink eyes finally darken. Hatred morphing into pity & remorse plagued by fear. Fear that crashed onto you with Andrew’s lapse in judgement when he struck his sister, his glare cold and unfeeling when set on her laying without any sort of burial.

But you knew, behind that oddly cool expression, lie a scream of misery and regret, rotting him from the inside out with the lingering whispers of him wiping out the only person he ever had before. The girl he raised perished by the claw of his own hands, that were drowned in her blood.

No matter. You were still here, right? He was fine with that. His darling girlfriend just needed to support him through the loss of his sister. It’s better this way, no matter how much he missed her.

Strangely enough, he was able to play it off unaffected. Although the consequence remained with his feelings for you simply stinging tenfold. Playing the role of the overprotective boyfriend, dictating the two of you as a single aspect rather than seperately as he refused to let go. Decisions he made had to accomodate to you both, and the thought alone of you no longer at his side only widened the existing pit aching in his stomach.

You wouldn’t think to leave the man you loved, he’s going through a hard time. He lost his sister after all, so you should stick by his side. No matter how much he frustrates you, or how much of a dick he’s been recently, stay by his side.

You can do that, can’t you, (Name)?

He’s scared he’ll let you down.

Distressful silence swallowed the tense air continuously as you expelled a hushed sigh, growing increasingly perturbed by the lack of noise from Andrew still letting clouds of smoke roll off his tongue in a thick, fluffed fog. His knee poked further out of the torn denim holes from his jeans, loose threads peeking out of the rips the further his leg retracted back to sit upward.

“Andrew.”

You finally spoke his name firmly, pivoting over from the flimsy wood of your chair to face him. Well, that certainly caught his attention as he whipped his head over to you, messy locks hung down his head as his fluffed hair stuck out. The quizzical expression plastered along his face almost made you reconsider retaliating his recently shut out behavior, blurs of exhaustion lined along the bottom of his eyes in darkened circles bagging down his face. It made you feel sorry for the tireless efforts he exerted for the sake of you.

“Hm?”

“So..about the next course of action after we get out of here? We need to have a plan somehow.”

Andrew only clicked his tongue pensively to the roof of his mouth, pondering possible scenarios of what he could possibly do upon vacating this crappy motel. Pursing his lips, his sharp eyebrows furrowed deep in thought to evaluate any possible outcome that hurled his way. Both to keep you safe, and to eventually end up out of the run in the shadow of his awful self—hopefully safe with you in the disgruntled effects of this awful person he was. He blinked, curling up off the couch as his socked feet planted into the ground with his elbow resting atop his thigh.

“I don’t have anything. Give me a bit, (Name).”

Since when was your boyfriend suck a lazy prick? At least get a hook of sorts on what you could ease into gradually! You wondered with the drops of sanity left in you on what consumed the once calculating and farsighted man who planned ahead on the smallest of conundrums, shielding you from any ills possible. Perhaps the previous encounter with Lord Unkown—or that’s who Andrew said he was—could’ve played a part, or maybe your lack of cooperation with his initial plan. Either he was drained and unable to formulate his thoughts properly, or he was just straight up upset with you. Well, the latter made more sense in this case.

“Look, if this is about us being caught by the police, I’m sorry. But we disposed of them and even destroyed the camera! I just wasn’t thinking with that giant demon and accidentally caught the attention of an officer. It’s been handled, we can move on.”

Andrew only exhaled a scoff through his teeth squinting over at you to contain the deep wave of disdain. He couldn’t possibly be upset with his love, yet why wouldn’t you listen to him? Why didn’t you trust him?

“I told you to trust me. And we don’t know if the footage was deleted altogether, by the way. We just got rid of any other potential footage of us butchering the cops.”

“I always listen to you, Andrew. You can’t flip out because I thought you were going crazy with a single idea. I just thought my judgement would be the better one. And how was I supposed to trust that your idea would be more ‘beneficial’ as you put it?”

“Stick around and you’ll find out.”

You grumbled at his vague, yet cryptic reply huffed past those beautiful lips, deep in their desaturated hue. Likely from the lack of being tended to and cared for. Standing from your chair, you stepped over to his spot on the couch, plopping yourself down at his side against his shoulder, baggy drags of black fabric draped loosely past his exposed collarbone to brush against your arm. Expression knit tight, you delivered a disapproving shove to his arm, earning that darkened expression as he cocked an eyebrow.

“I don’t know what’s been up with you lately, but—“

“But what? Don’t tell me you’re taking it out on me for your screw-ups.”

By the second, you could feel your seething vexations slipping through the cracks of your composure at Andrew’s indignant attitude and presumed grudge harbored toward you. You drew in a deep breath, scrambling for any sense of control over wanting to smack him upside the head before rising to your feet, folding your arms as you stared down at Andrew not even bothering to look over at you.

“What the fuck..? Look at me when I talk to you.”

You hadn’t done anything, to be frank. In fact, Andrew preferred your company far more than Ashley’s. Even enjoying yours by miles ahead due to your civilized nature, and endearment of reciprocated affection toward him. He’d hate to hurt you, but of course your refutation towards his already shattered mental state could do nothing but drive him crazy, even as Ashley’s ghost continued to haunt him. Leading to him abruptly kicking the bottom of the dented coffee table as the ashtray clanked against the wood, and standing upright before you furiously.

“You don’t get to order me around, (Name)!”

“Then quit being pathetic and act like my partner for once instead of a child who didn’t get his way!”

“Why can’t you see it?! I’m clearly hurting! Can’t you atleast stick by me instead of being a bitch! Hell, I should’ve killed you instead of her!”

Shit. That one stung.

Your breaths only came out ragged and uneven at his words that cut you apart from the inside, prodding at your heart gently before spearing through. You didn’t know what you expected from him, he did raise her his whole life after all. By now, Andrew had picked up on the mindless words he had spewed out in no time, his initial heated irritation boiling down back to the plane of rationality.

“(Name). You know I didn’t—“

“Is that how you really feel, Andrew?” You heaved out, your own heavy lidded eyes meeting his. He was quick to shake his head vigorously, stepping back from you as he raised a hand to his nape, the tag of his sweater flicking along his skin in his increased sense of everything around him.

“I’m sorry. I’m just…” he couldn’t even finish his sentence before he fell back into the couch, head craned down to bury in his knees as he set the shrunken cigarette into the ashtray weakly. “I love you. But I can’t help but wonder if I regret it.”

Unfortunately, you shouldn’t understand. You shouldn’t feel sympathy for this man who missed someone who clung to him like a leech. And yet, here you were. Weak in his wallowing call of pity that bit at his judgement and possessed its collar of need on him.

“You know I love you.” He reiterated, almost pleading for you to stay with him, knowing the foul monster he was in a corrupted cage of dread. You could simply sit beside him once more, cheek smushed to his shoulder from sheer exhaustion building up within you. Both of you.

“Sorry. I forgot it’s tough for you.”

“Don’t be, my love. It’s just, I lost my sister. The girl I raised. Dead by my own hand. Can’t you spare some patience for me? I know I haven’t been able to think straight recently.”

You hesitantly stared down at your lap, chest twisted in rue. He’s going through such a hard time, and so are you. He was the only pillar you could lean on in this storm of grief you could navigate through, and you were his. Your lover and clear equal, the one you’d give up the world for and vice versa.

“I’m going through a bit. Love me the way I love you, (Name).”

“I do love you. I’d never let you go over something so petty.”

“My beloved.”

He leaned further into your touch to seek a brief sliver of warmth radiated by you, jet black locks tickling your face as he breathed out a hum of contentment.

“Mm. Wonder what I get from following your orders then?”

“…don’t you wanna make me proud?”

“…I do.”

Andrew tentatively clasped his hand in yours, lacing his fingers as he thumbed at the soft flesh contrasting his leather like touch, sighing out in utter need to adhere to the warmth he sought from you.

“Can I make it up to you?”

“As in sex?”

“You’re way too on the nose about it…but yeah.”

Your gaze pierced those hollows of devilish green at his gradually reddening face, eyes hooded low as you carefully examined him up and down, wanting to take in his thin figure concealed by the baggy clothing he wore.

“Of course.”

That small whisper was the final switch that flipped over, darkening the empty cavern that was Andrew himself to fill up with your existence as his ground. The tip of his nose nudged up to yours as his eyes never left you, flickering down to your lips for a split second through his hazed vision blurring together lust and love into one. Before lunging in to collide his lips to lock against your own. In which you gratefully accepted, leaning into the kiss you yearned for as your hand squeezed his at the painfully close proximity.

—

It would be pathetic hadn’t you loved him, really.

The way you caved in so quickly to his pleas, happy to sob out those sharp, needy gasps that occasionally dissolved into a choked out moan when you felt him inside you. Yet it was of no concern to be ashamed of, especially when it was something you craved no matter how swollen your cunt ended up being, or how bruised your body was from the various marks he ingrained onto you. His apology was quite enough for you to bask in when he took care of you this well.

You were utterly drunk on the dizzying bliss of Andrew prying you open on his thick cock, legs coiled tightly around the bony end of his waist as his thin figure stuck to yours in a thin layer of sweat. His nose dug deeper into your feverish skin to scramble for some sense of semblance in the blanking ardor that intensified with each thrust into you, each contraction of your spongy walls squeezing around him as if you were begging him to stay inside you.

Surely his hunger for your pussy was difficult—if not impossible to satiate, while the fire that raged within him to drive himself into you couldn’t be put down even by an army. His need for you only rose everytime he rolled his hips in and out of your cunt, starved gaze flickering to the glistening slick moist along every inch of his length. Showing you with every breath expelled from his body, every movement and every ounce of his being to let that display of affection shine through.

His physical need for your body wasn’t even enough. Thrusts burying himself deep inside you, pressing his tip roughly to dig into your womb a scorching testament to how badly he desired you, what you truly were to him. A show of how intense the need for his everything was. Fingers sinking into your thighs, his bruising hold on you tightened, squeezing the cloud-like softness that brought about his refuge, fervent thrusts speeding up to seek more of your whimpers gradually heightening in pitch and volume as his veins dragged along the gummy velvet of your walls.

Lingering kisses sloppily traced down your throat to your chest as his tongue ran long every purple tinged bloom of his teeth dragging your skin to suck in, accompanied by outlines of his teeth dotted in your flesh. Alleviated by his warm tongue pressed to those marks as an apology of sorts. An apology for the pain you endured for his desire, and a remedy for you to be enveloped in the same desire of his which you both yearn for.

Andrew’s quickening thrusts speared into you over and over as your shaky thighs remained pushed apart in his iron grasp, your free hand off his back tangling in his dark hair, threading through before squeezing a fistful of his locks to ground yourself from his harsh movements. Rather than gently rolling his hips at a leisurely pace, he merely rammed them forward to slam into you, lodging his cock deep within you as he relished in the vice like grip you maintained around him.

Your nails dragged down his back swiftly at the height of your intense orgasm drowning you in pleasure, heart slamming against your chest as you could only manage a small whimper once he withdrew his cock from you, ropes of hot white painting your lower stomach. Without hesitation, Andrew hemmed you in his protective grasp, thin arms wrapped around you as your hand rubbed his shoulder, seeking his affection after practically being hit with the wave of your climax.

You weren’t supposed to cling to him like this.

You were supposed to let him know this was pathetic.

But you weren’t any less pathetic, were you?

Andrew finally rasped out in his strained voice, clearly faded from the low groans he let out earlier.

“I’m so proud of you.”

A/N: OMFG help this was highk fun to write because I’m really in my dark themes mood and I feel guilty if I write it with my comfort characters—but honestly tcoaal is perfect for writing these kinda themes so. But tbh again, if yall cry im writing for this game just leave atp and don’t be dicks my bday is tomorrow yippee because again, if you refuse to be educated on this game and want to point fingers with TikTok and Twitter knowledge be my guest.

Also, to the requester, please don’t be so cautious with your request. It makes me upset how the tcoaal fandom is a mix of weirdos and normal people, and the normal ones get treated like utter ass by rude fucks, so requests are overly cautious. Ofc I’d be happy to write your request especially cause you asked nicely, but honestly take care of yourself and bring up the confidence when requesting ❤️

And again, don’t cry in my fucking comments…yall wanna cry about video games but where are yall working towards stopping ACTUAL issues like…I dunno fucking human trafficking, child marriage, HELL EVEN IRL INCEST WHERE PEOPLE ARE MADE TO MARRY THEIR COUSINS. So if you really wanna talk about how incest is bad, stop acting like something that isn’t glorifying incest is, and go help the world you sorry excuse of a human. I love all of u guys sm and this fic was high key fun to write because me and my friend were on call and I asked him whether I should add the nsfw or not lmao

[stellar-constellations]

Andrew Graves Kinkmas

I'm sorry this is late, I literally didn't even think of doing a Kinkmas until Christmas Day! This served as great practice for my writing, although it's very amateurish since I've never wrote any smut/sex before. Hope you enjoy!

Wordcount: 13,000 words

WARNINGS (or what this includes): Sex, sex, sex. Amateurish sex scenes. Threats of voyeurism. Overstimulation (male and female). Mirror sex. Pussy eating + blowjobs. Unprotected sex. Sex toys. Praise. Poorly disguised author fetishes (wish of marriage). Bondage. Small dirty talk. Food play. Cum eating.

Kinkmas one: Pussy Eating!

        Andrew had you lying on the kitchen counter, making you lay on your back so he could easily keep your legs spread open. 

        “Andrew!” you mewled, squirming as he forced his arms under your thighs, locking them in place around his head. “Please!”

        You weren’t sure exactly what you were pleading for; if it was for him to go faster for you to that sweet release, or for him to slow down so you could savor the moment.

        “I know, baby.” Andrew hummed, his face messy and shiny under the kitchen’s lighting. “Gimme another minute.”

        “You already said that!” you whined, your eyes darting to the oven clock, breathing heavily to the point you were panting, feeling rushed for your orgasm. “I need to leave for work soon!” 

        “Y’know I love me a woman in uniform...” Andrew teasingly smirked, glancing up from your thighs. "But I'm busy."

        You looked down at him, frowning before your eyes looked back at the clock, another whine leaving your throat, more desperate than the last. “C’mon, Andrew! Please!”

        “Don’t worry, baby.” Andrew hummed, kissing your thighs, before biting down. “I won’t make you late to work. Promise. I’ll drive you.”

        That promise was a little better, but it didn’t exactly help your worries with the limited time you had before needing to clock in for work; and just thinking about trying to orgasm made you feel farther from it. 

        “Keep talking about work and I’ll get the muzzle for you…” Andrew muttered, removing his teeth from your thigh to lick at it, before moving his head and licking a straight line on your clit.

        “Ah!” you gasped, surprised at the feeling of his hot tongue on you, a whimper leaving your lips.

        “It’s that clock, eh?” Andrew questioned, speaking casually as if his tongue wasn’t swirling around your clit, causing your thighs to try and clamp up at the sensitivity—but he wouldn’t allow that. “C’mon, turn over.”

        He put your legs off his shoulders, letting you get up off the counter. He took off his sweater, leaving himself shirtless as he bent you over the counter, covering your head with the sweater so you couldn’t see.

        “Be good and spread ‘em.” He hummed, getting down on his knees and tapping your legs a few times.

        He sat so that you were facing him and the wall, while his head resting on the cabinet, facing your body. 

        Your legs were on one side of Andrew, before you opened them and placed your other foot to his other hip, standing over him.

        A squeal left your lips, surprised at the feeling of his tongue invading your pussy, circling around as he was nose-deep. His tongue scooped out your juices, greedily slurping it down before coming back for seconds, and thirds, and more that you couldn’t count.

        “Fuck!” you cried out, your cheek against the cold counter as Andrew’s tongue rotated between scooping your pussy and sucking on your clit.

        Andrew grabbed your ankle and threw one of your legs over his shoulder, his lips parting from your clit as he spit on his fingers. He allowed two fingers into your pussy at once, softly pumping them in and out for you to adjust.

        “Ngh… Andrew…” You moaned, keening at the slow pumping, before it started speeding up, his long and slender fingers going knuckle-deep, before he started to curl them up to hit that precious spongy spot in you. “Andrew!” 

        His mouth went back to your clit, licking and sucking on it as his fingers curled and uncurled at a faster rate, causing you to whine and squirm.

        His free hand that was resting on your hip went to your ass, before he gave it a warning slap, not too hard but still enough to make you jump.

        “Grind.” He commanded, lolling out his tongue for you to use. 

        You didn’t hesitate to allow your hips to take over, grinding your pussy into his mouth and onto his nose, your legs close to buckling at the pleasure, both of your erotic zones being stimulated at once.

        “Gonna cum!” you whined, your hips bucking as Andrew’s head gently hit the back of the cabinet; although he didn’t care as he continue to finger and lick you.

        A cry left your lips as your legs shook, your hips stuttering as your stomach uncoiled, closing your eyes as scratching the counter as you came, orgasming on his tongue.

        Andrew smiled, pleased as he removed his fingers from your pussy, licking them clean.

        “Always so sweet…” he muttered happily before he hit your thigh, “C’mon. Again…”

Kinkmas two: Toys

        Andrew’s cock had a nice curve that hit your G-spot every time you slammed your hips down onto it, before pulling yourself up, only to drop yourself back down.

        “Fuuuck… Just like that, pretty…” Andrew groaned, his hands resting on your hips as he helped you bounce onto his cock. 

        Little pants and gasps came out from your mouth, out of breath as you worked your thighs overtime to please him. 

        Honestly, riding wasn’t your favorite. The stinging in your legs distracted you from the pleasure of his cock hitting your G-spot, but you didn’t want to disappoint him. So you kept bouncing.

        Andrew knew something was wrong as he looked at the way your eyebrows furrowed together, closing your eyes as you tried to channel all your energy into this intense exercise. You were panting more than you were moaning,

        “Hey.” Andrew spoke up, slapping your thigh. “Stop.”

        You slowed your pace before stopping altogether, looking at him confused. You took the break to breathe, feeling your legs tremble as you saddled Andrew’s lap. 

        “S-something wrong? Am I not… d-doing it right?” you questioned, worried as you tried to catch your breath.

        Andrew sat up from the mattress, before quickly pinning you down underneath him, giving you a stern glare.

        “So this is what we’re gonna be resorting to, huh?” he sighed. “If you’re not enjoying it, tell me.” 

        “But I was!” you stammered, you felt your face burn up, embarrassed at being caught. 

        Andrew sighed, rolling his eyes before he leaned over the bed, opening a drawer from the nightstand.

        “It doesn’t feel good if you don’t feel good. Making me feel like an asshole over here…” Andrew huffed, grabbing a rose vibrator, turning it on and holding it to your clit.        

        “Ah-ha! ‘M sorry!” you cried out, squirming at the sensation.

        “Don’t apologize. Obviously you can’t use your words.” Andrew scoffed, grabbing his hard cock with his free hand and lining it up to your pussy. “I need to feel you cum around my cock. Then I’ll know if you’re sorry.” 

        Andrew smiled, gently pushing his cock into you, starting off with a few soft thrusts to get you warmed up before speeding his hips up.

        “Sorry! ‘M sorry!” you mewled, your hands coming to his shoulders and holding them for dear life.

        Andrew grabbed one of your legs and held it to his hip, causing you to hook it around him and sinking himself balls deep into you, a nasty plap! plap! echoing throughout the room as he sunk himself deeper into you, pulling out before thrusting his cock back into your pussy. 

        “I- Fuck!” you cried out, closing your eyes and moaning, your hands digging into his skin and raking down his arms, leaving fire trails in its wake. 

        Moans escaped your mouth and you were worried the neighbors would hear, but your thoughts immediately melted as Andrew raised the setting of the vibrator, a loud cry escaping your lips as your hips bucked up to chase the pleasure.

        Andrew leaned down and peppered your neck with kisses, leaving small bites as you threw your arms around his neck, pulling him down and moaning into his ear. 

        Another minute of Andrew’s deep thrusts into your pussy and the vibrator toying with your clit, you came with a cry, your hips rocking against the vibrator to milk out your orgasm as you squeezed his cock. 

        A few moans escaped his mouth before he groaned, shoving his face into your neck to hide it, his hips slowing down to enjoy his orgasm.

        You squirmed and whined as the vibrator still played with your bundle of nerves, overstimulating you before Andrew turned the vibe off, pulling it away from you.

        “You feel good now?” Andrew muttered, catching his breath in the crook of your neck. 

        “Mm-hm.” You nodded, panting as you closed your eyes and enjoyed the afterglow, your brain feeling mush and no longer worrying about the ache in your legs.

        “Good,” He muttered, kissing your neck’s pulse before removing his head from there. He smiled, his stilled hips starting to thrust again. “Let’s keep it that way.” 

Kinkmas three: Grinding + French kisses

        You walked through the door and noticed Andrew sitting on the couch, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his legs, playing video games on the living room TV. 

        It was annoying to see him after your shift at work. He hadn’t bothered cleaning up, getting dinner started, or even getting up off the couch to greet you!

        “Welcome home.” Andrew muttered, not sparing a glance to you as he button-smashed the controller in his hands. 

        You huffed, walking towards him and pushing his chest, knocking him back against the couch. 

        “Hey?” Andrew huffed, confused before his girlfriend sat down in his lap.

        “Some men really got the audacity. Chivalry is dead.” You scoffed, pouting at him.

        “Wait,” Andrew spoke through gritted teeth, desperate to win his match as he leaned his head to the side to look past you. “I just gotta—damn it!” Andrew hissed, a "game over" text on the living room screen, before he glared at his girlfriend. “Happy?”

        “Very.” You smirked, glad to see you have his attention now. “You can pay attention to me now.”

        “Only until the next match starts or a teammate revives me.” Andrew sighed, before a small smile came to his face.

        He could never be mad with you if all you wanted was a little bit of affection. He reached his hand up and ruffled your hair teasingly, watching as a smile made way onto your face.

        You leaned in, your plush lips connecting with Andrew’s. He reciprocated the act, his hand combing through your hair, brushing away all of your work-stress and drama.

        You let out a protesting whine when he separated from you, mumbling something about his game starting, before you reached out and placed your hands on his cheeks. 

        A surprised sound escaped Andrew’s lips as your quickly crashed your lips right back onto his, tilting your head and attempting to deepen the kiss. 

        Andrew almost pulled away to complain about you getting in the way of his game, but a slow drag of your hips meeting his own quickly made him swallow his complaint; completely forgetting about his game when he had better things to worry about.

        He felt your hips slowly working slow grinds onto his cock, and suddenly that game didn’t seem so important. 

        He opened his mouth for your tongue to glide through his lips. Your tongue pressed up against his, causing a delightful shiver to run down his spine. 

        You squirmed into a position more comfortable, scooting closer as you pressed your chest up against Andrew’s, your clothed pussy directly against his covered cock as your legs wrapped around his waist. Andrew’s hands went to your hips to help grind them into him more firmly.

        A moan forced its way out of his throat, but it only got sucked up in yours as you started sucking on his tongue like it was your favorite hard candy. 

        “Mm… just like that…” Andrew groaned.

        He took one of his hands off your hip and moved it to the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair and pulling you deeper into the kiss. His free hand resting on your hip, before it went to your pants. 

        His fingers traced your thigh, before moving up and latching onto the waistband, tugging down—before his hand was suddenly slapped away.

        “Don’t.” You grumbled into his mouth.

        “Mm… why?” he muttered, trying to pull his lips away from yours, but you wouldn’t have that as your hands went to his collar and kept your lips against his.

        You kept kissing him, sucking on his tongue before finally parting. You bit his bottom lip teasingly, before pulling away.

        “Because you haven’t done anything to earn it…” you answered. “Today was your day to cook, and you didn’t. Your day to clean too. It was your responsibility to get stuff done while I was at work.”

        “I’m sorry. I forgot. I got too distracted playing video games…” Andrew muttered, feeling a slight sting in his lips from where you bit him, the spit-glossed area swelling up. 

        “So you don’t get to fuck me.” You spoke.

        “Fuck. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” Andrew spoke, furrowing his eyebrows and gritting his teeth, desperate to feel you.

        “If you’re sorry you’ll listen to me.” You muttered, your pussy grinding onto his cock. “You need to cum first before I even think of letting you fuck me.”

        “God… you’re evil.” Andrew gasped, feeling your hips speed up. 

        He threw his head back against the couch cushioning and let out a throaty groan, both hands going to your hips and gripping them tighter.

        You leaned down and kissed his neck, biting down on some areas and sucking to leave love bites. His hands helped grind your pussy onto his cock, his cock head leaking with pre-cum that stained his boxers. 

        His own hips stuttered, before he started to thrust up into you, his hard cock grinding against your clit in a way that made you gasp and disconnect your teeth from his neck. 

        Andrew pulled you in for a kiss, pinching your hip and causing you to yelp, allowing him to finally dominate your mouth now with his tongue. 

        As his tongue played with yours, Andrew could feel your pussy toying with his cock. He could taste his release, and it was like he could feel your empty pussy squeezing your walls, desperate for him to be inside you.

        “Fuck…” Andrew muttered, his thrusts quickening, albeit becoming sloppy. “G-gonna…” 

        He couldn’t finish his sentence as he groaned, his head hitting the couch as his hips shook, thrusting against his will as he chased his orgasm. His eyes closed tightly, as if trying to escape the intensity of his orgasm. His cum spoiled his boxers, a wet stain appearing on his pants as he panted. 

        “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Andrew groaned, coming down from his high, his hips letting out a weak thrust up every now and then on reflex. “G-give me a second… then I’ll fuck ya, baby.”

        “Oh?” you grinned, tilting your head to the side. “When did I say I was gonna let you fuck me? I’m still not convinced you’re sorry yet.” You purred, your hips speeding back up to a painful pace.

        “A-aha! Fuck!” Andrew hissed, his eyes shooting open and grabbing your hips to try and stop them. “(Y/N)!” 

        It felt like a spiking pain in his now-empty balls, but it was mixed with the pleasure of his cock being stimulated again, a sensation that made his head spin and mouth drool.

        “Cum again, Andrew. Make me convinced you’re sorry.” You hummed, kissing the pulse on his neck. 

Kinkmas four: Phone masturbation + small dirty talk

        Andrew had been visiting his parents’ house after not seeing them since his early college years. He decided to go alone this year since he was only going to be staying there for a weekend, but it was a weekend too long as you tossed and turned in your shared bed.

        You finally accepted that you couldn’t sleep. With a groan, you reached over and turned on the lamp by your bed, illuminating the room with a soft yellow glow.

        You stared at the ceiling, frustrated before eventually just grabbing your phone, unlocking it and searching through your gallery for a picture of Andrew.

        You had an album dedicated to him. Pictures of just mundane things like grocery shopping, running errands, eating food; you liked seeing how handsome he was just by simply existing. 

        You were head over heels for that man.

        You clicked on a picture you took of him finally getting his hair cut. It was just a slight trim, and right after they left the salon he immediately ran his fingers through his hair and messed up all the stylist’s work at trying to keep it out of his face. 

        You liked the photo because of his sly smile from ruining the look, but also because it was him being comfortable with how he normally looked, just being himself. 

        You thought about all the hugs and kisses you’d demand from Andrew when he finally returns home. Contemplating just how many hours of cuddles he owes you for abandoning you (for 2 days).

        You thought about how many hours he owes you in bed, making it up to you and your pussy.

        Damn it, now you were thinking of something else.

        You groaned, brightening the image despite how it hurt your eyes in the low lighting of the room, wanting to see as much of him as you could. 

        Your hands trailed to your panties, toying with your clit over the thin material before going to your slit. You nudged the cloth away and stuck two fingers into your pussy, not bothering in trying to re-enact Andrew’s cock thrusting into you, simply just trying to get a quick quickie in as you curled your fingers up.

        It didn’t do anything. Your fingers were barely even long enough to graze your G-spot, let alone even fill you up as well as Andrew’s fingers did. 

        You resorted to plan B.

        You reached into the bottom of your nightstand and pulled out a dildo. It was a silicone replica of Andrew’s cock that you and him made together on their three-year anniversary.

        You grabbed some strawberry lube and lathered it on your palm, rubbing it up and down the cold silicone replica. You wished it was Andrew’s cock, longing for the warmth in your palm, the feeling of his pulse throbbing between your fingers as you'd jerk him closer and closer to release, his tip turning a pretty red before shooting white blanks. 

        Once you were satisfied with the lube dripping down the purple silicone, you had the tip play with your hole, imagining it was Andrew rubbing his cock up and down your slit, putting his tip in before chuckling and removing it, leaving you wanting more. 

        Luckily, you could decide your own pace as you inserted the full length into your pussy, shuddering at the cold silicone. It was nowhere near warm as Andrew’s was, but you couldn’t be picky with him gone.

        You closed your eyes, imagining Andrew’s voice ringing through your ears as you moved the dildo in and out, trying to match that same pace Andrew would go.

        Your phone rang, ruining the fantasy as you opened your eyes with a frustrated groan. You looked over at the small device resting on your nightstand, before realizing it was Andrew’s contact.

        You immediately stopped what you were doing, before getting an idea. You answered the phone, moving the dildo slowly in and out of yourself, almost moaning at just the sound of his voice. 

        “Hey, baby.” Andrew hummed, a hint of sleep on his voice as he spoke. “What are you doing still up? You know it’s like midnight where you are right now?”

        “I can’t sleep without you.” You muttered, breathless as you held yourself back from speeding up the dildo’s pace so you wouldn’t get caught.

        “I know… I miss you.” Andrew sighed, his deep raspy voice playing out in your ears.        

        You put the phone on speaker so you could place it down on your pillow, leaning back and closing your eyes as the dildo bottomed out, before your wrist pulled it back only to slowly have it fill you up again.

        “I miss you too…” You whimpered on accident. 

        “You okay?” Andrew questioned—you could practically just see the smile on his face.

        “I just want you to come home soon…” you spoke, your body shivering as you felt a slight pang of guilt for using his voice to get yourself off.

        “Yeah?” he hummed. “I can’t wait to come back home. It’s real boring over here, talking about mundane stuff like ‘how’s work?’ or ‘when are you gonna get married?’” Andrew spoke, chuckling. “But you’d like that? Wouldn’t you?” 

        You quickly nodded, a low giggle escaping your lips as you smiled. “O-of course I’d like that…” you breathed out. “B-been waiting… for that.” You muttered.

        “Yeah? A nice ring for you? I can watch as that ring sparkles while you’re shoving your fingers in your pussy.” 

        You quickly stopped the dildo’s movements, shocked.

        “Or maybe see your hand wrapped around my cock pumping it. But I always do like holding your hands while I fuck you.” Andrew purred.

        You sat up, confused. You looked around the room for a second, wondering if Andrew was here or if you were just hearing things.

        “W-what?” you questioned, your voice a bit unsteady.

        “I could hear your pussy crying for me. Sounds like you’re using that dildo; your fingers are always sloppy and out of rhythm…” Andrew smiled.

        “I-I…” you stammered, your face flush as you were embarrassed from being caught. “I’m sorry.”

        “You can make it up to me by continuing.” Andrew hummed.

        “But—“ 

        “Don’t get shy on me now, baby. It’s not like I can see you.” Andrew chuckled, surely a smug smirk on his face. “C’mon, now. All you gotta do is fuck yourself for me… Surely you can at least do that?”

        It sounded like he was mocking or even possibly degrading you, but knowing he wanted you too—wanted to hear your cries and moans—really made you excited. 

        “Mmm…” you breathed out, re-inserting the dildo back into your hole. “O-okay…”

        “Put her on the phone.” Andrew demanded, her being your pussy.

        You listened, leaning back on your pillow and placing the phone right next to your hip, slowly pushing the dildo in and out.

        “Fuck yourself faster; I wanna hear her.” Andrew spoke. 

        You whined, closing your eyes to focus on his voice, listening to Andrew’s voice.

        There was a spitting sound on the other line, before a plap! sound, a low moan from Andrew. You didn’t even know when Andrew had begun pleasing himself, but all you could hear were the wet squelches of lotion he used as he fucked his own fist to the rhythm of your pussy crying out around the dildo.

        “Doesn’t feel as good as your cock, Andrew…” You whimpered, panting, feeling an orgasm building up the more you were exposed to Andrew’s low moans and deep groans.

        “Oh. I know, baby.” Andrew chuckled, almost cockily as he talked you through it. “Just keep going, baby. You’ll have my cock tomorrow when I come home…” Andrew mumbled, moving his hand up and down his shaft. “Keep fucking yourself for me.”

        You let out a shaky breath, a twitch in your thigh as you bit your lip, desperate to keep quiet so the neighbors couldn’t hear.

        “Let me hear your pretty moans, baby. I need to at least hear you to get off…” Andrew spoke, his voice airy. “I need a part of you to come, baby.” 

        “Andrew…” you whimpered, shivering as you started taking shorter breaths, your chest feeling heavier and heavier.

        “Good girl… Fuck yourself faster for me.” Andrew purred, wanting to give you some positive reinforcement for the noise.

        “Fuck… Andrew. I-I think I’m gonna come…” you panted, your other hand coming to your clit and rubbing quick circles as you sloppily moved the dildo in and out of you.

        “Y-you just do what you need to do to make you come, baby.” Andrew spoke, letting out a breathless sigh, his stutter giving away that he was close too. 

        “I-I'm coming!” you gasped.

        Your thighs twitching as your fingers grew sloppy on your clit. Your pussy clenched around the dildo, weeping as it didn’t have Andrew’s cum to milk.

        Your thighs and back were drenched in sweat, the feeling uncomfortable as you spread your legs, feeling them unstick from the bedsheets. Some strands of hair covered your face—some even in your mouth as you just realized, your slick-covered hand moving the hair away.

        “Andrew…” you whimpered, listening to Andrew’s voice, pressing your ear against the phone just to better hear any little noise he made.

        “F-fuck! Fuck! (Y/N)!” Andrew hissed, his voice sounding muffled on the other line.

        The hem of his shirt was being held in his mouth to silence his moans. He groaned as his cock spurted white globs, dirtying his hand and stomach. 

        You could almost cry at the loss, wishing you were there to lap up his cum with your mouth—even better, if you were there, it would’ve never left your pussy. 

        “Hah… ah…” Andrew panted, catching his breath as he closed his eyes, working his way through the aftershocks of his release.

        Andrew opened his eyes and looked at his hand, letting out a sigh at the mess before getting an idea. 

        “(Y/N), baby. You still with me?” he hummed.

        “Mm… yeah?” You nodded, listening intently to whatever he had to say.

        “Turn on FaceTime for me.”

Kinkmas five: Sex in the Snow

        You didn't know that challenging Andrew to an innocent snowball fight would end up with him balls deep into your pussy outside.

        All you wanted was to go outside and play with your dear boyfriend after seeing on the news it would snow. You even set an alarm to wake up early so all the snow wouldn't melt! You begged and begged your boyfriend to get up out of your shared bed—which was a pretty hefty feat considering he usually woke up at 2 PM.

        All dressed up in your shirt, jacket, and pants (very underdressed for 10 degrees outside, but you knew that), you were able to drag your boyfriend out into the snow. All it took was a few snowballs to the face to wake him up and get him irritated enough to start chasing you with a mega snowball he composed, large enough to be the head of a snowman. 

        You let out a thrilled shriek, running away from him; but you should know by now that you can never outrun your boyfriend, he is bigger and stronger than you after all! 

        He managed to catch up with you, knocking you to the ground by throwing the colossal snowball at your back. Tumbling down in the snow, it cushioned your fall as you laughed.

        "Andrew!" you giggled, your cheeks hurting from the cold air nipping at your exposed skin. "It's cold!"

        Andrew looked down at you with a smile. He crouched down to roll you over on your back, his long legs in between yours. He couldn't help but admire that bright smile on your face, rivaling the early sun reflecting off the snow. Your now messy and wet hair stuck to your face, mini icicles forming on your eyelashes, but you looked nothing short from an ice goddess.

        He couldn't help but pressed his gloved hands onto your cold cheeks, leaning in and kissing your frozen lips with his. 

        Your eyes widened, surprised at the sudden affection, but you were always a sucker for him as you closed your eyes and enjoyed the warmth of his kiss. You enjoyed his warm breath mingling with yours to fight the cold air surrounding you both. You enjoyed his lips pressed against yours in a delightful bliss. You enjoyed his tongue sliding into your mouth with a murmured excuse of "Let me warm ya up."

        His tongue diligently and effortlessly explored your mouth, your face heating up at the close proximity of his as his tongue just went deeper down your throat. You let out a small whine, remembering you were both still in public as you tried to pull away. Your lips only part for a second before Andrew's gloved hand went to the back of your head, his lips reattached to yours, pushing you back in the snow but with Andrew's hand protecting your scalp from the cold. His tongue re-entered your mouth, swirling around your own hot muscle before sucking on it. 

        His mouth parted from yours, kissing down your jaw before going to your exposed neck. He left hot kisses as his hands unzipped your jacket, grabbing the hem of your shirt.

        "Andrew!" you gasped, feeling the cold invade your skin as he lifted the shirt above your stomach. "We're in public!"

        "So? Nobody's around..." he muttered.

        It's not like your boyfriend would ever allow anyone else to sneak a peek at you. Whenever you wore a skirt in public and dropped your lipgloss tube, he always made sure to stand behind you to block any perv from looking up your skirt (and steal the view for himself). Besides, Andrew would go to the point of murder to keep you safe, no doubt about it.

        "You didn't give me my morning quickie today so you could run outside and play. Let me have this." He muttered. 

        He pressed a quick peck to your lips before your shirt went over your chest. In your haste to come outside, you didn't bother wearing a bra, a factor Andrew took to his advantage as his mouth latched onto one of your nipples, sucking on it as if he was expecting milk to dribble out. His hand kneaded and tweaked at your other nipple, feeling it harden due to the harsh winter breeze. 

        Your breath came out in icy smoke as you moaned, squirming underneath your lover as you were pinned to the ground. 

        You figured he wanted to be quick so nobody in the park could walk by and see. As his mouth switched to your other nipple, his free hand that wasn't playing with your nipple was buckling his pants and pulling down his boxers enough to reveal his swollen cock.

        "Fuck, that's cold!" Andrew shivered, a violent spike of ice rushing up his back as he visibly shook.

        You let out a giggle, deciding it would be the perfect opportunity to tease him.

        "The cold won't bother you and little Andy's performance, right?" you smirked, remembering reading online that male genitalia shrunk in the cold. 

        "Little?" Andrew questioned, visibly annoyed at your smartass comment. 

        His hands went to pull down your pants and panties, not bothering to unbutton them as he opted to simply tug them down like an animal in his haste. 

        "I'll show you little..." he muttered, whether to you or himself, you don't know. "I just need to get warmed up is all; and what better way is there other than your warm cunt?" 

        He ripped his glove off his hand with his grabbed some snow and pressed it onto your pussy, causing you to violently squirm under him and yelp.

        "Andrew! What was that for?" you whined as the snow melted into cold water on your throbbing clit. 

        "Positive punishment." Andrew smirked. 

        "Water does not work like lube!" you whimpered, feeling his warm hands rub the cold water up and down your slit. 

        "Cry about it." Andrew shrugged, a smirk on his face as he grabbed a glob of fresh snow, before sticking it and two of his fingers into your pussy.

        Another surprised cry left your lips, squirming at the weird sensation. The feeling of Andrew's warm hands mixed with the snow melting in your hot cunt almost made you cry, giving you a mental whiplash with your thermoreceptor trying to decipher if it was hot or cold... but it felt oddly good as his fingers kept fucking in and out of your pussy quickly.

        He had enough of teasing you, wanting to make this quick as you both were still out in the open. His slick-covered hand went to his cock, giving it a few pumps and shivering at the cold around him, before sticking it into your cunt. 

        "Ohhh..." he let out a relaxed groan, closing his eyes. "Fuck, your pussy feels so warm." 

        You couldn't respond back as he started to thrust in and out of you, already starting at a faster than normal pace. Quick ah, ah, ah's left your lips along with moans as your eyes squirmed shut, your head falling back on the gloved hand Andrew was still using to help protect your scalp from the cold. 

        His balls slapped against your clit, eliciting sharp gasps and whines from you, his dick rubbing your tight inner walls and hitting that sweet spot just right to have you seeing a color whiter than snow. 

        Every now and then, his lips would sloppy kiss yours, before his head retreated into the crook of your neck, his warm breath heating the skin there as your back continuously rubbed against the snow. Your hands wrapped around his shoulders and brought him in close, hugging him to protect you from the cold (and have his cock bury deeper into your wet pussy). 

        You're surprised that there isn't a hole in the snow from how heated he was roughly fucking you into the snow. It felt like utter bliss having his hips thrust into yours as deep as he could go, not being able to separate from you for more than a second as he quickly sought back out for your warmth. 

        Andrew's free hand kissed your clit, his fingers now cold after their prolonged exposure out in the snow as he rubbed quick circles around your clit to make you come. You couldn't help but come quickly after a few more thrusts, feeling Andrew rotating between kissing and groaning into your neck before his hips stuttered, pouring out all of his cum into your warm and awaiting pussy. 

        You both stopped to take some breaths, calming down after your climax. Now that you were done passionately dirtily making love, the freezing cold truly set in.

        "Shit... Let's go inside now." Andrew groaned.

        You had no complaints, not after being fucked so good. Your legs felt too wobbly to try running around in the snow again, so you let him pull out of you, watching his cum fall into the snow and camouflage with it.

        Andrew pulled back up your pants and re-buttoned his. He helped you off the ground and picked you up like the gentleman he is.

        "Hey, look." Andrew spoke. "We made a snow angel." He snickered dirtily, bringing your attention to the holes in the snow your bodies made while Andrew was warming your insides with his cock.

        Maybe not so much of a gentleman...

Kinkmas six: Sex in a fitting room

        Christmas was coming up, and that meant shopping for presents. It’s hard to try and come up with gifts as you get older. 

        Usually you’d buy a nice smelling candle for someone and call it a day, but you’re old enough to where candles don’t work as presents anymore. Your extended family has little ones now, and you can’t trust those kids with not eating cookie scented wax. 

        At least Andrew was there to keep you company, but he wasn’t no better when it came to Christmas presents, usually buying mugs that said things such as “best mom, best dad, best sister, best brother in law,” those cliche 15 buck mugs. 

        You two weren’t really the best shoppers, huh?

        It’s how you found yourself at the mall, trying to find gifts for the kids that were actually worth it. A kid won’t care about a damn mug, and they especially cannot play with fire while trying to light a candle. The best option is clothes; helps with the parents bank account and doesn’t drive them insane with the noise.

        Sure, the kid might not care too much, but they’re three, there’s not too much they like other than cartoons and sweets. 

        “Hm. Andrew, what do you think?” you questioned, holding up a black and red flanneled dress.

        It was pretty cute for the kid. It’s nice colors, soft quality (you made sure, thanks to your sensitive skin and fabric tastes), and it doesn’t have cringy words like "Daddy’s girl" or a weird hole in the back showing the kids skin.

        Seriously, what’s with these stores and their adult choices for kids? Mini bikinis for a three year old? Either the clothing companies are ran by pedophiles or “independent moms who want their kids to express their interests.” They’re three Susan, they’re in their dinosaur phase and will secretly never grow out of it. Get real.

        “Better than what most of these are…” Andrew sighed. “I mean, seriously. I get the stereotype that girls wear pink, but this is too much. It feels like I’m in a Barbie store.” Andrew grimaced. 

        “And now you see why I steal your clothes.” You hummed, ignoring the small (yet playful) glare Andrew sent your way. 

        “I should steal your clothes.” Andrew huffed.

        “You can’t fit in a bra.” You smirked. “But feel free to try the panties.”

        “You’re gross.” Andrew grimaced, annoyed. “Don’t say that when we’re in a kids clothes section shopping for Ashley’s kids…”

        “Good point.” You hummed, realizing how it sounded.

        You grabbed a pair of black leggings and threw it into the small basket you were holding. It’s always good to have a kid wear leggings under their dress, especially because they’re in the phase to pull it up any chance they get (kids just do that cause they’re bored or they’re playing with the fabric). 

        “Alright… we got the clothes.” You spoke. “Should we get a toy too? The clothes can be a gift for the parents, and the toy can be a gift for the kid?”

        You turned to look back at Andrew, but he wasn’t there.

        “Andrew?” you questioned, confused as you looked around.

        Damn it, did you wander too far again? You had a bad habit of getting distracted and wandering away from Andrew. It always makes him worried when he doesn’t know where you are.

        Wait, you’ve still been in the same damn aisle this whole time. Andrew was the one that ran off this time.

        “This is his blood niece, not mine.” You grumbled, annoyed. 

        You walked around the store, before finding Andrew at the woman’s lingerie. 

        If you didn’t know who he was, you’d assume the dude was checking out the girls in the panty photos, but you recognize that dark and moody man as your boyfriend.

        “Did you take me seriously on wearing panties?” you smirked, reuniting with him.

        Andrew sent a quick glare at you, muttering for you to “shut up.” 

        He had some things bunched up in his hands, immediately hiding them behind his back when you tried to peek.

        “Hey…” You frowned, trying to peek behind him. “What’s yours is mine. Let me see!”

        “It’s not mine yet, I haven’t bought it!” Andrew retorted, guarding the fabrics with his life.

        “Show me your fetish!” you spoke stubbornly.

        “I told you I’m not interested in your perverse male crossdressing of me!” Andrew hissed, quickly drawing his boundaries on the matter.

        “I’m gonna marry you one day; let me see your secrets!” you started to whine, your curiosity eating you alive now.

        You’ve never tried lingerie with Andrew before. He’s a simple man with simple pleasures, he doesn’t need lewd clothing to be enticed by you; your Sunday morning clothes are enough to get him going. 

        “Just wait. I could be shopping for your Christmas presents.” Andrew huffed.

        “More like your Christmas presents.” You frowned. 

        “Just c’mere.” Andrew sighed, giving in as he grabbed your hip.

        He guided you to the back where the dressing rooms were, not bothering to wait for an employee to give them a room as he dragged you into a fitting room.

        “Strip.” He spoke.

        “Right now?” you sighed, annoyed.

        “Yes. Let me see how you look in this one.” Andrew pulled one of the pieces of attire from behind his back, revealing a pretty maroon brown shade, a hint of purple in the mix.

        “Okay…” you muttered, hesitantly looking at him before giving into his request and removing your clothes.

        Andrew smirked, sitting down on the fitting room’s bench and enjoying the show of your bare skin, a perverse glint in his eyes as he held no shame in eyeing you up like meat. It would make you feel self-conscious if you weren’t aware of how bad he wanted you (which, judging by the small twitch in his cock, he definitely did). 

        You put on the set of lingerie. It was a teddy bodysuit lingerie, the G-string tight (and let’s be honest, annoying) between your buttocks. You sent a glare to Andrew, pouting.

        “Are you mocking me with this?” you frowned.

        “No, baby.” He chuckled, grabbing your hips and sitting you down onto his thigh. “Just admiring you and your body.” He smirked. 

        He grabbed the small G-string and pulling it, before letting it go and hitting you. You’re lucky it’s satin fabric, otherwise it probably would’ve hurt. 

        At least it’s not lace, that’s really uncomfortable.

        “Eh, it’s okay. But definitely not what I was expecting.” Andrew hummed.

        “Are you saying I look bad in it?” you questioned.

        “I’m saying it looks bad on you. It doesn’t flatter you. A disgrace the designer made.” Andrew spoke, grabbing the small string sleeve on your shoulder and sliding it off. “Now, take it off. I think I have something better for you.” 

        What a smooth talker… blaming the lingerie for making you look bad, not you looking bad in the lingerie. Obviously, he has experience with not accidentally upsetting you with his wrongly phrased words. 

        You allowed him to strip the clothing off you, your buttocks thankful as it didn’t have something wedged between its cheeks—well, until Andrew’s hard on instead took its place, his pants straining against you.

        “I can feel you.” You spoke, looking back at him. 

        “Thanks.” Andrew smiled, proud of his size.

        You rolled your eyes, a poorly hidden smile breaking out on your lips just as he grabbed another piece.

        This one was an emerald green, an obvious comparison to his eyes; predictable and cheesy, he was. 

        The lingerie was another teddy, lace exterior with soft cotton on the inside. It hugged your hips and torso, pushing up your breasts. The sleeves were once again string, but at least it wasn’t giving you a wedgie as it was cheeky panties instead.

        There were garter belts that hugged your thighs tightly, your muffin tops pouring out of the tight fabric like risen dough fresh from the oven.

        Andrew sat you back onto his thigh, your legs straddling his lean yet toned thigh. One of his hands went to your thigh, unapologetically squeezing the soft flesh like a stimming toy, while his other hand came up to your hair.

        “I wish you wore your hair bow today…” he sighed. “It’d match this so well…” he muttered, resting his chin on your shoulder.

        His head dipped down to your neck, pressing soft kisses, before he started to bounce his leg.

        A soft gasp escaped your mouth, zipping your lips as you felt your clit vibrate against his thigh. His foot tapped the ground, your breasts bouncing up and down from the movement as his hands moved to your chest, squeezing what he can hold. His hands kept you from falling off his leg as he started to speed up, small whines and moans pouring out of your lips.

        “A-Andrew, we shouldn’t. I’m dirtying the lingerie…” you whimpered, but you couldn’t help looking down at his leg between your thighs, watching as your clothed crotch rubbed against his grey pants.

        “I like it on you. I’m buying it.” He spoke.

        “How much is it?” you questioned, tilting your head back to look at his eyes.

        “Don’t worry about it.” He hummed, one of his hands moving from your chest to grab your chin, forcing your head to look back at the wall.

        His hand moved from your chin down to your neck, a gentle squeeze that caused a whine to escape your lips. A grin painted its way onto his face as he tightened his grip just enough to make you feel a little lightheaded, his mouth coming down to your collarbone to bite on it. 

        “So pretty…” he muttered, smiling as his canines dug into your soft skin.

        “Ow…” You whimpered, squeezing your eyes closed.

        He combated your pain by bouncing his leg harder, pressed his heel on the ground and rotating his ankle so his whole leg would move in circles, creating circles onto your clit that caused an “Ah!” to leave your lips.

        Your head fell back onto his shoulder, your eyes dizzy as his leg toyed with your little bundle of nerves, your clit throbbing as it wiggled under the friction. You could feel his hips thrusting up, his cock pressing against your ass, low pants tumbling out of his lips as he huffed and puffed against your neck. 

        The hands on your breasts moved to your nipples, gently pinching and squeezing at them, causing you to squeeze and arch your back into his cock, whining at the added stimulation.

        Your moans started to raise in volume, squeezing your eyes shut in preparation as a coil in your stomach was about to snap. 

        Only for Andrew’s hands to go to your hips, lifting you up off him.

        “W-wha? An…Andrew?” you panted, breathing heavily as you turned your head back to him, confused.

        Your nipples felt sore from his teasing and your legs were shaking, your clit throbbing with pain from your denied orgasm. 

        “Well? There’s still one more piece.” Andrew spoke, an airy tone in his voice signaling he was enjoying earlier just as much, having your ass grind down into his dick. “Come on. Try it.”

        He pulled a white lingerie hiding behind him, cheekily smiling as he showed you it.

        It was white babydoll lingerie, lace on the exterior and (once more) cotton on the interior. At least Andrew wanted you comfortable, you noted as you shivered at the feeling of removing the soaked emerald lingerie off you, exposing yourself to the cold.

        The new lingerie had a translucent, babydoll skirt that hung over the cheeky, crotchless panties, leaving your arousal exposed and dripping down your legs as your put it on. It had over-the-shoulder translucent sleeves, and a classic push up bra built in, along with white garter belts to match. 

        It felt like lingerie you would wear on your wedding night, the white symbolizing your purity you were going to get rid of to your husband. 

        “I take it back. You should’ve definitely wore your hair bow with this one.” Andrew smiled, admiring you like you were his newly wedded bride.

        Andrew stood up from the bench, picking it up and moving it to the door, that was he was sitting right in front of the fitting room’s mirror. He grabbed your waist and he guided you to the position he wanted. You were sitting down between his legs, your back pressed against his chest.

        Andrew’s legs wrapped around yours, his ankles holding yours hostage as he spread your legs open and forced them to stay open using his own. One of his hands grabbed your chin again and tilted your head to the side, the other hand moving down to the hole in your lingerie.

        His index finger slid up and down your slit with ease thanks to your arousal lubricating the area. His middle and ring finger nudged at your entrance, before sliding right in.

        A slow moan escaped your lips, before it grew in volume as his fingers wasted no time getting to the good part, curling up to hit that patchy spot in your pussy that made your clit scream.

        His fingers mercilessly abused your G-spot, all while he gently kissed up and down your neck, mumbling praises about “how good you take him” and “how pretty you were trying to keep quiet.”

        His fingers pounded that spot inside you, your head falling back to his chest as your shoulders shook and heaved, taking every ounce of your body to keep quiet, begging that nobody nearby could hear your loud pants or the soft, dirty squelching coming from your pussy as it gripped onto Andrew’s fingers desperately.

        Andrew removed his fingers from your pussy, taking them to his mouth to have a taste. He plopped them onto his tongue, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked on your taste like it was a lollipop.

        “I can never get over how good you taste…” he muttered, popping his fingers out his mouth, licking his lips to savor the taste. “When we get home I want you riding my face.”

        He slapped your thigh, prompting you to jump up from your seat. Andrew stood up with you, the sound of his belt being undone as he took his cock out from his boxers. 

        His hand grabbed yours, eloping behind you and pressing your hand against the wall, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror. It was embarrassing, seeing your messy hair and the hickeys and bite marks Andrew left on your neck and collarbone; but it was arousing seeing Andrew’s eyes focused on yours through the mirror, not bothering to watch as he slid his leaking mushroom tip—purple and drooling with pre-cum—into your prepped pussy.

        A relieved sigh escaped his lips as you groaned at the familiar intrusion, feeling his pelvis meet your skin, bottoming out to his balls inside you. 

        “Focus on your pretty face, baby. I want you to love what I love.” Andrew whispered in your ear, smiling as his head burrowed into the crook of your neck, both of his hands grabbing your hips and forcing them back into his.

        He started at a nice pace, a relaxing rhythm that caused low sighs and hums to escape your mouth, your eyes drooping as your mind descended into pleasurable bliss—that was until his arm wrapped around your abdomen, bending you over as his pace became rougher.

        You had to hold your arms on the walls so you can stabilize yourself from Andrew’s harsh thrusts, loud plap! plap! plap!'s echoing throughout the fitting room.

        It was like he was trying to get caught. Like the idea of someone seeing him balls deep inside you—making your eyes roll back to your skull—turned him on. 

        His cock throbbed as his hips slapped the back of your thighs and ass, leaving mean strawberry marks as his other arm joined his against your abdomen.

        He hunched over more, forcing you to bend and take his weight above you as he used your pussy to pound into as he pleased. The angle of his thrusts like this, and his arms tightly squeezing your abdomen, made you cry out in pleasure, your hands scratching down the walls as you watched you lose yourself in the mirror. 

        Your eyes glazed over as you made eye contact with Andrew—who was still looking at you. His eyes had a dark cloud over them, small huffs and groans tumbling out of his mouth as he viciously thrusted into you like you were being punished. You cried out, wondering what you did that set him off.

        Was this punishment for teasing him earlier?

        There was a loud knock on the dressing room, the person’s words unintelligible. You could practically feel yourself die inside, utterly embarrassed as you forgot you were still in public. 

        “Occupied!” Andrew gruffed, speaking up through the wet slaps of his balls against your pussy. 

        Your knees felt like collapsing, buckling under you as your height dropped. Andrew quickly picked you back up, grabbing the bench from behind and moving it in front of you. He bent you over it, your stomach pressed against the cold wood as his hand found its way to your hair, forcing your head up to look at your reflection as you could only accept watching you come undone around his cock.

        His free hand made home on your clit, circling it mercilessly. Another loud moan tumbling out of your lips, before you whined.        

        “Andrew! Andrew! Andrew! Coming! I’m coming!” 

        Your body shook as your nervous system was overtaken with ecstasy, feeling as Andrew drained his balls into your awaiting pussy that milked him of everything he’s worth.

        “Good girl.” Andrew muttered, panting as he pressed a sloppy kiss to your neck.

Andrew licked his lips, getting down on his knees behind you, preparing for his well-deserved meal before another loud knock echoed.

        “Get out of there!” a female spoke.

        “Oh my god.” Andrew muttered, rolling his eyes, annoyed. “Terrible customer service around here. Who rushes their customers?”

        You felt humiliated as you took off your lingerie and quickly changed into your normal clothes. Andrew unlocked the door, irritated he as held your basket of items.

        “Can we buy these before you kick us out?”

Kinkmas seven: Food Play

You had cookies cooling on the counter, the smell of gingerbread wafting in the air as you pumped the icing for the cookies.

        Andrew sat in a chair, withering and squirming as you had him tied by some Christmas lights, your hands milking his cock over and over again.

        “Ah! Fuck! Ah! Baby, please!” Andrew sobbed, some tears in his eyes as his thighs shook profusely.

        “Still not enough icing…” You muttered, looking at the bowl of icing, it was only about 4 tablespoons, not enough for a whole batch of gingerbread cookies. 

        “Please. I need a break.” Andrew begged.

        Even though he was asking for a break, his hips still bucked up, chasing the pleasure coming from your hands squeezing his cock.

        You sat on the ground in front of him, on your knees are your hands moved up and down his dick quickly, your hands squeezing his shaft.

        “Please. Please.” He pleaded, his head thrown back on the chair, panting as a string of drool dripped down his chin and jaw, landing on his shirt that was raised up to his chest. 

        His abdomen shrunk and expanded, his abs shaking and cramped from how many times they clenched to come. His hands tied behind his back, restrained by Christmas lights that dug into his skin every time he tried to move, no doubt leaving dull bruises for later.

        “Keeping making the icing.” You spoke, unfazed by his begging as one of your fingers played with the slit on his big mushroom tip.

        The head of his cock oozed with pre-cum, practically covering his whole length. His tip was purple, sore and overstimulated, but that didn’t stop you from milking him of all he’s worth, ignoring his begging for a break as you squeezed the head.

        It felt like hell and heaven for Andrew, closing his eyes to focus the sensation even more. The pain of his over-milked cock filled with the thick pleasure in his stomach left his head dizzy and vision spinning, wondering what he did to deserve this treatment and how the hell he can get it again in the future.

        You stood up from the ground, confusing Andrew as he opened his eyes. You pulled down your panties, sitting on Andrew’s lap and grabbing his dick, lining it up to your pussy before sinking down on him.

        “Ah!” Andrew gasped, his voice whiny as his hips unconsciously bucked up to meet your welcoming warmth.

        Andrew would’ve grabbed your hips to stop you if he wasn’t tied up, but he couldn’t, so he was just forced to sit back and let you bounce on his cock.

        “Oh my f-fucking god…” Andrew moaned, his eyes threatening to roll back in his skull. “Y-you’re so fucking perfect. S-so fucking perfect.” 

        His hips desperately thrusted up into you, heavy pants and whiny moans escaping his lips. It was hot seeing a moody, broody man like Andrew reduced to a puddle of mush, his face bright red from his usually pale white, watching your pussy take him in and push him out, only before pulling back in.

        “I-I’m gonna come.” Andrew rasped out, only after a few bounces from you.

        “You’re already gonna come, pretty boy?” you smiled, giggling.

        Usually that nickname would make him annoyed at you, but there was truly no other words to describe him as other than a pretty boy. With his flushed, pale skin. The heavy bags under his eyes paired with the piercing green in his crying eyes. The slimness of his collar bone marked with your bites and lipgloss marks. The red—almost desperate purple—color of his flushed, throbbing cock in your pussy. 

        You continued riding him despite his whiny cries of it being “too much” and how he “can’t come anymore.” 

        His jaw dropped as his thrusting stuttered, a loud cry escaping his mouth as his whole body violently convulsed, his shoulders shivering as his feet repeatedly hit the ground like a rabbit trying to run from the hungry wolf.        

        His cock twitched inside of you as his already-empty balls worked overtime to try and produce more cum for you to take. 

        His glazed-over eyes looked at the ceiling, more tears falling down his face as his body finally stopping jerking, although he still shook. You wiped a bead of sweat off his face, pressing a soft and almost apologetic kiss on his lips, before sitting up off his cock.

        A strained whimper left his lips as your warm heat left him. You looked at the small amount of cum between your legs, letting out a disappointed sigh.

        “Andrew. This isn’t enough for the whole batch.” You frowned.

        “I-I’m —hic— sorry. So fucking s-sorry…” He whimpered, teary eyes desperately trying to open his eyes and keep them on your face. 

        You clicked your tongue, disappointed as you wiped the cum off your pussy and added it to the bowl of cum. You mixed it in with a scoop of icing, watching it all combine. 

        You grabbed a spoon and spread the mixture out on one of the now-cooled cookies, spreading the icing evenly onto the gingerbread. You grabbed the cookie and took a bite, enjoying the salty, sweet, gingery taste of the sweet. 

        “Andrew.” You spoke, holding the cookie up to his shivering lips. “Come on, eat up. You need energy for more. There’s still more cookies to ice…”

Kinkmas eight: Female Overstimulation

        It had been your fault for those cookies, tying him down to that chair and torturing (pleasing) him like that.

        You should’ve known he would’ve sought out vengeance; it wasn’t like Andrew to just let your bratty behavior go unpunished. It was your fault for dropping your guard after a tiring shift, opening your front door only to be dragged to the bedroom by your boyfriend.

        Andrew had your hands bound with a silk ribbon you’ve used in the past for BDSM. Of course he’d tie you up, he couldn’t have your hands trying to fight and push him away when the pleasure became too much. 

        The worst part was it wasn’t even his hands touching you. His hands were too busy playing some YouTube video you couldn’t give a damn to identity as you laid next to him, a vibrator stick to your clit, leaving you defenseless as you sobbed into his chest.

        One hand held his phone while the other gently brushed his fingers through you hair, the affectionate act almost mocking you as he neglected you of his cock.

        Another violent surge of pleasure shot through you, burying your head deeper into his chest as you cried, feeling your poor, used clit throb again. 

        His fingers didn’t stop brushing through your hair, as if reassuring you despite being the one to put yourself in this situation. 

        You sobbed as another wave of pleasurable pain wrecked your clit, the stimulation almost unbearable as you were forced to be overstimulated once more.

        “Please. Sorry. Sorry.” You cried, looking up to meet his eyes, big fat tears in your own as you pleaded at him.

        He ignored you, his hands still in your hair as he continued watching his video. You would assume he’d be immune to your pleads and tired moans if you weren’t aware of his hard cock straining through his jeans. 

        The YouTube video finally ended and Andrew turned off his phone. You looked up at him, hopeful to finally have his cock buried inside you, even if you were sensitive.

        “You ready to behave?” Andrew inquired.

        “Y-yes! I am!” you rasped, your voice sore from crying and moaning.

        “Do you want my cock now?” Andrew questioned, smiling.

        “Please, yes!” you nodded your head, your heart racing as it felt like a dream come true to finally have him inside you again.

        He grinned, a grin too big to let you know he was planning something. He leaned over and opened the nightstand drawer, grabbing a dildo—the replica of Andrew’s dick. 

        Your smile fell, all your hope shattered instantly upon seeing that dildo. 

        “W-what? But y-you said…” Your voice sounded weak, like a child seeing their ice cream fall, the vibrator against your clit already making your voice sound pathetic as it is.

        “Yeah. My cock. My cock replica.” Andrew smiled, a evil smirk on his face. “It’s still my dick, after all. Are you being picky?”

        “W-well, I m-mean—“

        “Do you not want it?” Andrew questioned.

        The threat of losing the closest thing to Andrew’s cock actually terrified you. You quickly shook your head, afraid.

        “N-o! Please, no! I’ll t-take it!” you responded quickly, desperate to not take away what was closes for what you could get.

        You’d just have to suck it up—for now.

        Andrew slapped the dildo against your already abused clit, pulling a whine from you. He rubbed the dildo up and down your entrance, lubing it up with your arousal before he pressed it into your pussy.

        You let out a moan, closing your eyes. The dildo helped settle an ache that burned in your stomach—but it didn’t extinguish that fire in you.

        No matter how many times you came from the vibrator sucking on your clit, or the dildo Andrew manually pounded into your cunt himself, it wasn’t enough to satisfy your need for him.

        You were in no position to beg. Even if you were tired from coming and just wanted to be done with, it was like you couldn’t be satisfied until you at least had Andrew inside of you. 

        It was like you were conditioned to associate Andrew with pleasure and safety, mediocre vibrator and flimsy silicone dildos just didn’t do the trick. It didn’t take care of you and scratch that itch only Andrew could reach. 

        “P-please.” You pleaded, ready to beg and do whatever it takes to have Andrew take care of you himself. “I n-need your cock. Your real, t-throbbing cock attached to you. I need y-you to come inside me.” You begged, your voice dry from all your loud moans earlier.

        Pride, ego, dignity, self-respect be damned; you’d probably go insane within the next ten minutes if you didn’t have Andrew’s cum dripping down your thighs.

        “What a dirty mouth, pretty.” Andrew chuckled, smirking as his hand controlled the dildo going in and out of you. “It’s been awhile now… 40 minutes about…?” he hummed, looking at the clock. “Come one more time and maybe I’ll think about it.”

        A frustrated whine escaped you, before Andrew’s free hand quickly tweaked at your nipple, gently pinching it. 

        “Ah. Watch your attitude. It’s what got you here in the first place.” He scolded.

        You felt like you could cry, fed up and desperate while being full just at the same time. It was a frustrating edge teetering between “too much” and “too little.”

        But Andrew just loved pushing you off that edge.

        The dildo hit your sweet spot with scary accuracy; a spot Andrew had dedicated to memory. He felt like he’d be an incompetent loser if he couldn’t even please his woman—and by damn was Andrew anything other than incompetent. 

        A few more thrusts and you were seeing stars you didn’t want to see. Your pussy gripped tightly on a fake dick you didn’t want instead you. Your clit screamed and throbbed from a vibrator you really wanted off now as it shot painful, overstimulated shockwaves to your little bundle of nerves.

        Andrew turned off the suctioning vibrator, placing it on the nightstand. He pulled out the dildo your pussy unconsciously kept clenching around, lifting it up to your mouth for a taste.

        You knew what would please him, peeking your tongue out just slightly and sucking on the tip of Andrew’s fake cock, tasting the overly sweet arousal of yourself mixed with the dildo’s silicone taste.

        It was always surprising how sweet you tasted, like sugary lemonade on a hot day, ready to quench your thirst and leave your tongue salivating for more and more. 

        Speaking of tongue salivating, Andrew was feeling pretty thirsty himself after seeing you squeeze the life out of the dildo, a loud moan escaping you as you came.

        You could even formulate words, or even try to put up a fight as Andrew removed the dildo, tossing it somewhere on the bed as he grabbed your waist. He laid down on the bed, dragging your hips to his face and forcing you to face the wall.

        His tongue licked a long stripe on your slit, a loud cry escaping you. If you weren’t tied up with ribbon, you would be gripping onto the headboard for dear life—but you weren’t, so you settled for resting your forehead on the cold wall and crying out for your neighbors to hear just on the other side of the wall.

        You couldn’t beg Andrew to stop or keep going, to give you a break so you could regain your composure. You would’ve at least appreciated being gagged so you wouldn’t have an awkward conversation with the neighbors later at the mailbox about your private life (even if it wasn’t really private anymore). 

        Andrew’s tongue couldn’t help but explore your wet warmth, refusing to part as he licked and poked at every ridge, squish, and layer there was. He couldn’t help but flex his jaw and open wider, his hands grabbing onto your thighs tightly and pulling you down into his mouth.

        A loud sob escaped your lips, your head softly hitting the wall. It felt like you were going mad. His tongue was driving you mad. You wanted to squirm and scream but you couldn’t control your vocals, and Andrew’s strong grip onto your thighs refused to even let them flex.

        Curse him and his sleeper build. It wasn’t fair to be tall, broodingly hot, and strong; it might as well be a wet dream for girls like you. 

        Wet indeed, just like how Andrew’s hot muscle ventured your hot cave without any insecurity or concern, unwavering confidence as he explored your ocean like he hasn’t wadded in it before.

        “Fucking hell… such a pretty pussy…” Andrew groaned, his mouth leaving your pussy, one of his hands coming to your clit to rub the swollen nub.

        You let out an unintelligible sob, your hips forcing themselves to rock and chase that pleasure despite knowing it’ll hurt again from the overstimulation—but the promise of your sweet orgasm outweighed that concern as your clit rubbing his fingers.

        “Taste so fucking good. I don’t need anything else in my life…” He groaned, his eyes drooped, dazed as he watched your overflowing arousal from your hands coat his fingers.        

        He slapped your clit, causing a yelp to leave you as he stuck his fingers in his mouth, savoring your taste, before working his lips back onto your lower ones. 

        He stuck his tongue back in your pussy, drool escaping his mouth as he unhinged his jaw to reach as deep as his tongue can go. He was a man with a mission as his hands grabbed your hips and forced you to grind on his face. 

        Your mouth fell open, your eyes practically rolling to your skull as you saw white? Or was it black? Whatever damn color of the rainbow it was, you couldn’t tell. You couldn’t bother to worry about the color when there was a flood of juices escaping your pussy with the force of a tsunami, squirting all over Andrew’s face and dripping down his neck.

        You wanted to apologize, even though you knew it’d be fine with Andrew. You would’ve at least gave a warning if you could speak.

        Andrew didn’t care about the mess, he just cared about cleaning it up at he lapped at your pussy and thighs like a dehydrated man. 

        “Fuck! Yeah! That’s more like it!” Andrew laughed, breathless and a new found rigor as he slapped your clit again, making sure there was no more juices you were trying to hold back from him as he grinned. 

        He sat you right up off his face without any struggle, having you straddle his lap while he untied the ribbon around your arms; a reward for squirting.

        Once he got the ribbon off, he pushed you down on the bed, landing you on your back as he grabbed your legs. His hands wrapped around your thighs, holding them up to his hips since you had no strength to wrap them around his waist. You couldn’t do anything but moan and grip the bedsheets.

        He thrusted his cock into you, causing you to see stars and wonder what you did to reach Heaven’s gates.

        “Such a good girl coming that hard around my tongue. ‘Could feel the circulation practically stop.” Andrew chuckled darkly. “You can give me another one, right? Squirt on my cock, baby.” 

        A loud cry you didn’t know you could even make escaped, your ears ringing as your head rattled with the wet, sticky sounds of plap! plap! plap!'s bouncing around your eardrums. 

        Andrew’s arms wrapped around your knees and raised your legs to your shoulders, folding you into a mating press. 

        You couldn’t even last five minutes, especially not with how Andrew’s fingers started circling your clit, desperate to have you coming on his cock faster.

        Andrew’s cock hit a spot that made you drool, something you shouldn’t even be surprised of by now as your back arched, creating a perfect angle for Andrew to reach said spot easier. 

        “Oh, fuck. Merry Christmas to me…” Andrew groaned, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he bit his bottom lip, holding his composure.         

        Andrew’s rested his sweaty forehead against yours, panting and smiling as you struggled to make eye contact with him without the possibly of your eyes rolling back.

        He kissed you just as you came around his cock, his hot lips and the taste of you and him invading your mouth as he sucked on your tongue for being a good girl and squirting around his cock.

        But even when you reached his orgasm, he hasn’t reached his yet, so he just kept plowing and plowing until he was satisfied with your mess—but that wouldn’t be until awhile…

Bonus! New Years Eve

        “Andrew, where’s your girlfriend?” one of the elder neighbors asked.

        It was New Years Eve. The whole apartment complex decided to get together to celebrate, all partying with chips and hotdogs and some poorly woman’s green bean casserole that was too soggy. 

        But the neighbor was right, you were nowhere to be seen. That is, if they don’t look until the table.

        The table had a red protective cover that reached the floor, absolutely perfect for you to hide under.

        Some would go under the table to eat twelve red grapes, but you had two red balls in your mouth instead to match the red sopping panties you had underneath your skirt. 

        “Bathroom.” Andrew spoke with great haste, his hand on resting on your head as your mouth slid up and down his length.

        A small line of drool escaped his lips, one quickly disguised as he picked up his glass of juice (you insisted it’d be sparkling juice, but he couldn’t give a damn about alcohol while your mouth was insistent on milking his cock for a beverage instead). 

        His fingers were tangled snuggly in your hair, guiding your bobbing head up and down, up and down.

        Sometimes you would lick a teasing circle around his cock’s slit and he’d have to cough so he could explain why his mouth kept suddenly opening and closing.

        The clock was two minutes left, as a countdown on the TV in the living room played right next to the dining room.

        Andrew could feel your hands taking ahold of his cock, taking the bottom of his shaft as your focused your mouth on his red, mushroom tip. 

        He could feel his eyes roll back, a pleased sigh escaping his mouth as he rested his head back on the chair.

        “Are you okay, Andrew? Your face is pretty red.” One of the partygoers commented.

        “H-hot as hell in here with all the food.” Andrew grumbled, a dazed expression on his face as he resisted the urge to moan as you sucked on his tip.

        “You seem out of breath.” Someone commented.

        “Asthma.” Andrew quickly shrugged, his hand in your hair going to the back of your head so he can shove you more down his length, a smirk on his face as he felt you silently gag around his cock before continuing, almost rolling his eyes back as the vibration almost caused him to come.

        There was a minute left on the countdown before the New York ball drop in Times Square would drop, all while you started to lick and kiss his own balls, adoring and worshiping his cock with the same passion a faithful follower would to their god.

        In your eyes, Andrew was your everything. Nothing mattered so long as you had your boyfriend with you, who you hoped would be your husband one day. 

        And Andrew wished that day was sooner, hearing wedding bells already as you fondled and massaged his balls like it was dough. 

        One of your hands went to your red panties, moving aside the cotton so you could rub at your clit the same way Andrew would, quick and teasing all with the accuracy and pressure to get you off quick so you’d be wet enough for him to slide into.

        “Seriously, where is she? She’s gonna be the fireworks?” your elderly neighbor grumbled.

        “Touching up her makeup.” Andrew groaned while you touched up his balls.

        He probably sounded annoyed to his neighbors, but really he was just trying not to come from your mouth around his cock, bobbing your head again.

        All the neighbors gathered around the TV, leaving you and Andrew alone in the dining room. The ball on the TV dropped as everyone cheered, giving him the perfect chance to speak.

        “Good fucking girl. Take it, baby.” Andrew groaned, his eyes rolling back, a smile on his face.

        Your throat swallowed around his cock. Your tongue lapping at his tip. You hummed around his length, enjoying the pleasure of tasting his cock. One of your hands toying with your clit while the other gently squeezed his balls. All of it at once was enough for him to have his hips ramming and stuttering up into your throat, no doubt leaving a bruise in the back of your throat as his cum painted your red walls white.

        You kept sucking his member clean, refusing to stop until you felt him stop throbbing in your mouth. You finally pulled off him, tucking his cock back into his pants and giving him the chance to regain his composure as you got up from out the dining table.

        You sat down onto his lap, giggling as you saw the dazed expression on his face. His eyes were all bright and droopy, a dumb smile on his face as some drool dripped down his chin. 

        You licked up the drool, before reaching his lips and kissing him. Andrew’s hand reached up to hold your cheek, kissing you as he tasted his taste in your mouth.

        “I’ll return the favor later, baby…” he muttered, playfully tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth.

        You smiled, listening to the fireworks go off in the sky above you as your neighbors started filing back into the dining room.

        “Oh. You’re back! You missed the fireworks.” The elder neighbor spoke, but you had your own white fireworks going off in your mouth so you weren't upset. “I thought you were fixing your makeup?”

        Andrew looked at you, not even noticing your red face, your messy hair, your smudged red lipstick and weeping mascara. To him, you always looked beautiful, even with crying makeup.

        “Sorry. I got carried away with kissing.” Andrew shrugged, indifferent as he lied.

        “Happy New Years, hon.” You smiled, pecking Andrew’s cheek.

        “Happy New Years.” Andrew hummed, before whispering into your year for only you to hear. “Hey… You had my dick in your mouth since last year…”

I have some major respect for smut writers. It can be hard trying to find all these different descriptions and poetic words to piece together just plain sex. Hopefully you guys enjoyed my amateurish writing. There will be more smut in the future as I work on my stories!

Happy very late holidays everyone!

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

Inbox is OPEN for questions about the story and new plotlines/ideas, not for requests!

[julysn]

you're such a crazy love, you tear me in two

𝓘ncludes slightly ooc (i forgot everything i knew about the game), no incest, ashley mentioned yet she isn’t there, oral, penetration, risky + quiet sex, usage of y/n, couch sex, ashley is sleeping nearby, he rubs your clit, kind-of dominant?

𝓢ynopsis ⋆ Ashley’s a heavy sleeper. She can sleep through anything. But can she sleep through her beloved brother having sex with his girlfriend? [ao3]

𝓦ord 𝓬ount ⋆ ≈ 1800

𝓢hip ⋆ Andrew Graves x Fem!Reader

𝓝otes ⋆ title from i was made for dancin - leif garrett.

i havent written smut in a while so apologies if this is absolutely horrendous </3 i tried…

going back to my roots! a lot of my followers are here from my tcoaal work so surprise :3 here ya go

“You sure she’ll stay asleep?” You asked tentatively, one finger lazily swirling around the slight bulge in Andrew’s jeans as you sat beside him on the couch, the thought of Ashley catching the both of you in the act as arousing as ever. It wasn't that he wanted her to join or anything, no, never, but doing something as intimate as this in such a risky situation caused blood to rush down to his groin.

You glanced over at the closed bedroom, the sound of her soft snores audible through the wooden door as Andrew let out a husky chuckle, voice as husky as ever, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “She won’t. You’ll be quiet, right?”

“... Right.” You reassured him, slipping off the couch and positioning yourself in between his spread legs. You kneeled before him, head tilted upwards just to make eye contact, head tilted upwards to watch the satisfaction grow in his eyes.

You nervously unzipped his pants, hands gently tugging them down to his knees. His oh-so-piercing gaze continued to follow your movements at all times, causing you yourself to get weak in your own knees as his boxers were finally pulled down.

Andrew’s cock stood tall and erect, hard as a brick as the moonlight shining through the blinds helped illuminate the veins that graced his shaft. His member looked as irresistible as ever, tip glistening with precum.

Your fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, beginning to stroke him up and down as he threw his head back in ecstasy and pressed his hand to his mouth to stifle any moans that your ministrations would cause. You watched almost teasingly as the look in his eyes shifted to pure pleasure and pure pleasure alone.

You cocked your head to the side, pressing teasing kisses to his tip, watching as pre-cum dribbled out and down, acting as a natural lubricant as it began to stain itself onto your fingers.

“Fuck-!” Andrew gasped out, panting as pearls of sweat began to bead together on his hairline and forehead. He watched, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as you tormented him with your painfully slow movements. He wanted, no, he needed to see his dick in your mouth.

“Goddammit, just, let me-” He completely caught you off guard as he suddenly placed a hand in your hair, fingers wrapping around the strands and gripping it gently as he pulled your face closer to his cock. You gasp, your soft lips parted, the perfect distance for him to slide it in..

So you nodded.

Slowly, yet not as slow as you had stroked him just seconds before, he slid his member into your mouth, watching as you took it all in, watching as your lips wrapped around his shaft, watching as you stared up at him with a sultry gaze, seeking approval.

"Good, baby.” The pet name slips from his lips like butter, his smooth voice sending shivers down your spine. He shifts a little, making himself even more comfortable on the couch, shooting a glance at the closed door that separated the two of you from Ashley. God knows what would happen if she figured out what was happening, hell, she'd freak out if she even saw the two of you cuddling earlier.

You begin to bop your head back and forth, a speed slow yet quick enough to continue his arousal, using your tongue to mark him with your saliva, using your tongue to lead him to his climax, being the steps he needed to reach the peak of satisfaction. Your hand comes up to gently massage his thigh, your tender touch a huge contrast from the pleasure you were currently giving him. 

Andrew's head reels back against the soft cushion of the couch, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as he shakily presses the palm of his hand to his mouth. His soft, deep groans muffled against his skin, his free hand finding its way into your hair and gently gripping its silky strands, nothing but lechery in his eyes.

“I'm getting close..”

His warning only serves as motivation, giving you the encouragement that you honestly didn't need to continue with your ministrations. His hand tugs away at your hair, pulling you back and forth, cold hands helping you in your act of indecency. 

Your tongue laps up each and every inch of his penis, the flavor of him becoming engraved into your mind. You can feel him begin to tense up, doing his best to muffle his groans, that task becoming exponentially harder with each and every second that passed.

“Fuck! Y/N, I'm gonna-”

Before Andrew can even finish his sentence, his warmth fills your mouth, pumps of semen flowing down your throat as you eagerly swallow every drop. Your eyes flutter shut as you bask in the glory of being able to bring him to his climax, pulling off of his cock with a soft pop.

He's still as erect as ever, his shaft standing tall and mighty against his pale waist. His hands let go of your head, grabbing ahold of your hips and tugging your panties down to the floor. Your clit glistened under the moonlight, and even in the dim lighting, you were still as gorgeous as could be. 

With one look, you share a mutual understanding, no words needed to convey the desire that the both of you felt in that very moment. You climb onto the couch and slide onto his lap, sitting gracefully as his cock pressed up against your skin.

Andrew leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips, tilting his head to the side to let his tongue enter your mouth. You moan, eyes fluttering shut as your lips part to allow his invasion. You feel him exploring, trying to feel and memorize every crevice within, the two of you battling in a war for dominance and control.

One hand slides away from your waist and onto your clit, fingers rubbing against the wetness that began to pool down there. You quiver, shaking a little, head falling back as the sensation becomes so otherworldly, so good, so good you couldn't put it into words.

You pull back from the kiss and bury your head into his shoulder to muffle your gasps and moans, your eyes squeezed shut as he rubs his fingers against you.

"Close, baby?” He asks, voice husky and tone full of sensuality. His voice is so quiet, so very quiet, so quiet you almost couldn't catch his words.

"S-so close..” You mumble, desperate to muffle your moans, afraid Ashley would wake up from her slumber and go batshit crazy on the two of you. You become so desperate, so, so desperate that your teeth sink into the fabric of his shirt while you begin to press into him. 

Just as you were crawling closer to the edge of heaven, just as you almost hiked up to the peak of your climax, just as you were about to reach your orgasm, he pulls his fingers back, effectively edging you as he brings them up to his lips. You sit back up and watch as he sucks your wetness off of his fingers, disappointment evident in your expression.

Andrew notices your face and laughs, placing his hands on your waist and guiding you onto his cock, a soft moan escaping his lips as he feels you wrapped around him. He begins to help you move back and forth, your hips rocking back and forth and making him hit all of the best spots.

Pleasure courses through your veins, the only thing you can truly feel in times like this, the comfortablilty of his lap and his tender touches only serving to make you feel even better.

You gasp and throw your hand over your mouth, palm concealing your moans of pleasure as his hands guided your movements to be faster, quickler, stronger, better.

Andrew's filling you to the brim, slowly beginning to thrust upward to match your movement, sliding in and out, in and out, in and out again. His movements are precise, not too fast to hurt yet not too slow to annoy you, focused completely on leading the two of you to orgasm.

He begins to lean in, his movements slow and precise, almost as if he was tormenting you,, teasing you with a possible kiss.

You impatiently smash your lips against his, tilting your head to give him better access to your mouth, your tongue swirling around and finally exploring the crevices within.

He pants, pleasure pumping throughout his veins, ecstasy asserting dominance over all of his other emotions, his hips bucking into yours fiercely. Beads of sweat jewel on his forehead, dripping down his skin. He slides in and out with increasing speed, the edge of heaven just over the horizon. 

Andrew plunges deeper and deeper into you with every thrust, his fingers digging into your skin. You break away from the messy kiss and bury your face back into his shoulder, arms wrapping around him to keep yourself stable. One wrong sound, one wrong move, one accidental moan and Ashley was sure to find you. You couldn't let that happen.

He's tensing up, his back beginning to arch, the task of being quiet almost impossible. He was so close to climax, so close to finally releasing.

"God.. Y/N, I'm about to…” He gets interrupted yet again, his orgasm cutting his sentence off as he lets himself go, biting his lip and tossing his head back in pure ecstasy. His cum shoots inside of you, a few weak thrusts pushing it deeper in. After a few seconds, you pull yourself off of his lap and lay down on the couch, too exhausted to put your panties back on, his voice snapping you out of your haze. "Did you.. did you cum?"

You're embarrassed to admit this, but you do so anyway. It was good to be honest with your boyfriend. “No.."

Though exhausted, he leans over and presses a kiss to your neck as you laid on the couch, his cold hand sliding down your waist, fingers beginning to rub against your clit once more.

You whimper and throw your hand over your mouth again. His fingers slid in-between your folds, using his cum dripping out of you as a lubricant, his pace extremely fast. You cum within seconds, eyes shut as you let out an almost embarrassing high-pitched moan into the palm of your hands.

The two of you sit there, basking in the silence of the moment, letting the sex replay in your head. You and Andrew hadn't had sex in a while, especially since Ashley had begin to crack down on your presence, so this was nice.

Then, a door creaks, footsteps slowly approaching.

Fuck.

[plutoleah]

Masterlist

Started: 6/5/24

Last updated: 10/15/24

Total works: 9

MHA

Keigo Takami: Loving you is Complicated,

Kaminari Denki: Day 1 Kinkober

Shinsou: Nothing yet.

Assassination Classroom

Nagisa Shiota: Nothing yet.

Karma Akabane: Nothing yet.

Dangarompa

Nagito Komaeda: Day 3 Kinktober.

Kokichi Ouma: Nothing yet.

Kazuichi Soda: Nothing yet.

Fuyuhiko: Nothing yet.

Genshin Impact

Venti: Nothing yet.

Cyno: Nothing yet.

Scaramouche: Nothing yet.

Xiao: Nothing yet.

Freminet: Nothing yet.

Itto: Nothing yet.

Thoma: Nothing yet.

Ga' Ming: Nothing yet.

Lyney: Nothing yet.

Neuvillete: Nothing yet.

Zhongli: Nothing yet.

Dottore: Nothing yet.

Tartaglia: Nothing yet.

The Disastrous Life of Saiki K

Saiki Kusuo: Nothing yet.

Kaido Shun: Nothing yet.

Obey Me

Mammon: Nothing yet.

Leviathan: Nothing yet.

Simeon: Nothing yet.

Satan: Nothing yet.

Komi Can't Communicate

Komi Shousuke: Nothing yet.

Haikyu

Kenma Kozume: Nothing yet.

Oikawa Tooru: Nothing yet.

Nishinoya: Nothing yet.

Kuroo: Nothing yet.

TCOAAL

Andrew Graves: Rockstar Revelation Chapter 1, Rockstar Revelation Chapter 2, Rockstar Revelation Chapter 3

JJK

Gojo: Twisted Devotion, Day 2 Kinktober

Itadori: Nothing yet.

Megumi: Nothing yet.

Nanami: Nothing yet.

Choso: Nothing yet.

Toji: Just in the heat of the moment

Geto: Day 2 Kinktober

HSR

Blade: Nothing yet.

BSD

Chuuya: Nothing yet.

Kinktober '24

[coff-in]

Hii it's Lacey, or as you know me ⭐ anon.

Since its still lovely pride month and I am craving some Andrew and Ashley, I'd like a Ashley and (Sex maniac) Andrew x Demon Female Reader. (Bonus points if she's a succubus)

Like Reader hates everyone except her wife and husband Ashley and Andrew, like she won't put up with anyone's bullshit but Ashley's and Andrew. How I'd describe her personality, is Aubrey and Sunny from Omori, just she speaks more. (LAST TIME I CHECKED YOU KNOW ABOUT OMORI, CORRECT ME IF I AM WRONG)

Also since most of things Andrew and Ashley do that aren't federal crimes and having hardcore incest sex is for shock value. Like Ashley would randomly bite Reader, just because she can. (I am noticing a pattern with my requests because they are either being fucked till you can't think of it's fluff but either Andrew or Ashley bite.)

How they met was because Ashley decided with the left over blood of their parents, WHY NOT SUMMON ANOTHER DEMON WHAT CAN POSSIBLY GO WRONG? And so they did, now they are stuck with a hot yet bitchy demon girl that could possibly kill them at any given moment, but the deadliness of Reader just makes her all the more hot.

Poor Andrew. That's all I have to say for him.

-⭐ anon

notes from coff-in: i love non-humans... love love love interspecies romance <3 it's so cool... also trying to squeeze this one out for pride month!

[fem] reader-insert, succubus reader, NSFW, incest

succubus [reader] was really hostile when she was first summoned. she was enjoying her time lazing about in the demon realm, even if it was a little boring, so being summoned to the demon realm by a tar soul was very inconvenient. however, the moment her presence entered the room, the fucking OVERWHELMING FEELING of sexual tension from andrew immediately caught her tension. now THIS was something worth her attention!

we haven't seem specialized demons in tcoaal but most things i've read of succubuses/incubuses is that they feed off of the lust of humans. mix that with RELUCTANT SEX MANIAC ANDREW GRAVES WITH THE UNCOMFORTABLY, UNREASONABLY BIG AND NEEDY ENDOWMENTS??? u get some funny things happening

ashley loves her demon wife who doesn't care of anyone else but her and her brother. she can drag them along to do any silly thing she wants to do without much resistance (not true, if it endangers them then there will be resistance from [reader] and andrew). that's not to mention the sex... it gets freaky crazy

ashley can't last as long as andrew or [reader] (and [reader] just barely feeds on andrew's lust quick enough to have seconds and third rounds with him) the sheets are sticky and torn, andrew uses everyone as a chew toy, and ashley is lavished between them since she likes the attention and they know that. there's a gone wild audio on reddit about tcoaal with andrew and a succubus listener and i think sex would go pretty much like that. god the cock worship, the brat taming, the tail pulling and ass slapping... the darkest depths of degenerate depravity the demon realm can offer!

andrew is... going through it. he relief [reader] gives his is immeasurable, like, omg. he's glad that ashley and [reader] get along, since she sort of dictates who they can and can't interact with in their relationship. in fact, having [reader] around has brought a sense of security for andrew and ashley since even though she's great at oral, she's also good at killing their enemies :) deadly and dangerous, nothing hotter than that <3 <3

she's pretty quiet when she's not moaning their names like a bitch in heat in bed, but they don't mind it too much. once she got used to her place in their lives, she started teasing them on their journey of living their lives post satanic cannibalism. the wedding proposal was unexpected

i do not know who proposed first, maybe you do, but the wedding was beautiful! andrew and ashley do not have many friends (they only really need themselves and reader <3) so the guest list was empty... maybe besides the entity that has helped them. the venue was beautiful, thanks to [reader] working her demon powers, and ashley's great artistic eye! it was truly a sight to behold! ah... what a wonderful union under unholy matrimony... <3 <3 <3

----

coff-in

[mihii-i]

disgustingly beautiful.

Pairings: ashley graves x fem!reader

CW: nsfw, female reader, tcoaal (yes this is a warning), slightly toxic, mention of grinding lol, wlw, ashley being herself smh, horror themes, mentions of the dark themes in the game except incest, like cannibalism and demon worship, andrew still exists here ok but he's not important, goes similar to the original storyline in start of ep. 2 but obviously different, I made her actually accurate unlike those male reader fics so no she doesn't smell like strawberries and roses she lowk crusty like shes supposed to be in the game, INCEST FANS DNI AND GO SEEK PROFESSIONAL HELP, not proofread.

A/N: this is a repost. Considering the controversy of this fic when I last posted. And if anyone wants to cry about this be my guest. This was tagged appropriately, and the fic has no correlation to your braindead argument of this game containing incest so therefore it MUST be shit. So please if you find it so hard to interact with other content or actually EDUCATE YOURSELF ON THIS GAME like a sensitive bitchbaby then simply leave. I’m so sick of people making such disgusting accusations lightly because of a game they know nothing about. Saying “you probably touch your siblings!!” Isn’t funny or cool, and isn’t justified because of a fucking game. You’re a sick individual if you think it’s okay to leave threats or accuse people of this. Thank you for reading this, ily all, and have a good day <3 🕯️

"Ashley, cut that out."

Your face scrunched up in irritation as her slender fingers repeatedly toyed with each little feature along your face, defined by the darkened undertones of exhaustion played onto your expression. Pursing your lips, you exerted more weight onto the blade of your shoulder, squeezing your eyes shut once more in surprise as you felt Ashley's relentless pokes along your skin again in a perservered attempt to bother you.

It was quite complicated, to be honest. Every action performed by her was tainted with unspeakable malice and cruelty, disregarding the lives of others around her as the words she spat out were nothing short of being downright venomous. Despite her flaws overtaking any minute amount of a redeeming quality within her, you couldn't help but find yourself entranced by Ashley. Even with a tar soul so far gone and corrupted, so much so that demons themselves acknowledge her vile nature in your shattered eyes, she was disgustingly beautiful.

At first, trying to get on her good side was nothing short of a fucking nightmare. Your attempted gestures of affection, and even countless tries to establish merely a distant friendship with her was always met with an aggressive or degrading remark slapped right in your face. The times when you'd even brush a hand along her shoulder, her hand would swiftly plant itself atop yours, letting out an attention drawing scream claiming that she "knew what you were doing."

Finally being able to befriend Ashley had mentally exhausted you to an inconceivable limit after countless tries, only to be met with strings of toxic behavior and insults upon getting close to her. Initially, the constant berating only led you to believe that your efforts to pursue this insane woman were futile, that you had wasted your time on someone who clearly would've preferred if you jumped into a burning pit and kept away from her.

That's what you thought until you learned about why exactly she is the way she is. Despite being associated with such an awful person, you couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for Ashley upon figuring out her closed off nature, how she only had her brother, how everyone who became friends with her purely disregarded her for Andrew in the long run. Especially other women whom she couldn't bring herself to trust, her heart feeling the need to cut out everyone else to remain the sole person that stuck by her brother's side in a twisted sense of codependency.

Yet when you approached her in a way to remedy those plaguing issues of hers, assuring her of the fact that you only intended to stick by her side, that her brother was of no importance to you, you were met with a strangely sweet variant of this cruel person. She'd adhere to you like a magnet ever since that, clinging onto you wherever you went and snapping aggressively at anyone who posed a threat to your relationship according to her. At times Ashley would nuzzle into you like a puppy, while other times she'd slap your arm and spit in your drink as some crazy prank. However, the most unexpected thing to come out of your relationship ended up being her trust placed so deeply within you that she proudly declared you as her girlfriend—even brushing off her brother at times to be with you.

Your hand curled into a fist around her pointer finger which was prodding at your face, her usual cheeky expression plastered onto her face as you practically forced her to stop."I said cut it out." your tone wasn't harsh, which was quick for her to pick up on. Ashley simply raised her eyebrows, knowing full well that even if she continued her relentless assault and teasing, you still didn't have the heart to be mad at her.

She shuffled closer to you in response, causing you to slowly lower your hand clamped around her finger as she smiled.

"C'mon. I was just having fun...besides you know that I can't help myself. I'm stressed out (Name), lemme fidget around a little!" That devilish grin of hers always found a way to drive you insane, warm breath fanning against your cheek as your heart beat faster with ever word escaping past her pretty lips.

You grumbled, rolling your eyes at her antics while instinctively placing a hand along the fabric covering her elbow.

"If you're gonna get that close to open your mouth make sure you use some mouthwash...! don't want to know how chewed up people smell."

"But why not? Doesn't the only girl I love also love every flaw about me? Don't you beautiful?"

"Ashley, you're such a pain in the ass.."

"..in what way?"

Your back and forth banter made an exasperated sigh push past your throat, unable to suppress the slight grin twitching at the corners of your lips at your playful argument.

"Fuck you.." you muttered out, face reddened from her previous remark. "Mm. Love you too, (Name)."

Rolling over onto your back, you blankly gazed up at the tattered ceiling, grime and scratched off paint decorating the wall of the shitty motel Andrew had rented for the three of you in with what little—near nonexistent, money he could scrape together. Your eyes flickered to Ashley's hand as she had also rolled onto her back, a small trinket sliding out of her grip as she lay flat and sprawled out on the mattress. Curious, you squinted at it, recognizing the talisman which the demon had supposedly granted to her in exchange for a soul recharge.

You nudged her shoulder gently, noticing her pinkish irises roll across her eyes to glance over at you. "Any luck with it?" You inquired, only leading her to shake her head in response as she closed her hand in a fist around the talisman, causing it disappear in the palm of her hand. "Stupid demon guy won't even come to me in my dreams to recharge the damn trinket." She replied, heaving out a defeated sigh as her eyelids dropped down to close. The enclosed room's air only made the situation more frustrating, with the foul scent of the room giving off a strong odor in which it was hard to breathe.

To be fair, the conditions here were far better than the awful apartment you were quarantined in. Atleast you weren't being left to starve and die as prime time for organ harvesting here.

You blinked, feeling Ashley nuzzle shoulder to shoulder with you as she shoved the trinket back into the pocket of her shorts, rough movement causing a sting as her proximity against you hit your thigh pretty hard in the process..

Her head found itself buried into the crook of your neck, hands tightened around the fabric of your shirt neckline as she breathed out, voice growing soft and somewhat hopeless."What am I even gonna do now?" She murmured quietly, a hint of vulnerability creeping into her tone as the rusty bed only creaked below you at the faintest movements. You craned your neck over to rest your chin atop her head, nose burying into her unkempt, yet oddly soft hair.

"I dunno. But atleast we have each other, right Leyley?"

You could only smile at the little nod you felt against your neck, her grip around you tightening as she spoke up once more, a bit more hostile like usual. "It better be that way. I'll cut your throat and blow your brains out if you even think about leaving me." She hissed under her breath, hunching her shoulder to gesture to the gun situated atop the run down wood of the bedside table. Ashley lifted her head up, eyes transfixed onto yours deeply, occasionally stuttering over across your lips.

Quickly taking notice of her interest, you decide to flash her a cocky smile, raising an eyebrow with each slam of air from outside brushing through into the room. "Ley. All you gotta do for a kiss is just ask." You mused confidently, taking pride in the way her breath hitched as Ashley's head was clouded with a whirlwind of different thoughts and emotions. On one hand, she obviously wanted to focus on the talisman, and the peculiarity of the demon's absence. On the other, she just wanted you. Badly.

And within moments, you felt her lips drag along yours in one harsh motion, slamming against yours as the occasional chapped ridges scraped along your skin like a stone. But you didn't care. You couldn't care any less as long as it was Ashley's body so deliciously pressed against yours chest to chest. The way her hand grazed along the fabric of your breast allowed you to sink into the sense of your bodies molding together in complacency with your feelings. How you allowed this absolute psycho to claw at your body without regard for what she did as long as you could feel her against you.

A quiet moan left the two of you almost simultaneously as your lips interlocked with each other, tongue brushing along the ridges in temperance. You could only furrow your brows as every crevice tucked in your head grew hazy from Ashley's weight shoved against yours, mind only being clouded with her, and her only.

Unable to help the whines clawing up your throat upon feeling her clothed cunt brush along yours, you simply take up the decision to throw every ounce of dignity you have out the window at this moment and allow yourself to grind shamelessly against her, with Ashley doing the exact same. It wasn't long before the enclosure only harbored the wanton moans and pants, sinful noises echoing in your ears as they rang repeatedly, drilled into your brain.

—

Chest heaving, you couldn't help the strained breath of relief that left you at Ashley's curled up form beside you. Although you both were still fully clothed, each article of clothing had been roughed up quite a bit and pushed up or down midway, exposing a mild sliver of skin. Ashley chuckled, basking in the fleeting warmth fostered between you two as she snuggled closer affectionately, silently pleading you to stay beside her.

To which you couldn't deny such a request form your dear psycho girlfriend.

As if in the epitome of perfect timing, you heard the creak of the motel door as it cracked open, revealing Andrew's unamused expression as his expression dropped. Ashley only smirked at him, wrapping her arms around you tighter as a flaunting gesture of affection. He only rolled his eyes st the sight of his sister snuggled up to you, to which you let out a nervous laugh.

"Seriously? I leave for a bit and this is what happens?"

"Cry about it, Andy."

A/N: so instead of my original a/n, I’m gonna lash out at these pussies who claim that I’m “defending incest” when I try to explain this game to them, because apparently we can’t read now and neglect school!!

Has nobody taken an English class??? Have you not analyzed things enough to realize that not everything is surface level?? Seriously. “Get a job!!” Oh yeah you have fun with your $2 a month job at a burger joint while failing class and claiming school is a scam, but don’t take it out on people who want a higher education and maybe a job that’s not coming home to a damn 1x1 box as a home. And don’t even get me STARTED on the shower accusations…like, yes I just stepped out of the shower thank you while you sit here typing hate and spending your WHOLE DAY typing hate with those grubby little Cheeto fingers and a bottle of Mountain Dew at your side. Also lemme add that the overweight jokes are even funnier considering that I’m underweight so I just laugh at those.

“Mad?” Yes I am!!! I know I shouldn’t be venting here but it’s a reupload of my most controversial fic and I feel like I can do whatever. I’m just honestly sick of the sibling accusations in particular because they’re just gross. Yes, I have a younger brother and no, I’m not a fucking weirdo because I play this game!! No I’m not diddling my siblings like you weirdos claim (and probably are projecting with) I’m making this little dipshit noodles while he watches despicable me for the 700th damn time so stop with these absolutely DISGUSTING AND VILE accusations and get a life seriously. If you really are as “employed and cool” as you claim the best thing you can do is ignore something than send hate.

Again, sorry for this. It’s just TikTok comments have taken one of the worst tolls on my mental health and I find hate extremely annoying because people get upset at anything and piss their pants..but I appreciate all of you, truly. Thank you.

[stellar-constellations]

Heart on the Market (ONGOING SERIES) Chapter 2

        

WARNING: This series will include; NSFW, dead dove, reader is a serial killer, black market possible inaccurate historical slang and fashion, gore, alcohol, toxic relationships that should NOT be replicated in real life, murder, yanderes, cursing, implications of misandry (male misogyny), perversive thoughts, nonconsensual drugging, gaslighting, possibly more to add.

Inaccurate canon-timeline and setting (Ashley doesn't exist). Modern AU.

Incest is not Wincest.

Andrew Graves x Old school! Serial killer! Fem! Reader

Wordcount: 6,600+ words

Chapters: Chapter 1, current chapter, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5 (in the works)

You grabbed rags from your closet and wet them, using soap and water as you scrubbed the apartment’s carpeted floors stained with blood.

        You occasionally kept an eye on Andrew’s apartment door, finding that he hasn’t stepped out of his apartment yet.

        He must’ve decided on not working tonight. You thought. 

        Good. It’ll make it easier to supervise him. He won’t blabber to an unsuspecting customer or call the police on the gas station’s phone and have a SWAT team break into your home.

        You couldn’t kill Andrew. The Manson Murderer has never directly targeted someone, so a murder inside of a random apartment complex would be extremely suspicious considering all of the murders were unsuspecting night folk outside.

        Having a crime scene inside of your home would be too suspicious, and it would prevent you from sneaking back into the apartments at 3 AM if there’s police stationed outside. If the murders noticeably decrease, the police will know that they’re hot on the murderer’s trail inside of the apartment complex, putting you at serious risk.

        So your best chance was seduction, but even you're not sure how long you can keep that up. It was absolutely nauseating kissing a guy you've barely known. Revolting having to shove your tongue down his throat knowing you're not his wife or even courting him. 

        You shivered and shook your head, getting goosebumps just as the thought of premarital intimacy, focusing your attention to dumping the rag in your bucket of water, wringing it out and scrubbing more of the blood off the carpet.

        Of course the bag rips… You thought, groaning. This new age cutting corners in production to save a few bucks.        

        You got up from the floor, looking at your handiwork. 

        It’s not the worst, but it’ll save you for now. Besides, it’s not like you’ll just have some random dude with a UV light wandering the halls spraying luminal on the ground to cause a chemiluminescence reaction once it detects hemoglobin found in a person’s DNA… Yeah, that would never happen. 

        Even still, hydrogen peroxide wouldn’t work on the carpet; not only would it stain the carpet and cause suspicion, but it’s really not guaranteed to 100% remove the DNA, only damage it a little. It’s not like that matters anyways, crime scene investigators don’t need blood to understand where exactly a crime scene happened or how it played out; it’s just a piece of evidence after all.

        Besides, with this new technology they’re developing, they’ll eventually be able to detect old DNA particles using eDNA machines that will extract the DNA from the air itself. Pretty spooky to know how far technology will come.

        Damn scientists and their new machines… You grimaced, annoyed as you walked back into your apartment with your bucket.

        But for now, that technology doesn’t exist, and your apartment has no cameras, so you'll simply just keep on killing. 

        You entered your apartment and rummaged through your bathroom cabinets, finding old containers of floss you got from the dentist. You stole the floss from the containers, tying them together to make a large string and grabbed a bell from your arts and crafts box inside your room. 

        You tied the bell on one end of the floss string, adding multiple knots to make sure it was secured, then walked out of your apartment, tying the other end of the floss string onto Andrew’s door knob. You walked back into your room and closed the door, placing the bell onto the floor. 

        If Andrew opens his door, the bell will move with the door and ring, signaling to you Andrew has left his apartment. That way, he can’t escape. 

        So far, you’ll just have to trust he hasn’t called the police. 

        You walked into your kitchen, grabbing ingredients out of your fridge. 

        It’ll be a quick meal, you don't want to leave Andrew alone for too long. You have plans after all.

        You grabbed butter and chicken breasts from your fridge. You placed the butter in a large saucepan and heated it, cutting up the chicken breasts into bite-sized pieces with a knife and cutting board. You cooked the chicken in the butter, adding a generous helping of Cajun seasoning.

        You grabbed a pot and filled it with water, adding a tablespoon of salt and letting it boil, before dumping some Alfredo noodles into the boiling water.

        You put the cooked chicken on a plate and set it to the side, grabbing heavy cream and an aged Parmesan from your fridge. You poured the bottle of heavy cream into the saucepan to start cooking, then you grated the cheese. You threw the cheese into the sauce a handful at time, waiting for it to melt before doing another handful.

        Once the sauce was ready, you placed the chicken back into the pan, adding a bit more Cajun seasoning. You grabbed the cooked noodles and strained them, adding them into the sauce. You grabbed two bowls and scooped some of the Chicken Alfredo into the bowls, and finished it with grated Parmesan on both.

        You grabbed a fork and put it on the right side of the bowl. Then you grabbed Rohypnol (a tasteless, odorless sleeping drug commonly used for date-rapes) from your medicine cabinet, grabbing a plastic bag and chopping it up into fine powder. 

        You grabbed a handful and dashed it on the bowl without a fork, letting the medicine blend in as cheese, then washed your hands good to get rid of any residue. You grabbed a fork and placed it on the left side of the bowl, grabbing your bowl in your right hand, and Andrew’s drugged bowl in your left hand.

        You carefully opened your front door, closing it behind you. You set the bowls down on the ground for a moment, grabbing a bobby pin from your hair.

        Your father taught you how to open just about any lock using a bobby pin, so you're rather good with it. It’s a nice skill to have to keep the family tradition alive. 

        You peeked into the room carefully, seeing all the lights were out, although there was a dim white light illuminating the living room.

        Silly boy. He thought he could turn off the lights and act like he wasn’t home! You smiled, stifling a giggle.

        You crept into the apartment and closed the door behind you, locking it.

        Not even a bullock on his door, or even a sliding lock at that. Shows how much he cares about security… You thought, mentally rolling your eyes as you placed the bowls of food on the nearby counter.

        The only useful technology that exists, and he doesn't even use it!

        You walked into the living room, appearing behind him and reaching for the lamp on his side table, flicking it on.

        “Ah!” Andrew yelped, startled.

        He whirled his head around to look at you, his eyes widened as he gulped, caught in the act. 

        There was a computer on his living room table, open with an article of the Manson Murderer. There was a notepad next to him, black ink messily scribbled writing notes to try and string the Manson Murderer to you. 

        Is he leaving notes for when he’s dead?

        “Oh! Now, now!” You smiled, snatching the notebook from him. “Good boys don’t snitch. I have a few friends that’ll stitch that big ol’ trap of yours if you don’t keep it shut.”

        “H-hey!” Andrew gasped, a blush spreading across his face, ignoring the pet name as he tried to reach for his notebook.

        “Hands to yourself, darling.” You hummed, taking a few steps away, grabbing a lighter from your purse and lighting the paper on fire.

        You placed the paper on the ground, ignoring Andrew's surprised face and watching as he stood up and ran into the kitchen for a cup of water.

        You smiled, shaking your head and giggling as he left. The notebook was small and already reduced into a pile of black burning ashes, a flame licking the top. You pressed your heel onto the small flame, denying the fire of oxygen as you smushed your foot left and right.

        “See? Small fires like these can easily just be stomped out, as long as you’re not wearing anything flammable that is.” You smiled, as if teaching a dog. “By the time you would’ve grabbed water, the unsupervised fire could’ve grown and the whole room would be set aflame!”

        “W-what… What are you doing here again?” Andrew questioned. “Have you come back to finish the job?”

        “Finish? Oh, I don’t look to finish you! Not in the way you’re thinking, at least.” You purred playfully, stepping over the pile of ashes and walking closer to Andrew.

        Andrew leaned back as you got into his space, your body leaning towards his. You smirked as he looked down at you, nervous before you glided past him.

        You picked up his laptop from his coffee table, going to his search history and deleting all the information he was trying to look up of you and the Manson Murderer.

        Your eyes paused at a few links an hour ago moments after your first visit, before you looked up at him and smirked.

        “Huh… ‘(Hair color) (eye color) porn actresses with soft lips?’ Rings a bell…” You teased, before placing the laptop back down onto the coffee table.

        “T-that’s not what you’re thinking of! That’s just coincidence!” Andrew blurted out, nervous as he snatched the laptop up, cradling it to his chest defensively.

        “I just meant that one famous actress.” You hummed. “Ya know, in every new movie now.”

        “Right…” Andrew muttered.

        “Of course, only in the movies cause they’re hot though.” You hummed. “Although, movies are so evil, don’t you think? I prefer seeing plays and reading books; there’s just no passion in money.” 

        “Uh, yeah…” Andrew nodded. 

        The last play he went to was his own kindergarten musical; his role was a tree.

        “It’s only looks that put you at the top. Like Rachel Welch.” You hummed. “Only in movies for sex appeal, but that’s every woman in Hollywood now.” You tutted, crossing your arms.

        Andrew looked away from you, feeling a bit called out.

        Sure, it’s nice to engage in some eye candy when it’s on the screen, but it’s pretty annoying if you’re not watching a romance or a slapstick/chickflick. 

        Modern examples of sex appeal would be Megan Fox or Jennifer Lopez; they’re pretty but man do they not bring anything else to the table.

        But hey, Hollywood is Hollywood. Everyone’s holly jolly with some money in their pockets. 

        “It must suck though, practically signing away their rights. Surrounded by paparazzi and the societal standards of what a good actor and celebrity is.” Andrew spoke thoughtfully.

        “Well, I suppose everything has consequences. It’s a matter of outweighing the pros and cons. Most enter that career wanting that attention and fame until they realize what it actually means; crazed fans with parasocial relationships and all...” You hummed. “But I didn’t come here to talk with you about that.”

        You smiled, walking back to the counter. You grabbed the bowls you left, holding your bowl with the fork on the right side. You held it and gave Andrew his drugged bowl.

        “Here. Dinner.” You spoke, not much of an offer as you shoved the bowl into his chest for him to take.

        “And how do I know this isn’t—“ 

        “Poisoned?” You questioned, cutting Andrew off. “Oh golly no! Are you really that afraid of me?”

        “Yes.” Andrew grumbled, looking at you unamused. “Considering you drug a dead man through the hallways and into my home.” 

        “Hm? Oh, I don’t recall.” You hummed, grabbing your fork and a piece of pasta.

        “Like Hell you don’t—“ You shoved your food into Andrew’s mouth, almost choking him as he shut up and chewed.

        “That’s not a nice word, you know. Can’t you show manners? Swallow down that attitude of yours.” You spoke, removing the fork from his mouth.

        He was going to argue, but the food wasn’t bad, so he shut up and kept chewing until he swallowed.

        “It’s… not bad…” Andrew muttered.

        “It better not! It’s rude to say so after I spent the time cooking it for you!” You huffed.

        “For me?” Andrew questioned, surprised as he looked at you with suspicion.

        “Consider it a truce.” You smiled, putting the same fork that was in Andrew’s mouth into your mouth.

        Andrew stared at you as you ate, watching before he sighed, picking up his fork and eating. 

        “So, you have a girlfriend?” You questioned. 

        “Excuse me?” Andrew questioned, looking up at you.

        “I assume not considering you watch a lot of X-rated videos.” You hummed.

        “Could you not while I’m eating?” Andrew groaned, embarrassed as his face turned pink.

        “So?” You questioned.

        “Why’s it matter to you?” Andrew grumbled. 

        “To see if you’re available.” You smiled.

        Andrew gulped, swallowing his meal nervously as he looked at you with hesitancy.

        “If it helps, I’m celibate.” You added. “Not for religion, but morals.” 

        “J-Jesus! I didn’t need to know that!” Andrew exclaimed, his blush worsening at your words, just thinking about it.

        A virgin? Possibly every man’s wet dream if he’s got a corruption kink.

        Something Andrew does indeed have. 

        “Now? Do you?” you questioned, scooting closer to him, their legs now touching.

    “Yeah, okay? I’m single…” Andrew grumbled, avoiding your eyes.

        It’s not like he hasn’t been pursued before, but he just never saw the interest in dating; at least not until after college. Middle and high school relationships end fast over stupid reasons, besides, it’s just fake dating. How can you date and not go out together outside of school?

        Besides, it’s all just hormones and horniness… a feeling Andrew often struggles with by himself.

        Andrew tried to scoot away, but you quickly followed and pressed yourself back against his side, repeating the process until he was flushed against the armrest and couldn’t move any further.

        “Come on, eat more! I made it for you after all. Don't be mean!” you spoke.

        “I can’t eat if you don’t give me space to raise my arm.” Andrew huffed, annoyed at you rushing him before he took another bite.

        “So, what do you feel about moving in with me?” you questioned.

        “No.” Andrew responded quickly.

        “Why not?” you frowned.

        “I’m not getting arrested for being an accessory to murder or a murder accomplice.” Andrew spoke.

        “But it’s not technically a murder accomplice if you don’t help me kill.” You pointed out.

        “However, I know that you’re a murderer and I didn’t tell the police therefore they’ll arrest me.” Andrew huffed.

        “I can stop whenever I want.” You hummed. “I can stop if you move in.”

        “Yeah, right.” Andrew scoffed, annoyed as he shoveled more food into his mouth.

        “Come on, I can be good!” you pleaded, placing your hand on his arm.

        “Stop that!” Andrew huffed.

        You wanted to try and convince him more with a kiss, but you were a bit worried if the Rohypnol would affect you if it’s in his mouth, so you didn’t risk it.

        “Can’t you just leave me alone?” Andrew questioned, irritated.

        “Let’s watch a movie instead!” you spoke, trying to distract him.

        “No!” Andrew hissed, watching as you grabbed his TV remote and turned the TV on. “Leave my apartment!”

        “No!” you huffed, using your arms to wrap around his arm, and wrapped your legs around his torso, clinging onto his side like a koala.

        “What’s with you? You’re like a damn koala!” Andrew hissed, trying to pry you off.

        “Just let me stay with you!” you whined, starting to get whiny and desperate to stay.

        All you have to do is buy enough time for that Rohypnol to kick in.

        Andrew heard your whines, his face feeling flushed as a pit of heat formed in his stomach. 

        “Jesus. Are you touch-starved? Lonely or something?” Andrew commented, annoyed.

        “If I say yes will you let me stay?” you questioned, looking up at him, resting your head on his shoulder.

        Andrew looked down your pleading face, the expression too much as he felt himself getting worked up. 

        “Only a movie…” he grumbled, adverting his gaze to the TV so he wouldn’t feel worse.

        He can't believe you're actually convincing him. He must be stupid or desperate for a good lay. 

        You smiled, proud as you placed your bowl on the coffee table, wrapping your arms around Andrew’s torso, forcing him to stay with you as you nuzzled your head against his chest.

        Andrew grimaced, before sighing, draping his arm around your shoulder half-heartedly. He watched as you put on some stupid movie of a boy who wants to be an artist. “A Dog of Flanders” or something like that… Some old movie.

        The movie was boring and he could feel himself falling asleep, but he didn’t want to sleep in case you tried to steal his kidney or whatever weird shit you're into.

        But he couldn’t help it as he slipped unconscious, his head falling to rest on his shoulder awkwardly. You felt his heartbeat soften as you rested on his chest, waiting until the sad part of the movie came. 

        You turned the movie off before something bad could happen to Patrasche (the boy’s dog in the movie). 

        You got up from the couch, looking at Andrew to make sure he was still asleep before you opened up his front door. You looked down the hallway to make sure nobody was coming, then opened your front door. You walked back and grabbed Andrew’s collar, dragging him off the couch and into your apartment.

        You left Andrew inside your living room, then shut the door. You let out a sigh, checking the time. 

        2 AM. 

        Good. Nobody should be walking down the apartments at anytime, so it should be fine for you to spend the next hour packing Andrew’s stuff and moving him in.

        You grabbed some rope from your secret drawer in your room, tying Andrew up in case he wakes up (though, you doubt it considering he was drugged, not passed out). 

        Andrew may be lonely, but you doubt he’s lonely enough to just live with a killer. Manipulation is best, but you just have to try and think of a good way to keep him under control.

        You could always use an accomplice… 

        Nonetheless, you brainstormed ideas as you moved Andrew’s clothes and small belongings into your home, starting to create your perfect scene. 

        A few tries of reorganizing furniture and stuffing his clothes into your closet and drawers to make it look like he’s always lived here and you succeeded. You added his bath products into your bathroom, along with his hairbrush and toothbrush. You snatched some foods from his pantry and added it to yours, hoping the sight of familiar foods would make it look more like home.

        Last, but not least, you fed your cat Georgia.

        What? It’s a cute name, and Georgia reminds you of peaches since it’s the state fruit, which is oddly cute…

        Georgia was a cat you adopted from the pet shelter you volunteer at. Originally, you only volunteered so you can maintain a good reputation in case of any suspicion against you (like that would ever happen though, you’re a professional). 

        A few months of volunteering at the shelter, you eventually grew an attachment to the brown ragamuffin cat. She had the sass of a gossipy Southern aunt, hence the name of the Southern state Georgia. 

        Georgia was an outside cat though, preferring to roam the streets and go on adventures rather than be cramped in a small room. You can’t blame her—it’s probably boring as a cat napping and shitting in litter all the time. 

        You kept your window open for Georgia to crawl in and get her food. Now onto more pressing matters…

        You grabbed some pajamas you took from Andrew’s wardrobe, a simple white T-shirt and grey sweatpants.

        You stripped him of his clothing, glancing over and making a mental note of his large, well-endowed package. 

        It’s a fact you’ll need to know later. You justified to yourself as you clothed him with his pajamas. 

        After dressing him to looking like he had been taking a planned slumber, you dragged him into your room and plopped him down on your king-sized bed (ah, the perks of being a middle-class citizen). 

        You tucked him in before smiling, satisfied with the perfect scene you’d set up for Andrew.

        Step one: completed.

        Now with that out of the way, you needed to focus on the dead body. You opened the body bag that still rested in your apartment, placing the man in the kitchen where the tile was. You picked him up (with a struggle) and got him onto your kitchen counter. Luckily, he didn’t bleed much thanks to the dried blood on his slit neck, but there were still blood splatters on your counter nonetheless. 

        First, you checked for any belongings. A phone to make sure there wasn’t a tracker, a wallet for identification (and money), and any valuable items such as a ring to not only see if he was married and someone would be looking for him, but to also sell.

        What? Money is money.

        After grabbing what you wanted, you maneuvered his body so that his head was hanging over the kitchen sink. You carefully, with delicacy and grace, proceeded to make incisions into the crow feet of the male’s skin, using a scalpel to unfold the layers of thin skin and muscle with ease.

        Once reaching the bone, you used a handheld bone saw and proceeded to carefully cut small triangles into the bone, making holes. You grabbed some forceps and your scalpel, cutting off the optic nerves and severing them from the eyeballs. 

        You tilted the dead man’s head forward, catching the squishy eyeballs and delicately placing them in a jar of UW solution so they could be preserved.

        Now with claiming your trophy, you had to get to business. You spent hours in the dead of night making careful incisions and cuts, grabbing organs, bone marrow, certain body parts; all valuable in the black market as you plucked them out like a bird would to a worm in the ground.

        Preserving all the organs inside different jars of UW liquid, you finally finished dissecting your little money-making machine. You grave your laptop and emailed some colleagues of yours, telling them of your new stock. You emailed your cleaner, setting up a time tomorrow to rid the body before it’ll start to decompose and smell. 

        You placed the rest of the dead male’s body in a bag, and another bag, and another bag; triple-bagging him like goods at a grocery store, making sure no leaks or spills would happen to the body. 

        You left him there in the living room, cleaning up your mess in the kitchen and storing the jars in boxes to package up later. You didn’t pack the jar of eyes though, oh no, that was your trophy.

        You went to your bedroom and placed the jar to join your collection. The door leading to a small closet in your room was filled with shelves of peering, preserved optic orbs instead of your favorite shirt. It was a collection of your kills, trophies you rightfully earned whilst purifying the world. 

        You shut the closet door and looked over at Andrew sleeping on your bed. You turned your eyes to look at the clock, letting out a sigh.

        6 A.M. 

        You haven’t even had any sleep yet. Being a serial killer is hard work, but you have bills to pay and dresses to buy.

        You grabbed Andrew’s laptop you stole, exiting out of the many porn tabs where the female actress looked like you. You opened his emails and wrote an email to your landlord, impersonating as Andrew and explaining that "he" will be moving in (Y/N)’s apartment and dropping the keys off at the lobby for them to pick up in the morning, so to put his apartment on sale and take his name off it. 

        You finished with the living situation and now it was time to shower for bed (finally). You grabbed one of Andrew’s sweatshirts and a pair of panties and pajama shorts, walking to the bathroom to shower.

        You rid yourself of all the blood from that dead man. The dirt from dragging him through it. Sweat from running around the diner and carrying limp bodies around. And tears from laughing at just how smart you were.

        Yet again, you got away with it. It’s to be expected, murdering people runs in your family after all. 

        You got dressed in your new sleepwear from now on. Usually you’ll wear a silk nightgown, but with Andrew here, it’s best to wear his clothes every now and then to establish a sense of familiarity between the two of you. 

        You put your hair in stay-in hair rollers to sleep in. You applied lotion on your face and body, brushing your teeth before calling it a night. 

        You walked into your bedroom, closing the bathroom door behind you. Turning off the lights, you climbed into bed with Andrew, burying your head into his chest and wrapping your arms around his unconscious body.

        You snatched his phone, scooting closer to him and propping his head onto your chest. You unlocked his phone with his thumb, taking a picture of the two of you and saving it as his phone screen.

        You put his phone on the charger, pushing him away from you before settling down to sleep.

        .        

        .

        You sat in a bathtub, the water pure red as you relaxed. You washed your skin and your hair, letting the crimson water soak into your body.

        Today was your special day. It was your wedding day.

        You were getting married to your high school sweetheart, Judah Mot. He was a dashing transfer student from Europe, with gorgeous tan skin, piercing blue eyes, and golden hair gifted from angels. His voice might as well been its own sacred hymn, and his body was one the Greeks used to carve into marble. 

        The epitome of the perfect man.

        Or so you thought.

        You sang a soft hum, enjoying the vinyl's soft static of your phonograph's needle softly scrapping against the disc's grooves, creating that peaceful static you could honestly listen to just by itself. You listened to Doris Shore's song "A Guy is a Guy,” humming as you rinsed the conditioner out of your hair.

        ”Little one?” your mother knocks on the door, “Will you be out soon? Your dress is ready, and all the bridesmaids are so excited to see you.” 

        ”Yes, mama.” You hummed. 

        “Make haste now, child. The groom is waiting.” Your mother spoke, before her heels clicked away.

        You got up from your red bath, smelling of roses from your bath bomb. You rinsed with the shower head to rid any debris of the bath bomb on you, then proceeded to dry off. 

        You grabbed a white bra and panties, putting them on before exiting the bathroom. Your mother and soon-to-be mother-in-law helped you put on the dress that your mother-in-law chose.

        It was beautiful. While it wasn’t completely your style, having an itchy top with no barrier to protect the lace from rubbing against your skin, it was tradition for the mother-in-law to choose the dress. You didn’t mind much, at least the tulle skirt was pretty and comfy, enough so you can walk without tripping. 

        You put on your dress, letting your five sisters put your hair into a braided bun. You put on the white high heels your mother-in-law provided, smiling as she gave you a necklace.

        ”I wore this necklace on my wedding day. I was going to give this to my daughter, but I was never blessed with one.” She explained. “Until now, that is.” She spoke, putting a lovely silver necklace onto your neck.

        “Thank you, mother.” You smiled. 

        Your sister tried to put blush on your face, but you stopped her. 

        “Oh, please. No makeup except the red lipstick. I know that it’ll get ruined later.” You spoke politely.

        “From crying of joy?” your sister giggled.

        ”Precisely.” You smiled.

        Your sister put on the lipstick you request, and then you were escorted with your family and mother-in-law to a white limousine. The limousine had red leather seats, black carpet, and some white grape juice (non-alcoholic, per your request). 

        You engaged in small conversation until the limousine stopped at your destination. Your sisters opened the door for you, your mother-in-law stepping out to help you out of the car. 

        You were faced with a walkway, wedding music playing as you looked around. There were folding chairs in aisles, leaving space for the walkway, the chairs filled with your family and groom’s family. There was a table with deserts that you will certainly be exploring later. And your father was here, smiling at you as he stood by the limousine door.

        He held out his arm, waiting for you to hook your arm, to which you did. You smiled, watching as your niece walked down the aisle with a basket of white petals, dropping them on the ground. They got seated, and it was your time to shine.

        You walked down the aisle with your father, feeling all the eyes on you, as all should on your special day. You locked eyes with Judah, happy as you walked to the groom.

        Your father took his seat next to your mother as you stood in front of Judah, smiling. Your brother, a priest, was the officiator for the wedding, holding the (L/N)’s family vows in his hand. He smiled at you, watching as you joined with the groom. 

        You gave vows, just short and sweet ones. Sickness and health, blah, blah, blah. Get on with it so you can get to the fun part.

        You exchanged vows and watched one of your little nephews come up with the rings, being the ring bearer as he held up his hands with the rings.

        You took the ring and put it on Judah’s right hand. He looked at you, confused. Why didn’t you put the ring on his left hand, closest to his heart? You gave a reassuring smile, saying to trust you. You held right hand up for him to put your ring on.

        “Do you, Judah Mot, take (Y/N) (L/N) to be your lawfully wedded wife?” your brother questioned.

        “I do.” Judah answered.

        ”And do you, (Y/N) (L/N), take Judah Mot to be your lawfully wedded husband?” your brother questioned.

        “I do not.” You smiled.

        Judah’s smile dropped, surprised. “W-what?” 

        “When you all came in today, you received a quiz of the bride and groom. It came with questions. 'What’s the bride’s favorite color?’ ‘What is the groom’s favorite TV show’ and one question: Who does the groom love?” you spoke.

        ”(Y/N), now is not the time to be talking about the wedding activities! You just rejected—“ 

        “It’s Delilah.” You answered. “Judah loves Delilah, my best friend.” 

        Some gasps played out in the audience, but your family members didn’t look surprised. It was if they knew, because you told them. You told them when you saw his eyes stop showing that love and compassion you fell in love with back in high school.

        His eyes held nothing now; but when they looked at her, they lit up. You could deal with a broken heart, you can deal with a breakup; but there’s no broken heart in infidelity. In fact, you felt glad.

        Glad to see Judah for what he really is, just another piece of meat that fell victim to you. Glad to see your best friend, one who had been with you since middle school and supporting your relationship since the beginning, was nothing more than a home-wrecking skank.

        Stay away from what doesn’t belong to you. 

        “For our first activity tonight, I’d like to begin the hunt.” You smiled. 

        This island was yours—your family’s. You had private jets to escort all of Judah’s family members for the trip out here. There was no cell service out here, not on a literal island. You told the private jets to accept no passengers in or out for 48 hours. Thanks to the private jets escorting Judah’s family out here, they have no idea where they are, so they were never able to tell anyone a location for where they’re heading; meaning they’ll just drop off the radar. Everyone was isolated, including you and your own family. 

        Perfect.

        “Every family member of the groom has one hour to find a place to hide, or try to run, before you die. The hunt will last for 48 hours.” You explained.

        He was the groom, but he was never your groom. 

        You walked to the desert table, picking up a delicious red raspberry macaroon, taking a bite. 

        “May the odds and your Gods ever be in your favor.” You smiled.

        Your father pulled out a chainsaw from under the dessert table, revving it to start the game. You lifted a silver lid to reveal a 9mm, shooting your husband in the head.

        Everyone panicked, getting down on the ground, rushing for cover, pushing each other to the ground, anything to hide from the stray bullets, the chainsaws, the machetes. 

        You smashed someone’s face in with your heel, watching as blood stained your dress. And you laughed. You laughed till you cried tears of joy, and thank God you didn’t wear a heavy amount of makeup to ruin your beaming face. 

        You smiled, making eye contact with Delilah as she hid behind a tree. She saw you and ran, but you smiled, holding up your gun and aiming, before shooting for the kill. 

        Oh, what a romantic day it was.

        .        

        .

        You had woken up first, you always wake up early, even if you go to bed late. It’s important to keep a routine, even if you’re a killer.

        You woke up at 10 AM, but stayed in bed till 12 PM, when Andrew finally woke up. You pretended to be sleeping, still buried in his chest. 

  When Andrew stirred, groggy and a bit woozy, still seeming to be affected by those drugs you gave him. He finally opened his eyes, confused on where he was and why he was here. 

        “The fuck…?” was the first thing he muttered, followed by him jumping, “(Y/N)?!”

        You pretended to wake up upon hearing him, letting out a tired moan before opening your eyes.

        “Mhm?” you hummed, your eyes glancing to Andrew before smiling. “Good morning, my love.”

        “What am… why am I—(Y/N)!” Andrew huffed, pissed off, confused, scared. “What the hell?”

        “Language.” You frowned. “What are you talking about, dear? Did you have another nightmare?”

        “I don’t have nightmares. I’m a man.” Andrew quickly retorted with a frown, before shaking his head, pushing you off his chest. “N-no! You’re distracting me! You killed that man!”

        ”We killed him.” You hummed, speaking as if it was natural.

        ”You did.” Andrew rebutted, frowning.

        “Dear, get up.” You sighed, sitting up.

        Andrew reluctantly got up, cautious as he stood near the door. You got up, Andrew taking notice of your attire.

        “Take off my shirt.” He huffed.

        “I’m not wearing anything underneath.” You quickly spoke. “Besides, I always wear it. What’s with you?”

        “You don’t always wear it! It’s mine.” Andrew huffed, before looking around the room.

        His poster of his favorite game was hung up. His pants and belt were on the floor, left lazily scattered on the ground like he owned the place. His shoes were by the bed. His wallet and phone were on his bed stand, unlocking it to reveal a photo of Andrew sleeping on your chest.

        “What?” Andrew questioned, confused. “What’d you do to my screen saver.” 

        “Jeez, hon…” you sighed, pretending to be tired with the conversation and “accusations” already. “Is this about your nightmares again?”

        “I already told you, I don’t have nightmares!” Andrew huffed. 

        “I mean the dreams, or memories, you get of when you were living alone. Without me.” You spoke, resting your head on your palm, watching his meltdown as he tried to decide if this was real or not.

        “You’re tricking me! You’re—“

        You shut him up with a kiss, pressing your lips onto his lips as you placed your hands onto his cheeks. 

        It was annoying having to kiss a man so damn much, and you almost felt repulsed having to kiss this damn-near stranger again and again; but you had to keep the act up. You couldn’t just let him run off.

        You have to drag him down with you.

        “W-what was that for?” Andrew inquired, confusion and a small tint of red visible on his face.

        “I can’t kiss my fiancé?” you tilted your head, smiling.

        “F-fiancé?” Andrew questioned, surprised. 

        “Duh.” You smiled, rolling your eyes. “You’re the one that proposed, dummy. We’re saving up for engagement rings though.” 

        Andrew frowned, looking at his finger. He didn’t have a ring, but it checks out considering you said they were saving money for rings.  

        “Now, come on.” You smiled. “Get up. We have work to do today!” 

        Andrew got up from the bed, hesitant as he looked at you. He sighed, getting up from the bed. You watched with a smile as he moved his way to the closet, opening it and letting out a short scream.

        “What the fuck?!” he shouted, his eyes meeting dozens of others entrapped in jars.

        “Love?” you questioned, feigning ignorance as you ‘wondered’ why he was frightened.

        “What is this shit?!” Andrew questioned, holding a jar up to show you, before quickly grimacing and putting it back down on the shelf when the eyes rolled to him. 

        “Um, my trophy collection?” you scoffed, offended, before quickly correcting yourself. “It’s our collection, duh?”

        “No, no. It’s not mine. I didn’t do any of it!” 

        “Andrew!” you huffed, standing up from the bed. “You know, I’m really not liking your attitude. I understand you have dreams and sometimes mix them with reality, but Andrew you need to stop acting crazy.”

        “Crazy?!” Andrew exclaimed, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Me?! Crazy? Woman, there are eyeballs in your closet!”  

        “And?” you retorted, crossing your arms. 

        “It’s gross! And immoral!” Andrew groaned.

        “Please, you’re not a saint yourself.” You rolled your eyes. “Andrew, you promised when you proposed that you’d join my family’s business. If you’re proposing to leaving me, or telling about the business, you’ll be another body bag in the morgue.” 

        “B-but—“ Andrew stammered, utterly confused and possibly even starting to doubt it.

        Did he really ask her for her hand? Did he really kill someone? Kill more than one? 

        “You better be dressed when you get into the kitchen. I’m going to get dressed and cook breakfast.” You chirped, a smile on your face before you walked to the bathroom to get your clothes inside of your walk-in closet.

        You wore a cute black and white polka dot dress, wearing some shorts underneath and pairing it with black Mary Jane flats. 

        You undid your hair curls, brushing out your hair to show your perfect curls. You applied hair spray to keep it in place, and put on your signature red lipstick. 

        You exited your bathroom to see Andrew sitting down on the bed, staring at you with a blank expression. He met your eyes and smiled, standing up.

        “So...dear?” he spoke, almost as if he was questioning it as he walked over to you. “Take off your clothes and prove it." He smirked, pinning you down to the mattress.

        ...What?

Chapters: Chapter 1, current chapter, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5 (in the works)

I don't really have anything important to say. My updates might be a little slow, I have some family issues going on and I just got a new job. We'll see what happens.

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

Inbox is OPEN for questions about the story and new plotlines/ideas, not for requests!

[stellar-constellations]

Heart on the Market (ONGOING SERIES) Chapter 4

WARNING: This series will include; NSFW, dead dove, reader is a serial killer, black market possible inaccurate historical slang and fashion, gore, alcohol, toxic relationships that should NOT be replicated in real life, murder, yanderes, cursing, guns, mafia family, implications of misandry (male misogyny), perversive thoughts, nonconsensual drugging, gaslighting, harm to children possibly more to add.

I do not condone ANY illegal acts, immoral acts, or toxic relationships portrayed in my fictional writing.

Inaccurate canon-timeline and setting (Ashley doesn't exist). Modern AU.

Incest is not Wincest.

Andrew Graves x Old school! Serial killer! Fem! Reader

Wordcount: 7,000+ words

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Current chapter, Chapter 5 (in the works)

        Sometimes, you had nightmares. You always forget them by morning, but you always dream of being chased.

        Sometimes you’re chased by Judah; whether it was the guilt of murdering him or the fear of another impure engagement. A gun in his hands, the same one you used to splatter his blood on your white wedding tablecloths. 

        Sometimes, you’re chased by your mother; a powerful woman chasing a less-powerful woman, a single point of her finger before soldiers swarmed you in all directions. 

        Sometimes, you’re chased by yourself—but you never have a weapon, only your bare hands. Sometimes, you felt like someone else, someone bad.

        Bad is just a word. There’s no true definition, and it changes based on the word, but if you had to describe it; it would be blood freezing over fresh snow.

        You can pick up the soiled snow and let it melt on your fingers, but then you’d be soiled too. You can let it rest there, a trail of evidence to show what happened in that very spot. 

        Either way, you never question whose blood it is, because it doesn’t matter who’s hurt or dead—you just wonder what happened. 

        You end up being stabbed in the heart; that’s always how the dream ends. You wake up with a pain in your chest, something throbbing and stabbing.

        Fear.

        But you always wake up, snapping back to reality, but that fear chases you. Whether it’s the fear of being caught. The fear of being something more than you can control. The fear of being stabbed right back. 

        It’ll always follow you, in and out of sleep, always lingering in your consciousness, bringing back that familiar pain.

        You jolted awake, a stabbing in your chest. You don’t know who chased you last night, but you can only assume it was one of your family members, maybe even one of the soldiers.

        That’s how you woke up this morning, a pain in your chest and a lack of oxygen in your lungs. You didn’t want to get up, but you knew you needed to get your blood pumping.

        You got up from bed, clutching your chest as it throbbed, like an icepick repeatedly stabbing into it, the pain stealing the air out of your lungs. 

        You gasped for air, falling onto the ground. You held your legs up to your chest to help elevate them, taking in some painful breaths, before the pain retreated.

        There was a small sting, but it’ll go away in a few minutes. This isn't the first time it's happened before. With that in mind, you got up and walked to the bathroom, grabbing your bloody clothes from yesterday since you have no other clothes.

        You got dressed, having no hairbrush in the room, you resorted to using one of your socks as a hair tie to make a messy bun (hey, desperate times call for desperate measures). 

        You put on your shoes (ignoring the weird feeling of having one of your feet sockless, which you knew you’d get a friction burn later on your heel), and set your attention to waking Andrew up.

        “Andrew…” you muttered, gently waking him up. Upon noticing he wasn’t waking, you got annoyed, “I said wake up!” you hissed, shaking him rougher.

        “H-hey, damn! Okay!” Andrew groaned, sifting up from the bed. “Shaking me like an earthquake is happening…”

        “You need to work on your sleeping habits. Being a deep sleeper in our situation isn’t good, we could've been cornered!” you spoke.

        “And I told you that I’d sleep closest to the door, so you’re fine…” Andrew rolled his eyes.

        You were always nagging him.

        He got up out of bed, grabbing his bloodied flannel and putting it on.

        “It’s a good thing our alarm didn’t go off. It only means we’re early, hopefully we’re early enough for breakfast so we can quickly eat with nobody there. I don’t want anyone to see our clothes.” You spoke, wiping down your dress.

        “I hope there’s some damn pancakes…” Andrew muttered, sitting on the edge of the bed and putting on his shoes.

        “Maybe,” you hummed, patting down his hair and trying to brush it out with your fingers. “We’ll see.”

        You made sure Andrew took the guns out of the hotel safe, hiding them in his pants. You grabbed your suitcase of money and your keycard, walking out of the hotel room. You took the elevator down to the lobby, seeing the hotel workers taking out some breakfast dishes to the dining area.

        Some people were already there as you stuck to Andrew, awkwardly facing the wall so nobody could see your bloody dress. You grabbed some waffles, fruit, and apple juice, sitting down at a table in the back.

        “No fucking pancakes, all god damn waffles.” Andrew grimaced, annoyed as he sat down with you.

        He had a plate with some bagels, a blueberry muffin, cereal, and orange juice.

        “You’re gross…” you cringed. “Orange juice? With the pulp?”

        “Says the girl that takes the veins out of eyes.” Andrew scoffed.

        “First, they’re optical nerves—“ you huffed, bickering with him.

        Your attention was taken by a loud couple entering the dining area, grabbing their own plates of food. They fed each other strawberries and other fruits—you couldn’t help but grimace as their display of PDA.

        “When you gonna do that to me?” Andrew teased, smirking. “Isn’t some PDA necessary for our relationship, my wife?”

        “PDA? Oh, you mean Psycho Desperate Attention? Where you act abnormal with someone to help feed your delusions in public for attention?” you hummed, shoving a strawberry in your mouth—without the help of Andrew.

        “You guys must be past your honeymoon phase.” 

        You jumped, hitting your knee on the table. You smiled through the pain, glaring at the woman talking. 

        It was that stupid PDA couple. You have no idea why grown-ass adults act like teenagers with a case of puppy love, but you find it repulsive. You didn’t even act like that with Judah! 

        “Oh… I wouldn’t say that…” you smiled, looking at the woman. “We just had a rough night sleep.”

        “An animal; she was.” Andrew leaned back in his chair, smirking, proud of what he said.

        You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, keeping up your smile, “Totally…” you muttered.

        “So? What are you guys doing here in Pennsylvania? You have accents, so I assume you’re not from here.” The male spoke.

        “Quite personal, is it not?” you frowned.

        “What’s your name?” the female questioned.

       ��“Jane,” you lied, “And this is Hank.” You spoke, placing your hand on Andrew’s chest to look like a couple.

        “I’m Ivy and this is Xane.” The female, Ivy, smiled.

        She had pretty red hair; Xane had brown hair. They both looked like a cute couple, but you didn’t see a ring on their fingers. 

        “How long have you been married?” you questioned. 

        “Two years now.” Xane spoke.

        “And 5 months. He always forgets that. Always forgets our anniversary too.” Ivy frowned.

        “Right.” You smiled. “Best be on our way.” You grabbed your waffle, shoving it in your mouth.

        You turned your back so they couldn’t see the blood on your chest, quickly grabbing Andrew and spinning him around so they couldn’t see the blood on him either.

        “Hey. I wasn’t done eating.” Andrew whispered.

        “Go. Go start the car. Hurry.” You hissed, quickly walking to the lobby’s desk, checking out while he started the car.        

        You saw the couple stand up from the table, so you threw the keycards on the table, unbothered if they would check you out or not (it’s not your money, after all). 

        You rushed out with your briefcase of money in hand, hopping into the car with Andrew.

        “Where to?” Andrew questioned. 

        “Just go!” you hissed, locking the car doors quickly.

        You opened the window just a crack, throwing Hank’s phone onto the ground, abandoning it. 

        Andrew pulled out of the parking lot, driving off as you directed him to the interstate, telling him to maintain a natural speed so you wouldn’t look suspicious. 

        “That couple wasn’t a couple.” You sighed. “Mercenaries. They were waiting for us. It was stupid to try and befriend us, but perhaps they were confirming their targets.”

        They must’ve known the second she introduced Andrew as Hank instead. They didn’t recognize her, probably because of how damn long she’s last seen her parents. They didn’t have no pictures of her, only when she was a baby, so it makes sense they didn’t recognize her instantly. She didn’t introduce herself with her name either, only making it harder to identify her.

        But because of her own slip up, they were able to piece it together. With Hank being a now dead soldier, her introducing Andrew as him definitely raised red flags. Not only that, but they had his phone, if anything, they might’ve went as far as to tracking Hank’s phone and his spending history, finding them at that very hotel. 

        “We need to find a new car to steal. They might recognize this one belonging to one of the soldiers.” You spoke, crossing your arms as you looked out the window. “First, we need to get clothes. Clothes, some food, and essentials like blankets, hygiene, etc. We might as well steal a car too.”

        Andrew nodded, keeping to the slow lane of the interstate, following the speed limit so he wouldn’t attract any unnecessary attention as he looked for a sign for any cheap clothing store.         .         .         .         “See? I knew you’d look good in that.” Andrew smiled, admiring you.

        You wore an oversized light grey sweater, blue jeans and brown heeled boots, a white bow in your hair. You wore red lipstick to cover up the swelling bruises on your lips, but nothing could hide your broken nose as you had an amateur nose cast to try and fix it.

        “I don’t like it…” you muttered, looking at yourself in the car mirror.

        Yeah? You changed in the car? You don’t have an apartment anymore. You can't judge yourself. 

        You didn’t like the clothes, you didn’t like the situation you were in, you didn’t like how un-pretty your face was.

        You worked so hard on your appearance, your alibis and way of life, your personalities to portray, all so that you could keep your family secret and make them proud; and for them to cast you aside like this? To break your pretty face you worked so hard for? You never thought you’d prey on your own family, but the times have changed, and you’re growing hungry.

        “I’ll paint canvas with their blood…” you muttered, your hand tracing the cast on your nose, frowning at the black bruises that made way under your eyes. 

        “It’s not bad, baby.” Andrew smiled. “You should see my wound.”

        “Well at least yours is hidden! Mine is right there! If I go out with you in public, they’d consider you a wife-beater and call the cops on us!” you snapped.

        “It will attract attention, but I don’t think it’ll be that serious.” Andrew sighed. 

        “Well it makes me look ugly.” You huffed, crossing your arms. 

        You couldn’t force your eyes away from the mirror. Your pale skin, your sulking eyes, your frizzy hair, the suffocating collar of your sweater despite it being oversized. It was so not like you.

        Honestly, you don’t remember what was you. Who was Ms. (L/N) without the (L/N)’s?

        Andrew frowned, looking at you before sighing. 

        “Hey, I know the clothes is hard for you—it’s out of your element—but it’s only temporary until we’re safe. You can’t draw attention with your vintage dresses, and we need to act like good citizens.” Andrew spoke.

        “It’s not the damn clothes!” you snapped, irritated. “Well, it’s the clothes too, but it’s my face! It’s ugly!” 

        “I may not agree with you on a lot of things, but I can confidently say you’re attractive.” Andrew frowned, “I think you’re just fine.”

        Not pretty? Not beautiful? Not gorgeous? Not stellar? Not extravagant? Not perfect?

        Just fine? Fine? 

        What about her was fine? What about her broken nose and busted lip and sullen eyes and aching body was fine? What about the situation was fine?

        “Are you fucking kidding me, Andrew?” you scoffed. “This is the opposite of fine! I’m in trouble with my family out to kill me and the police no doubt looking for me as a missing person and the city of Manson will connect the dots if me and the murders suddenly vanish! All of my dresses and soft things are gone forever, I can’t go back! And my stupid,fucking ugly face!” you snapped, hitting your fists on the dashboard.

        “Jesus, stop! You’re going to attract any bystanders!” Andrew hissed, anxious as he looked outside the windows to make sure nobody was looking.

        “I’ll kill them all, I might as well since everything is gone!” you blabbered, waving your hands around. “We only have so much time before they’ll—“

        A harsh sting snapped you out of it, a wasp sting blossoming across your cheek as your head was tilted at an angle. Your speech was cut off, replaced with silence, one Andrew wasn’t sure if it was better or worse.

        “You need to cut your shit out and get it together. We’re both in danger now.” Andrew grimaced, rolling his wrist, his own wasp sting on his palm from delivering yours.

        “You do you think you are, Graves?” you questioned rhetorically, anger burning you alive as you reached for your knife, before realizing you didn’t have a knife, or even a purse for it. “Do you want to end up in a grave, Graves? I could always use extra money from your organs.” 

        “It’s just been complaining and complaining from you, and I think I’m starting to understand now.” Andrew rolled his eyes, not afraid or even taking you seriously, which only angered you more, “Get in the backseat.”

        “How about you leave the fucking car so I can run you over and drop your body in a ditch!” you snapped, “Are you really gonna make me sit in the back so you can have the front seat? So you can’t see my ugly face? Are you serious right now?”

        “(Y/N).” Andrew hissed, unlocking the car doors. “Now.”

        You opened the door, slamming it shut as you hopped into the backseat. Andrew followed, getting in the backseat and locking the car doors once in the back.

        “No! Go away!” you huffed, trying to kick him with your heel.

        He grabbed your ankle, dragging you over till you were under him. Your back rested on the backseats as Andrew towered over you, his neck leaned down so he wouldn’t hit his head on the car’s ceiling. 

        Your hands fixed to dig your thumbs into his wound again—expecting another fight—but he surprised you.

        His hand let go of your ankle, both of them trailing up to your thighs, before going to your waistband. He hooked his fingers on it, pulling your jeans towards him.

        “H-hey!” you gasped, hitting his hands, trying to get him off of you.

        A feeling of embarrassment overtook you, feeling bare and exposed. You’ve never had someone look at you in this angle, and you were worried he was going to take your virginity from your future husband. 

        “You’re always so rude and bossy, and I think that’s cause you’re so pent up.” Andrew hummed, unbothered as your hands tried to push his hands away.

        His hand went to your pussy while the other kept your legs open, a thumb rubbing circles on your clit, manually arousing you. 

        A whimper escaped your lips. Surprised at the noise, you tugged his hair for him to move away.

        “Just calm down…” Andrew groaned, a groan that sounded almost pleasant, like he enjoyed his hair being pulled. “I’m not going to do anything serious.”

        Once you were deemed wet enough by Andrew, he bullied two fingers into your pussy, carefully moving them in and out of you so you could adjust, before going knuckle-deep as he started curling his fingers.

        “S-shit! Oh!” you gasped, your lips trembled as your grip on Andrew’s hair tightened. “Y-you didn’t have my permission for this!”

        “But you’re not stopping me.” Andrew smirked, “you like it. I can tell by how wet you’re getting.”

        “From stimulation, not arousal!” you whimpered, panting as he kept hitting a spot in you that made you see stars. “This isn’t right.” 

        You never let Judah touch you like this, not even when you were engaged. And yet, here you are, sprawled out beneath Andrew as he worked his way around the cramped space of the backseat to thrust his fingers as deep into your pussy as he can. 

        You didn’t know what was suffocating you more: the eyes of your late fiancé in a jar around your neck, bouncing under your shirt with the slightest thrust of Andrew’s fingers—or the feeling of Andrew’s thick fingers reaching inside you so deep it felt like it was crawling up your throat. 

        His fingers are so much more bigger than yours, filling you up better can you can yourself (not that you did it frequently, you were a single lady waiting for a husband to do the work for you, after all). 

        But the feeling of his fingers drilling into your cunt had you second-guessing whether this was really not okay. I mean, how can it be wrong if it feels so good? 

        It felt intimate. Nobody’s ever made you feel like this before. It made you feel like only Andrew could make you feel like this.

        You felt something strange, a warm sensation in your stomach, a need to burst as you started shaking, burning up and panting and moaning, waiting for something to happen.

        It wasn’t until Andrew’s second hand made way to your clit, drawing quick circles around it until you saw stars, a mix between a moan and a gurgle escaping your throat no matter how hard you tried to silence it.

        Even though you came, he still kept going, fingers pumping in and out of you with no sign of stopping. It wasn’t until he removed his fingers and licked them, that you let out a sigh of relief, glad that the torture (although somehow pleasant) was over.

        At least you thought. When he grabbed your thighs and pulled your ankles up to over his shoulders did you realize how sorely mistaken you were. 

        His hands went to your ass so he could push you against his mouth, his tongue licking your sore pussy, lapping up your orgasm like it was water from a sacred springs. 

        You never thought you’d see Andrew so desperate for you, but it really should’ve been a sign. Of course he would be into you, watching porn videos of actresses that looked like you even after you hurt him and threatened to murder him. Of course he’d be desperate for you, his cute neighbor next door who is showering just an apartment away, the water in his own shower cold as yours was hot from using it first.

But he was eager, wanting this possibly even longer than you’ve known. He wasn’t running away from you every chance he got because he disliked you; no, it was because he liked you! He liked the way you made his cock stir in his pants upon saying his name and offering to have lunch with him so you could keep your good social image. He liked being able to smell your cooking next door, wishing he could have you on his cock, spoon-feeding him a meal you made with your love. 

        His tongue lapped at your pussy ferociously, as if it was a meal made with your love. You couldn’t escape the abuse on your pussy, not with your legs above his shoulders—not with how your back was trapped between him and the car seat.

        You couldn’t stop him. Your hands grabbing his hair—trying to pull him off with force—trying to escape the painful pleasure, but he just moaned and shoved his face deeper into your pussy, the vibrations from his moans causing you to cry out with ecstasy. 

        He caught onto this, making humming noises on your clit as he sucked on it, his hands grabbing your love handles so he could manually grind you onto his mouth like a pathetic animal in heat would. 

        You came again with a sharp wail, begging and pleading for you don’t even know what as he slurped your slick and cum like it was honey on a spoon. 

        He pulled your shaky legs off his shoulders, straightening his back to the best he can in the cramped space of the backseat. He smiled, admiring your heaving chest, your shaking legs, your mouth opening and closing as you caught your breath.

        There was silence, silence as he enjoyed the sound of your exhausted form—enjoying the sound of your nonexistent whining and bickering.

        “Much better.” Andrew hummed, licking his lips.

        He found unused fast food napkins in the middle console, using them to wipe away his saliva and your arousal from your thighs and pussy, throwing it out the window.

        Litterbug… you couldn’t help but scorn him as he pulled your panties and jeans back up to your hips.

        He picked you up and put you back in the passenger seat, getting in the drivers seat and smiling. 

        “So? What next?” Andrew questioned, smiling, as if he didn’t spend the last 15 minutes between your thighs.

        You glared at him, panting as you caught your breath.

        “A new car…” You breathed out. 

        “And how are we gonna do that?” Andrew questioned, crossing his arms and leaning back. “Just go up to someone and say, ‘Excuse me, sir? Can I borrow your car? My wife and I have a reservation to get to?’” he questioned sarcastically.

        “We steal one.” You rolled your eyes. 

        “Good luck, with this modern tech? Just try to steal a Tesla and cameras all over it.” Andrew scoffed.

        “I need a car that’s younger than the 2000’s.” You sighed. “Everybody likes retro. There’s some beat-up Hyundai somewhere around here.” 

        “If you say so.” He shrugged. 

        You rolled your eyes, opening the car door and staggering out of the car. 

        “You watch our stuff in here. Once I get the car, I’ll have to pull it aside. I can’t turn the car off, otherwise I’ll have to restart all over again.” You explained. 

        “Okay.” Andrew nodded. 

        You surveyed the convenience store’s parking lot, grabbing a sharp rock along your way. The damn place was filled with family cars and blue collared cars, some of these cars would’ve been fine if they weren’t so flashy. 

        You finally found a bad-looking Ford explorer. It was white with the paint job peeling, spending too many summers out in the sun. It was covered in dirt, typical for an off-road vehicle. 

        You grabbed two hairpins from your hair, shoving them into the lock. After a few minutes of individually unlocking each other lock, muttering curses under your breath and resisting the urge to hit your head against the door and set the alarm off, you heard that angelic pop of the lock.

        You quickly hopped in, locking the doors as you used your pins to unscrew the under the steering wheel’s cover. You grabbed three bundles of wires, finding the one that connected to the battery. Using the sharp rock from earlier, you scraped away the cable’s protective outwear so you could reveal the copper wiring, twisting the red and blue battery wires together.

        The car’s radio and lights came off, prompting you to quickly turn them off. You grabbed the starter wires removed the outwear to show the copper wires, tapping them together until they sparked, the engine roaring to life. You revved it a few times to make sure the engine wouldn’t stall or fail. You broke the steering lock by turning it left until it popped.

        Finally, you made your grand escape—at least you wished. You picked up Andrew, transporting all your new clothes, food, bathing essentials, and blankets into the Explorer.

        You handed the car to Andrew, letting him drive. 

        “We’re going to Georgia.” You spoke, crossing your arms. “My older sister lives there, Kimberly. But she’s currently under the alias Jordan.” 

        “So what’s she do? Does she hate us just as much as your brother did?” Andrew questioned.

        “She’s a spy for us. She watches over the Gallo family, a rivaling family of ours; obviously, they’re unaware of her relations with us.” You explained. 

        “Like, the spies that are super strong and agile?” Andrew questioned. “How do you plan to kill her?”

        “No.” You scoffed, smiling. “She was chosen to be a spy because she’s weak. She’s better for intel, not fighting.” 

        “Well, okay.” Andrew nodded. “You gonna tell me where this place is at?” 

        “Just take the interstate, I’ll guide you.” You smiled.

        .         .         .                  Honestly, you would’ve never found this place if it wasn’t for your family’s map. You remembered it was located somewhere by Driftwood Beach. 

        A couple miles away from the salty sea, you could see a small house. It didn’t look nothing like a mobster’s house, but the shine of a gun in the window proved otherwise. 

        You couldn’t just walk up to the house, you’d be shot. Breaking into the house wasn’t even a chance. But what caught your interest was the cars parking by the side of the road.

        These cars didn’t belong to tourist parking for the beach, there were people who would hop out of their cars, walking up to the door and flashing a badge, before entering. 

        They wore casual dresses and button up shirts; judging by the women wearing heels, it looked to be a party. Perhaps one for social connections.

        “How is your formal etiquette?” you questioned, a smile on your face as you looked out the car window.

        “I was an English major.” Andrew shrugged. 

        “Here’s the plan.” You spoke, shifting your body to look at him. “We park at the edge of the road, down the line. When a couple comes, we sneak up and shoot them, take their badges they have that’s letting them in, find my sister, kill her.”

        “You make it sound easier than it is.” Andrew sighed, crossing his arms.

        “It is easy, so long as we choose someone of low-class. Someone not popular enough to have made their debut in the underground.” You spoke.

        You stepped out of the car, observing the place as you looked around. 

        “Give me one of the guns,” you spoke, “I need it. You need to stay with the car. If you turn it off, I’d have to wire it again, and that’s tedious. I’ll kill them and steal their clothes and car, then we’ll put all of our stuff into it.”

        Andrew didn’t hesitate this time with giving you a gun from his waistband. Perhaps you’ve earned more of his trust, or perhaps he thinks you don’t have the tits to kill him. Whatever it was, you got one of the guns. 

        You placed the gun in your waistband, pulling down your sweater to hide it. You walked to the line of cars, sitting behind a tree and waiting for a good target.

        Some were too rich, some were too popular in the underground to where you’d be discovered if you took their identity. Some had too flashy cars that would attract attention. Some were just perfect…

        Such as the blonde and the brunette walking elbow-to-elbow. You looked around to make sure nobody was around, before walking up to them. 

        Immediately, they were cautious. Of course they would be, some of these families must be rivals for their business. 

        “Excuse me?” you smiled. “I’m a tourist. Do you know where—“ 

        BANG!

        Yes, they were amateurs, just as you expected. They never even bothered to remove their arms from each other’s. Someone experienced would have at least tried to make it look like they were reaching for their partner’s waist when they were going for their weapon.

        You robbed their dead bodies of their keys, ID’s, money, and party invitations. You dragged their dead bodies, kicking them underneath a car to hide them for now. 

        You unlocked their car and hopped in, starting the car and driving to Andrew. Andrew threw all your stuff into your new stolen car, meanwhile you swapped the license plates with each other; that way, even if you had the same model as a mobster, you wouldn’t have the same license plate, which can help other mobsters from discovering you. 

        The only downside is if a cop scans your license and finds the license belongs to a different model and owner, but hopefully a cop wouldn’t do that randomly on the interstate. 

        After getting the car situation sorted, you gave Andrew his party invitation.

        “I’m Seven Flint, huh?” Andrew hummed. “Seven? Really? A number? His parents really didn’t love him.”

        “And I’m Holly Flint.” You spoke, reading your invitation. “And I bet her mother’s name is Jolly.” You smiled, before reading the letter’s description. “A proposition for stocks, proposals, and business deals—how intriguing.”

        “Well? Shall we?” Andrew smiled.

        “Of course.” You nodded, walking next to him and smiling. 

        Andrew locked the car doors, wrapping his arm around your waist. He guided you to the door, "your" invitations in hand as you knocked on the door.

        The door opened, a man taller than Andrew, a clean bald head and face as he opened the door.

      �� “Da invites?” he had a thick Russian accent, his voice deep and serious that you almost took out your gun and shot him from surprise. 

        “Of course. For Mr. and Mrs. Flint.” Andrew smiled, taking your invitations and handing them over.

        The Russian male looked at the invitation, before shoving them in the trash, “Go.” 

        You smiled, entering the house. “The nerve.” You whispered. “If he is the butler, he is  a terribly un-jauntily one.” 

        Andrew chuckled, his hand patting your waist. “You shouldn’t be expecting princess treatment around here, honey.”

        “Don’t.” You rolled your eyes.

        “I’m only playing the role as your husband.” Andrew hummed. “Hey, we seem to play House a lot. It’s almost like the universe is trying to tell us something…”

        “That I should bury your body and leave you for Raquelle because I’m Barbie and nothing speaks more empowering than a 10 year old girl playing with Barbies and reflecting her female interest of her best friend?” you hummed.

        “I… Well that was specific. Do you swing that way?” Andrew inquired, now unsure if he should be making a move or not. 

        “Oh please, it’s just every girl’s plotline. Ken cheats with some broad, Barbie finds out, so she murders Ken and dates her best friend.” You smiled. “Well, at least every normal girl did. Personally, I performed ventriloquist shows with the dead bodies of our victims in my living room. My mother always said I had an eye for the arts.”

        Andrew peeked over at you, disturbed, a bit pale in the face. “Could you not?”

        “Sorry.” You giggled. “I reminisce about my childhood.”

        “You shouldn’t be doing that; it’ll make you think twice about killing your family, getting hungover on the past and all…” Andrew muttered.

        “Oh, no. It only makes me angrier. To think they’d betray me like this despite all I’ve done…” You smiled.

        As you entered the living room, there was a woman, a thick European accent as she spoke. “Allow me to assist you.” 

        She guided you to a room, opening the door for you. What awaited you was another woman, one who was standing by an elevator that lead down. 

        “Allow me.” She spoke, pressing a button that opened the elevator.

        You both entered the elevator, the woman pressing a button that led you two down and down. 

        The doors opened, showing a hallway with red carpeting and pale yellow walls that led to two arched oak doors. You pushed the doors open to be greeted with fancy chandeliers, tables upon tables of white tablecloths with silver dishes of foods and desserts.

        “So much for a casual party…” Andrew whispered in your ear, grimacing at the sight of so many people. “This is all the people involved in mafia activity here in Georgia?” Andrew questioned, almost surprised.

        “No,” you spoke, “This is the world of the mafia ranks—the hierarchies and those below. That’s why there were so many different accents the guides above us had.” 

        “And they all came for a party? It’s like the royals from the 1600’s.” Andrew scoffed. 

        “In this case, yes.” You nodded. “A party like this isn’t simply for business affairs; this is a underground debut.” 

        “You said that earlier… What is it?” Andrew questioned.

        “It’s optional depending on the family, but it’s typically an introduction to the underground organization once you reach age, typically 18 to 20 depending on the family.” You explained, making your way to the dessert table as Andrew unknowingly followed. “It’s a time for potential suitors and business proposals to introduce themselves. It’s typically popular considering it doesn’t only apply to just the family hosting. Other organizations can network and exchange information or services. It’s usually how they find their forever workers such as their consigliere or underboss.

        You never had a debut yourself since your family didn’t like the idea of your faces plastered in the underground, nor did they care for you or any of your siblings marrying into businesses. To a normal family, it might be like a sweet 16, a quinceañera, or a Philippine debut; but to the mafias, it was a debut into their life of organizing crime. 

        You grabbed a plate, stuffing it with raspberry macaroons, fudge, chocolate covered strawberries, anything sweet for your sweet tooth.

        “You like sweets?” Andrew smiled.

        “Oh, don’t tell me you’re a ‘I like my coffee black’ type of guy.” You rolled your eyes. “Every woman knows you do that to seem mysterious and self-disciplined.” 

        “…Well, I guess I like sweets every now.” Andrew muttered, stealing a chocolate strawberry from your plate, earning a glare from you. “Maybe it’s cause I don’t want cavities either.”

        “Oh fuck off and—“ you were cut off by a woman walking up to you. 

        “Jane!” the woman smiled, her red hair in a neat braid over her shoulder.

        “Oh… hey… you.” You smiled, internally cringing at not only forgetting her name, but remembering her from the hotel. “What are you doing here?”

        “I’m on a business trip, I didn’t know we were in the same business!” she smiled. “So, what family do you belong to?” 

        “Flints…” you muttered, stuffing your face with desserts so you couldn’t talk to her.

        “Hm. Never heard of them.” She smiled.

        “They’re working their way up.” You politely smiled back.

        “So? What’s your role?” she questioned.

        “Soldier.” You spoke shortly, wanting this to be over with.

        Might as well seem unimportant and not too unimportant as possible. You had more important things to attend to. 

        “Oh. Nice.” She smiled, before waving over a man, the same man from the hotel earlier. “Xane, come!”

        “It’s nice to see you guys again. Strange me and Ivy would meet you guys here out of all places.” Xane smiled, charming and withdrawn but not much so—much alike in Andrew, you could see.

        “Yeah… Small world.” Andrew muttered, placing his hand on your waist, grabbing another strawberry to keep his own mouth occupied.

        “So? What family do you work for?” you smiled.

        “The Gallo's.” Xane spoke. 

        Internally, you almost died, but you smiled on the outside. 

        “Wow, I’ve heard about you!” you smiled.

        “Mr. Gallo really is the best. It’s thanks to Mrs. Gallo too. They really make a wonderful duo.” Ivy boasted, proud of who she worked under like a dog would their owner. 

        “Speaking of me?” a soft female’s voice drew out, appearing behind Ivy out of thin air.

        “Oh, Mrs. Gallo. Yes, we were just talking of you.” Ivy smiled. 

        The woman had long, curly black hair and onyx eyes, smiling as she looked at you. “Oh, my dear. I see.” She hummed, tilting her head.

        “Hello—“ 

        “Bell. You can call me Bell.” She smiled, her dark skin and thick lips shining. “And you?”

        “Jane,” you spoke, “And this is my husband, Hank.” You introduced Andrew.

        “Ah, I see.” She smiled. “Are you enjoying the party so far?”

        “Of course.” You nodded, smiling. “It’s an honor for you to invite us.” 

        “Yes, well, I only aim for my daughter to be well-versed in our family’s antics.” Bell hummed, a hand on her hip. “Say, do you enjoy shows?” 

        “Depends on what is it.” You frowned, confused on the sudden topic change.

        “I ask because my daughter will be hosting a show for us. You see, she’s a singer and entertainer. Her way of expression is through music—it’s how she hopes to find a suitor with an eye for auditory arts.” Bell explained.

        “Intriguing.” You smiled, looking at Andrew. 

        “Stay a bit longer? Her voice is quite melodic.” Bell smiled. “I have to go greet other guests now. It was lovely meeting you, Jane.”

        “To you as well.” You hummed, watching as Ivy and Xane followed her, like bodyguards. 

        “Well?” Andrew questioned. “That was her, right?”

        “You’re starting to get a hang of this. Are we spiritually connected?” you smiled. “Yes, that was her. Her real name is Amara. It seems she understands we’re undercover; however, I’m unsure if that means she’s up to date with my status as a runaway, or if she’s simply playing the part as a spy.” You frowned.

        “She could be pretending, just like spies do.” Andrew hummed, his hand subconsciously rubbing up and down your hip.

        “Well, it could be plausible.” You hummed. “But… I believe our biggest worry here are my parents being present here. A big underground meeting such as this would have them attracted like moths to a light.” You spoke.

        “You don’t think they’d have the balls to kill us here, right?” Andrew questioned. 

        “No. It’d draw too much attention. Everyone would take out their weapons and kill the person nearest to them out of panic and confusion.” You spoke, sighing. “This is so complicated. Out of all the days, they chose today for a debut.”

        “We could always come back tomorrow?” Andrew suggested.

        “No. They could be hot on our trail for all we know. We’re in the same city, same town, same house, and same party right now. Surely this wasn’t a coincidence.” You frowned.

        “You know, I’m starting to think you like the challenge. The thrill of all this.” Andrew gruffed. “It’s like everything is hard cause it gives you a lady hard-on.” 

        “Why don’t you shut your mouth before I punch you hard?” you scoffed.

        “Oh, like they did to your nose?” Andrew retorted.

        “Shut up! You know that makes me feel insecure!” you hissed, the attention to your nose dragging your own focus back to the cast on your face, how stupid and ugly you must look with your broken nose and puffed up eyes.

        “… I’m sorry.” Andrew muttered. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

        “I don’t want your pity fucks.” You scoffed. “I did not enjoy today’s as it was.”

        “Oh, sorry. You orgasming on my tongue and moaning really made it seem like you didn’t enjoy it.” Andrew spoke sarcastically. 

        “Not in public!” you whispered, glaring at him.

        Andrew smirked smugly at you, proud to have you angry and flustered. You spent your time at the dessert table, wanting to hug the wall there so you could survey the crowd and do your best to avoid your parents. 

        If your mother and father were here, they would have your little sister too, along with some bodyguards hidden in the crowd, who would be on the lookout for you two—if not already stalking you in the disguise of the crowd.

        You watched as those socialized, hearing terrible business proposals, the flirting of two people who would no doubt take occupy a motel room later tonight, the complaining of an elder; normal stuff at parties such as these. 

        It wasn’t until a man in a suit came to the table, grabbing a glass and a spoon, hitting them to draw people’s attention. It was quiet as those used their indoor voices, so he was able to gain their attention quick.

        “Good evening. Thank you for coming to my daughter Viven’s debut. If you all could please follow me to the stage, my daughter would love to perform her original pieces for you.” He, Mr. Gallo, spoke.

        You watched as those followed. You and Andrew stayed in the back of the crowd, following the end of the line, entering a new room. It was like an auditorium, rows of seats for your convenience, and a stage with red curtains closed.

        Once everyone was seated, you watched as the curtains opened. 

        “Hello, everyone. It is so good to see all of your faces, familiar and unfamiliar.” Bell spoke, introducing herself. “I am Bell. Thank you for coming to my daughter’s first debut. It was my pleasure hosting to you all.”

        You grabbed Andrew’s hand and stood up, walking to the doors “in search of a bathroom,” you whispered so nobody could be suspicious of you as you planned your move. 

        “My daughter Viven is going to play the harp and sing her first piece titled ‘Eighteen Petals’.” Bell spoke. “We ask of you to sit back, respect your neighbors, and enjoy the show—“

        BANG! 

        Bell’s body fell on the stage, her form lifeless. You stared, surprised.

        “Wow. What a dramatic scene.” You muttered.

        “It must be a play too. Such as the mother being a wilted petal?” Andrew theorized.

        It wasn’t until you saw blood seeping onto your older sister’s yellow gown did you realize that it wasn’t apart of the show. 

        It was a murder, and you didn’t pull the trigger.

        There was an uproar, people standing up in their seats, some fleeing, others screaming in place. Some pushed and shoved you to the door, Andrew holding you protectively to his chest, cursing at people who carelessly knocked you around. 

        Your eyes met Ivy’s, her partner Xane right by her, and they didn’t look happy. In her hands was a silver dagger, one she gripped with white knuckles as she stalked closer to you.

        You know you’ve been framed, but you don’t know by who. 

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Current chapter, Chapter 5 (in the works)

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

Inbox is OPEN for questions about the story and new plotlines/ideas, not for requests!

[stellar-constellations]

Heart on the Market (ONGOING SERIES) Chapter 3

WARNING: This series will include; NSFW, dead dove, reader is a serial killer, black market possible inaccurate historical slang and fashion, gore, alcohol, toxic relationships that should NOT be replicated in real life, murder, yanderes, cursing, guns, mafia family, implications of misandry (male misogyny), perversive thoughts, nonconsensual drugging, gaslighting, harm to children possibly more to add.

I do not condone ANY illegal acts, immoral acts, or toxic relationships portrayed in my fictional writing.

Inaccurate canon-timeline and setting (Ashley doesn't exist). Modern AU.

Incest is not Wincest.

Andrew Graves x Old school! Serial killer! Fem! Reader

Wordcount: 14,500+ words

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Current chapter, chapter 4, chapter 5 (in the works)

Andrew looked around the bedroom, curious as he looked around.

        Even if all his stuff was here, it felt missing. How could he not remember being her fiancé? He should be able to remember proposing, their dates, even just their first meeting.

        But all he remembers is her being the cute and annoyingly chatty neighbor next door, nothing more, nothing less.

        And the Manson Murderer, of course. She was that too.

        But what does she need with him? Why can’t she just let him go? He wouldn’t tell anyone—not until after a couple months when she starts trusting him enough to let down her guard so he can call the police.

        He’s not stupid. She was lying to him. It was probably that food she gave him yesterday, but she’s so insistent that nothing happened, that he was her fiancé.

        Could she be lonely? The thought crossed his mind. Is she looking for a suitable partner?

        Well, he was a poor choice, he concluded. Plus, why the hell would she show interest in him. 

        She must be worried about him ratting her out, that’s the only possible conclusion. If that’s the case, he’ll have to follow along.

        But who says he can’t have fun with it? Maybe he can make her confess that she’s been gaslighting him ever since he woke up.

        Surely she must be keeping him alive because he’s useful to her, right? She could easily dispose of him and he bets she knows this.

        He has no family he talks to, he never has no visitors, he works night shift at a gas station; yeah, he really has no social life other than his landlord who he sends money to every month. 

        Yeah, he has nobody to notice he’s missing. If he disappears from work, they’ll just assume he quit his job like every other gas station attendant does after 3 months of night shift. 

        It’d be ways to kill him, yet she won’t. Is it because she wants him to do her dirty work? Does he even have the courage to kill a man?

        It’s either that… or her twisted sexual pleasure.

        She’s an old school girl from what he’s seen so fair, and she said she was practicing celibacy. If that’s the case…

        Maybe he can help out with that. It’s just some sex to keep him alive, right? And besides, she’s the one that claimed they were engaged, might as well try and act like he actually believes her.

        She stepped out of the bathroom, wearing a black and white polka dot dress with a matching bow in her hair. She has her hair curled like a housewife from the 50’s.

        He always thought the past should stay in the past, but she looked… pretty cute actually.

        It wouldn’t be bad at all sleeping with her.

        His eyes met her, a smile almost immediately making way on his face.

        “So… fiancé? Right?” he questioned, walking over to her. “Take off your clothes and prove it.” He smirked, pinning her down to the mattress.

        You looked up at him, surprised. What the hell was with the sudden switch up?

        Nonetheless, he wasn’t fighting with you, instead he was coming to an agreement. But settling into his role so fast? There must be something wrong.

        “It’s early morning, are you sure you want to right now?” you questioned, looking for an excuse to get out of this.

        “Morning sex exists.” Andrew shrugged, smiling.

        “But… we promised we wouldn’t conceive until our wedding night.” You spoke.

        “Who said we were gonna conceive?” Andrew questioned, tilting his head and smiling.        

        He leaned back, sitting on his knees in between your legs. He looked down at you and smiled, his hand rested on your leg, before running up slowly. His fingers tickled your skin as his reach went high, stopping to give an appreciative squeeze to your thigh, before going under your skirt.

        “I’m ticklish!” you gasped, squirming as you tried to escape with another excuse. 

        “Relax, baby.” Andrew smirked, his fingers reaching in between your legs.

        He felt the spandex shorts underneath your skirt and let out an irritated huff at the blockage, pulling down the fabric. 

        You squealed, surprised as you slapped him. You gave him a hard lick to his cheek, enough to turn his head to the side.

        “Ow! What the hell?!” Andrew hissed, backing away. 

        “What do you mean? You were harassing me!” you huffed, quickly pulling up your spandex shorts to cover yourself.

        “We’re engaged.” Andrew groaned.

        “You still need to ask for consent, whether we’re engaged or not!” you huffed. “Hasn’t your mother taught you how to treat a lady?”

        “I’m pretty sure hitting your partner is domestic abuse…” Andrew grumbled. “See, if I hit you, I’d be the bad guy; but if you hit me, then according to society, I must’ve deserved it.”

        You opened your mouth to speak, before shutting it, realizing he had a point.

        Right, partners don’t just hit each other when they’re angry. Although he deserved the positive punishment, you should’ve reacted more maturely.

        “I’m sorry…” you sighed, the furrow in your brows weakened as you strained yourself to let your face soften, appearing more innocent and guilty. “I was just embarrassed. Despite us being lovers, I still need to get used to your affection—I need to get used to tending to my partners needs, I’ve never had a partner before…”

        It was a lie. You’ve kissed your late fiancé Judah before. You may be celibate, but you’ve established your own boundaries of celibacy, and you’ve deduced that hand-holding, hugging, and kissing are all fine. 

        But Andrew wasn’t Judah. You had been courted by Judah for eight months before you first kissed him in front of your doorstep.

        Judah had walked you home after your date walking around the local park, letting you hold onto his arm like a gentleman as you strolled and admired the wildflowers. He dropped you off at your doorstep and kissed you on the lips; his tan, soft lips tasting not even tasting like mint.

        No, mint was a nervous taste—everyone nervous before dates had mints. He tasted like bubblegum, sweet and addictive, that it almost made you invite him in and break your celibacy vow.

        But Andrew tastes like… nothing. There was nothing you felt when you kissed him, nothing except repulse. He looked like a slab of meat, like any other walking beef stick you see in the city.

        “It’s okay…” Andrew sighed, still holding onto his cheek, rubbing the throbbing skin as blood rushed to the area, turning it red. “I was being insensitive of your feelings; it was wrong of me to assume you’d be okay with it.”

        Even if you were a murderer, you still had thoughts and feelings. Even with all the pairs of eyes in your closet, you looked at him with your own, and your own looked fearful when he leaned in.

        No, not fear. Betrayal.

        Whether it was to him, yourself, or someone else; it felt like you were under the impression of betraying someone.

        “I’m going to make breakfast. Please get dressed.” You muttered.

        The atmosphere felt awkward. You weren’t used to awkward. You weren’t used to feeling like you were being watched, or at least, watched with something other than admiration and respect.

        You quickly excused yourself out of the room so Andrew could change, feeling unsettled with him.        

        People loved you, you spent years delicately crafting yourself to look like a good person, perfecting the way you walked, talked, acted.

        You learned how to be a lady, watching your mother’s tapes she got from her own mother, watching dozens of old shows on how a lady should be. 

        She should hold her head high—but not too high, so she doesn’t appear snobby; not too low either, otherwise it will look like she has no backbone. Use your head to express emotions, body language is everything. Tilt your head to show confusion, raise it to show happiness, lean it forward to show intrigue, lean it back to show disgust. 

        She should wear dresses. Not above the knees so she doesn’t look like the common street slut, but not too low so she looks like a prissy librarian. Don’t wear dark and broody colors so you don’t look approachable, but don’t wear vibrant and eye-sore colors so you look humble.

        She should talk with appeal. Not too high to blow someone’s ears out, but not too low so she isn’t ignored. Her words need to be enunciated, every syllable and vowel spoken so she speaks clearly without any room for confusion. 

        Look them in the eyes when you talk; people love feeling seen. Lean in when they talk; it drives a person wild feeling heard, like they’re the only one important in your world. When you walk, keep your eyes straight for 20 seconds at a time, then look around twice; keep your eyes straight too long, you’ll look too stern like you have a mission, but keep them always wandering, you’ll look paranoid and timid.

        She should walk with elegance and style. Wear some shoes that give you a bit of height so you look out of other’s league, but not too high so you don’t seem like you’re looking down on people. Let your feet be silent on carpet, have your heels cushion your sound so you don’t like heavy, that way you can still hold a dainty, feminine image. But walk loud on tile and concrete, like you’re announcing your present, but not too loud so you don’t sound like a bitch. 

        Yes, the way she walked, talked, looked, acted; it was all influenced by old media so she could perfect the splitting image of a modest lady. A lady who was humble and kind. A lady with a hint of nostalgia that makes you let your guard down. 

        And yet, your mother taught you how to be a killer. Your father taught you how to run the family business. Your older brother taught you how to handle pyramid schemes and negotiate. Your older sister taught you to seduce and male and female. Your younger brother taught you self-defense and offense. Your younger sisters taught you how to get everything you wanted with some fake tears and words. 

        Your life revolved around family and the family business. You were a (L/N), an underground criminal family with nothing but wealth and intimidation. Anyone who sought your head on their wall would die and have their eyes in a jar for your collection; which only made it more appealing for bounty hunters and assassins.

        Humans love chasing after the unreachable. They love the idea of being the first, to prove everyone wrong. Humans are stubborn, and it’s why you loved taking away that hope from them, watching as their eyes go wide before you pulls them out. 

        But Andrew, he was a special case. He never looked at you with admiration, respect, desire, envy. He didn’t acknowledge you as a perfect, humble lady; but as another mere human on this planet.

        And that unsettled you beyond belief.

        No amount of punching a human punching bag, stabbing a drunk man, scooping a person’s eyes, unlocking any lock, seducing any human, negotiating any deal, intimidating any man, could prepare you for the stare of pure indifference Andrew gave you before all this.

        Andrew exited now-shared bedroom, wearing a black sweater and grey pants. It always looked like he wore that damn attire, and he did, you carried all his clothes in here and you saw just how little clothes he had—especially how little variety of style and colors. 

        “Disgusting.” The words escaped your lips before you could even try to hold your tongue, but even if you could hold it, you wouldn’t have.

        “Excuse me?” Andrew scoffed.

        “Just what do you think you’re doing wearing that?” you questioned.

        He looked nothing like a gentleman, more like a lazy bum in that outfit! How could you be seen with him out in public like that? He’d ruin your perfectly crafted social image!

        “It’s what was in our wardrobe…” He huffed.

        Right. How could you forget? This man is not a gentleman, he has no gentleman clothes. You’ll have to spend your money buying him some damn clothes.

        Looks like you’ll have to hold off on that cute poodle skirt you wanted.

        “I-I mean… dear. There’s certainly much better things for you to wear. You look like you’re going to lounge on the couch in that outfit, let me finish breakfast and choose an outfit for you…” You forced yourself to smile, trying to appear nice and a domestic wife.

        Ugh. How bothersome this was. Not even Judah was so bad with fashion, but you supposed he was impressing more girls than you.

        “Whatever…” Andrew sighed, taking a seat in the dining room. 

        You served him a plate of simple pancakes, strawberries, hot fudge, whipped cream, and generously served on top. 

        “This is dessert.” Andrew spoke. 

        “Breakfast.” You corrected.

        “Dessert.” He huffed.

        “Breakfast!” you retorted.

        “Woman, this is dessert! This is whipped cream and chocolate and strawberries; all dessert items!” Andrew argued.

        You looked at him, annoyed as you reaching over the counter and yanked his collar, pressing your nose against his. 

        “I said it was dessert. Either you eat what’s on the plate or you can eat it on the ground.” You snapped. “Put a sock in that attitude and put some food in your mouth.” 

        Andrew looked surprised, his back hitting the chair. He looked down at his sweater, seeing the food smudged on it from being pulled into his plate.

        “Oops.” You spoke, although you didn’t feel sorry at all. “I guess you’ll have to change after all.” You smiled.

        You sat down, pleased with yourself as you ate, watching as Andrew hesitantly put the food in his mouth and chewed.

        Last time he ate food made by you, he went from being your neighbor next door to your fiancé living with you. 

        You finished your pancakes with ease, placing your plate in the sink and washing it with the dishes you used to cook. Andrew took longer to finish, but he seemed to enjoy it as he finished the whole plate. 

        “Go wear one of your flannels.” You spoke. 

        You remember seeing them when you were carrying his clothes into your wardrobe. While it’s not your idea of a perfect gentleman, it’s certainly better than looking like you were dressed up for a quick gas station soda run. 

        As Andrew walked back into the bedroom to change, you dragged the body bag you still had to the front door. You grabbed your purse and keys, waiting for Andrew.

        He came walking in, stopping upon seeing the body bag.

        “You still have the dead man?!” Andrew exclaimed.

        “Shut up! Not so loud!” you hissed. “And yes, we’re taking him to the cleaner.”

        “I’m not.” Andrew spoke.

        “Yes, you are. Now pick him up before you end up in a bodybag too, dear.” You smiled, annoyed.

        It was just a dead man, nothing to be too freaked out about. You were even kind enough to cover the body with a bag so Andrew couldn’t see it—he should be thankful! 

        You watched as Andrew crouched down and picked up the bodybag, carrying it in his arms and out the door as you held the door open. You turned off all your lights and shut your door, locking it. You guided him to the fire escape stairs, leading him down to your car.

        “Put him in the trunk.” You spoke, unlocking the car and opening the trunk.

        Andrew dropped the bodybag into the trunk, watching the car bounce down from the weight.

        You dragged Andrew into the passenger seat, careful to child lock the door so he couldn’t escape.

        You got into the driver’s seat and started your red 1960 Pontiac Bonneville.

        “Wow, I always wondered whose car was in complex’s parking lot. I should’ve known it was you.” Andrew hummed, admiring your red interior.

        “I know, Scarlet’s a beauty.” You hummed, smiling.

        “Oh god, you’re one of those people that name their car?” Andrew laughed.

        “It only makes sense. If you take care of your car, they’ll take care of you.” You spoke, driving off. 

        Your CD player was playing The Beach Boys, listening to “Wouldn’t It Be Nice?”, humming the tune as you drove outside of the city.

        You made a turn on a gravel road, driving past graves. Some graves were covered in grass, some had flowers and gifts, and some even had lights; but they all shared the same grey tombstone.

        “Have you ever wondered what happens with the dead?” you questioned, looking at Andrew.

        “Not really… I don’t really believe in heaven or hell.” Andrew spoke.

        “I’m not talking about what happens to their spirits; I mean their bodies.” You smiled.

        “What do you mean?” Andrew questioned, curious as he rested his elbow on the armrest, turning his attention to you.

        “Throughout history, we’ve had billions of people die. Why is it we don’t have gravestones everywhere? Those billions would surely fill our lands with graves.” You spoke. “Not everyone is cremated. There’s a theory that after every 100 to 120 years, a coffin will be opened up and their remains will be dumped into the ocean, or burned, or just something to dispose of so that they can reuse the grave.” You explained.

        “That’s creepy.” Andrew shuddered.

        “It’s just a theory, of course. But look at how big these graveyards are, and most of them are only from 50 years ago… where are the current graves? Why are so much of them from the past, but never exceed 1950?” You questioned. “Just food for the brain.” You smiled, parking your car in an empty parking lot.

        There was a man waiting at the front door, a stretcher bed right next to him. The man looked European, tan skin and curly black hair, a surgical mask on as he walked towards your car.

        “Ms. (L/N), always a pleasure to see you!” the man smiled, opening the door for you and taking your hand.

        “Thank you, Leopard.” You hummed, shooting him a smile as he kissed your hand (more like pressed his mask to your hand, but it’s the thought that counts). 

        Andrew looked at the man curiously, trying to unlock his door before glaring at you, “You child locked it?!”

        “Oops.” You shrugged your shoulders. “Leopard, if you could?” 

        “Yes, my lady.” His eyes crinkled up, smiling as he walked to Andrew’s side of the door and opened it for him.

        Andrew stood up, immediately glaring at you from the other side of the car.

        “Pardon my memory my lady, but I don’t recall this man.” Leopard spoke, his hands behind his back. 

        “This is Andrew Graves, my fiancé.” You spoke. 

        “Ah, now I see.” Leopard nodded. “I assume you’re inviting me to the wedding, correct?” he smiled.

        “Of course, you and your family have been faithful to mine for generations.” You smiled.

        “What are you? A noble?” Andrew muttered, annoyed as he walked to your side. 

        You ignored him, opening your car’s trunk to reveal the bodybag. You looked at Andrew expectantly, to which he rolled his eyes and picked it up.

        Andrew placed the body onto the stretcher bed with a soft thunk!, following as you and Leopard walked into the morgue. 

        The morgue had a door he entered from, along with another door. Leopard closed the front door, then opened the protective door barrier, allowing them into the room. 

        The room had some white bags covering the dead, lockers with bodies filled with ice, and a dead woman on the examination table.

        Andrew cringed, seeing the pale, naked woman. The woman had some birth marks on her shoulder and under her neck, something Leopard was paid to write down so that her family could identify her body later on.

        “Oops. I apologize, I was so excited to see the lady that I forgot to clean up.” Leopard smiled, noticing Andrew’s disturbed expression on his face.

        “I took care of all the organs, I have buyers later today.” You explained, placing your hand on you hip, drumming your fingers on a nearby table. “He had a wife, named Douglas Hardy. If anybody asks for if a body came in with that name, you know the drill; say no.”

        “Of course, my lady.” Leopard nodded, opening one of the body lockers for the woman to lay in.

        “I assume you can cremate the body and dispose of the ashes by 5 PM today, right?” you questioned.

        “I can do it by three.” He smiled.

        You nodded, pleased. “Well, that settles it.” You reached into your purse, handing Leopard a envelope filled with $4,000. “Please doing business with you.”

        “It always is.” Leopard smiled, shoving the envelope in his pocket. “It was lovely to see you again Ms (L/N), along with your… fiancé?”

        Leopard looking at Andrew questionably, as if not believing Andrew was really your partner. You politely smiled, making your exit before Leopard gets suspicious, taking Andrew with you back to the car. 

        “Cleaner, check.” You smiled, starting your car. “All that is left are the buyers. We’ll meet with them later tonight though.” You explained to Andrew.

        “So we’re going home?” Andrew questioned. 

        “Unless you want to do something else? Perhaps lunch” you questioned.

        “If I eat now I’ll puke…” Andrew groaned, thinking back to that dead girl on the examination table.

        “You’ll get used to it soon enough, it took me a few years.” You smiled. 

        Your first kill was special, truly a romantic and eye-opening moment in your life. 

        You and your father went hunting, shotguns aimed at the ground so you wouldn’t accidentally shoot each other.

        Normally one would go to the woods to hunt, but not you. Your family had been in some debt with a troublesome group, so they needed some money to quickly repay before things get hectic.

        Your hunt led you to a children playground.

        See, sometimes when you exterminate the bad of the world, you need to make sacrifices of the good. There must be an even balance of bad and good, equality is important.

        You had a hit; a man wanted his ex-girlfriend’s child dead after he was spending $2,000 on child support for a baby that was found out to not even be his blood.

        Sometimes, the innocent suffer in the crossfire. 

        Your father had taken you to practice many times on does and rabbits. You had your practice on moving targets, so when you aimed your gun’s mouth to the child on the swings, it felt nothing more like shooting an animal.

        The way they dropped to the ground was the same as an animal. The way they convulsed and spasmed was the same as an animal. The way their eye twitched was the same as an animal. The way they screamed and cried was the same as an animal.

        The only difference is you were no animal; you were a hunter. A hunter can make one species go extinct, or stop overpopulation, or feed a family. 

        You however, just wanted money. So when you shot that kid, you couldn’t stop at one.

        All you saw were walking dollar signs, all their organs and skin valuable to sell. So when your eyes locked to the kid screaming at the dead body, you decided you liked the fear in his eyes, and needed those eyes for yourself. 

        Andrew’s eyes were pretty too, if he wasn’t such a nosy bastard, you would’ve plucked his eyes a long time ago; but you’re a lady, and you have patience.

        You wonder just how pretty his emerald eyes would look in your collection. He’d be a part of you forever. You’d put him on the highest shelf—the second-greatest honor in your collection. The first greatest honor is Judah’s blue eyes, which you keep in a small jar connected to a necklace and wore it under your shirt, closest to your heart.

        After your wedding, you very quickly sold off the wedding rings and his organs; you were even kind enough to twist Delilah and Judah’s large intestines together into a romantic, red, heart-shaped pretzel! Not many people are so kind to their ex's and their mistress'.

        Maybe you never fell for Judah’s heart or intestines; but his eyes.  They were just so pretty and blue—like an ocean. So when he started crying tears that rained on that ocean, you wanted to preserve those eyes to always look at you with that same terror in those deep blue eyes that just drowned you with excitement.

        Sapphire and emerald together, that’s a pretty combo. Maybe you could even keep Andrew’s skull and take one of his eyes out, replacing it with Judah’s, that way you can see both their eyes! 

        Andrew had no idea of your sadistic thoughts and just how much you got off on them. He watched as you pulled into the apartment parking lot, both of you hopping out as you crept behind Andrew so he wouldn’t try running away.

        You both made it to your door, unlocking it. You both stepped back into your dark apartment, Andrew still not too used to the layout or things (as expected from a man who hasn’t been there for 24 hours).

        “You can go to the bathroom and change first.” You spoke, setting your purse on the counter. “I need to get things set up for—“

        A searing pain shot through your face as you got knocked onto your ass, something metallic like a metal bat made a thunk! noise against your face. You clutched your nose, hissing in pain.

        “(Y/N)?” Andrew questioned from somewhere in the dark.

        You blindly kicked out in front of you, hitting something that wasn’t no wall or piece of furniture.

        “There’s intruders!” you shouted to Andrew, scurrying backwards.

        You’ve never had an invasion in your home. Have you been lacking in your skills recently? You shouldn’t of so blindly trusted that nobody would break into your house if there was neighbors; someone desperate enough or someone with a grudge big enough wouldn’t care.

        You crawled backwards, thinking. You had to escape. You would know your home’s layout best in the dark, but Andrew doesn’t.

        You could slip through the front door and leave Andrew. Surely they were after only you, they shouldn’t care about Andrew.

        But hearing a dull thud along with something hitting the ground let you know that Andrew was no longer moving.        

        You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. 

        Useless, men were. 

        You bumped into something behind you, but once more, it felt like no wall or furniture. Your breath caught in your throat (which you were already breathing from due to your most-likely broken nose), your blood running cold before someone yanked you by your hair, forcing you up onto your knees. 

        You groaned, feeling clumps strands of hair being ripped and stretched, giving you an even worse headache before something dull (a fist, you quickly realized) punched you in the face, knocking your vision white amongst the darkness of your apartment. 

        .

        .

        .                 You regained consciousness fairly quick, but unfortunately not quick enough to preserve your impending future. You could only assume it was ten minutes since you’ve been kidnapped, maybe thirty minutes, who knows?

        Andrew’s arms were wrapped around you, shielding you and hiding you in his side. It makes sense he regained consciousness faster, he was knocked out before you. 

        There wasn’t a window in the back of this van, so your hope of flagging down any pedestrians were low, especially with the man sitting in the back of the van with you. 

        It was dark in the back, but there was a barred window welded into the car’s interior, like you’d see in the back of a police car. That was your only source of light, but it wasn’t too helpful.

        You saw two people up front, one driving and another in the passenger seat. The man in the back had a black ski man on. 

        You could almost laugh, you would if it wasn’t for Andrew covering your mouth with his hand.

        It was like he knew you’d speak, and speaking in such a situation could possibly endanger you both.

        But what’s worse? You’re already outnumbered and in the back of an unfamiliar van with unfamiliar people driving to an unfamiliar destination; at this point, death would be better.

        No. Your family will rescue you, you’re a (L/N) and in charge of bringing in livestock (livestock as in organs). Organs are too valuable and it would be a waste of money to lose their producer. 

        Besides, your family. They helped raise you so you can do what you know best. They helped you did Judah, his maiden, and his family. 

        Yes, they’ll help you too. And you can’t wait for them to come, that way you can pluck the eyes of these disgusting men. You wouldn’t even keep them; you’d shred them like cheese and feed them to your cat, Georgia. 

        But you’ll just settle for waiting.

        You don’t know how long you’ve been in the car for, but it was hours. You watched as all the men took turns driving, so you were most likely out of state now.

        Whenever you tried to talk with Andrew, you would be promptly shut up by whichever man was sitting in the back of the van with you. Andrew ended up falling asleep against your chest. 

        Even in a situation like this, he could find some time to sleep, but you couldn’t blame him. This was his second time being kidnapped in a week (first, you hoped he didn’t remember you kidnapping him first). 

        Not only that, but the man works late-night in a convenience store, so of course he’d be sleeping during the day; it’s apart his internal clock now.

        Despite sleeping in your chest, his arms stayed wrapped around you, almost like he was protecting you (if he wasn’t currently sleeping, that is). 

        You’d find it sickening to have a man’s arms wrapped around you—one you’re not married to or even courting—but in a tense situation like this, you found yourself not minding the partnership.

        You woke Andrew up when the car stopped longer than needed for a quick driver switch. You watched as the van doors opened, before being roughly pulled up off the ground by your arm, dragged outside.

        You took the opportunity to look around. It was nighttime—of course it would be. Nobody would be stupid to bring out kidnapping victims in broad daylight for bystanders to see and hear them scream for help. 

        You stood in front of a large fancy hotel, white and gold lights that said “The Gardener Hotel.”

        You don’t recognize this place, and you seriously doubt Andrew does judging by the confusion on his face (or that could be grogginess from waking up). 

        You looker around, seeing lights everywhere. It looked like a red light district, but you thought those were illegal. Surely there must be undercover cops around here for you to alert.

        But you didn’t have the chance to alert them as you quickly were dragged into the hotel’s doors. They shut the doors behind you, taking you to a elevator. You all piled in, all five of you pressed against each other uncomfortably. From the corner of your eye, you could see a camera. 

        You were being monitored.

        Was it a rival underground mafia? No, why would they go after you of all people? If they wanted to drag you out of business, your older brother who handles the finances would be the best option to drag your family down.

        Your older brother resided in Pennsylvania, United States. Your older sister lived in Georgia (the state, not your cat) United States. Your younger brother lived in Germany. Your younger sister and parents lived in Italy. You lived in Jackson, Mississippi; one of the most poorest cities in the US, that way you can easily kill those. 

        After all, poor people go missing with little people to care about them. Nobody cares about a homeless man on a bench, but if Tom Cruise suddenly went missing; everyone would be hysterical, wondering what happened, trying to figure out what happened—even though you haven’t met or held conversations with either person, you’ll take the one who seems like he has his life together more seriously.

        It’s just psychological, and in some sense, could you really feel bad about it? It’s just like prejudice and ethnic grouping; people tend to stick with what is familiar to them. Computer techs generally have more friendships with computer techs than they do with athletes. 

        So of course, when you got off the elevator and met eyes with your brother, you knew this couldn’t be a coincidence. No psychological explanation of grouping with the same as what you know could explain this situation.

        It was forbidden for (L/N)’s to be in the same city—let alone state—at the same time (with the exception of the right hand man). It helped prevent the assassination of the family.

        But looking at your older brother, seeing him in his high and mighty desk as he towered over you despite still being seated.

        For once, you felt like the prey; a gazelle looking into the eyes of their predator, a cheetah.

        But you didn’t feel fear. You felt betrayed.

        And angry. Oh so angry.

        But you had another gazelle with you—Andrew.

        And you were sure going to put him to work with this one. 

        “Hello, little sis!” your brother, Vincent spoke. 

        He was a tall man, extraordinary so, towering over everyone in a crowd at 6’5”. You’re sure he’s related to a gargoyle with how much he loves shiny things, especially money.

        To be expected, money goes in hand with finances, so he took over the financial department of the (L/N) family. He organized and negotiated trades, proposed business ideas, sought after sponsors, and more. 

        He had a woman by his side, sitting on his lap. She was pretty, curly brown hair and pretty green eyes; but to you, she looked like a common street whore.

        You scowled at him, annoyed.

        “What the hell is the meaning of this? Why did these little rodents break into my home and drag me all the way over here?” you snapped. “And who do you think you are allowing that little slut into your office? She could be a spy of another family.”

        You were enraged at his behavior. He was threatening the family by his carelessness. Even if he was your brother, he was scum of the Earth, unable to form a logical thought in the presence of a pretty woman, constantly sleeping around more than a prostitute would.

        You remember all the nights as a kid, plugging in your headphones and blasting music in your ears to escape those stupid moans and banging of the headboard. While your parents were having a date night every week and your older sister was having study sessions at the library, he was getting some when he should be babysitting you and your younger siblings.

        You always felt repulsed being in the presence of your brother, he felt nothing more than another scumbag to eradicate the earth of. You would kill him if he wasn’t your brother. 

        “It’s just business, is all.” Vincent shrugged, smiling. “And as long as you don’t worry about my companion, I won’t worry about yours.” 

        “The difference is this is my fiancé.” You spoke, looking at Andrew.

        He was silent, a wise choice. It’s not good to talk about an issue you know nothing about.

        At least he’s smart.

        “Another one?” Vincent questioned, earning a harsh glare from you.

        “Shut up!” you snarled. “Tell me why I’m here!”

        “We’ve been noticing the drop in investments lately. Our purchases have been going down and our customers have been going to different sellers.” Vincent explained, resting his hand on the girl’s thigh that was sitting on him.

        You couldn’t help but scowl at his indecent behavior. He was always the opposite of you; lustful and insatiable while you were composed and modest.        

        “So?” you questioned, crossing your arms.

        “It means little sis, you’ve been slacking.” Vincent smiled.

        “Excuse me?” you snapped.

        You took great pride in your work, not everyone can get away with murder on a nightly basis! Besides, you always made sure to get the job done—you even personally extract the organs yourself!

        “The quality in your stock has been decreasing over the years.” Vincent explained. “And we’re losing valuable customers due to your carelessness.” 

        “It’s not everyday you find a vulnerable AB+ blood type with organs as new and healthy as a newborn.” You scoffed.

        “Oh please, you know we don’t care about that.” Vincent smiled. “You’ve been giving us just a lot of… defects. Lung damage, liver damage, defective hearts, damaged kidneys; and the quality has just been going downhill every time you refill our stock.” 

        “Okay? And? Americans have been getting more unhealthy thanks to all the chemicals and sugar in our foods. Read the back of a coke bottle; you don’t know what half of that shit is.” You scoffed.

        “It’s not my fault. Diets are poor. Nobody exercises cause they’re tired after work. Everyone wants to die so they take poor care of themselves. Nobody cares about themselves anymore. They’re all so reliant on this technology, and abusing the fuck out of healthcare systems and government money like stimulus checks and disability aid; our economy is at an all-time low with more people being unemployed because god forbid you can’t even live life due to all these prices and inflation.” You groaned.

        “I’m not talking about the economy or such, idiot.” Vincent frowned.

        “And I’m telling you that the economy is affecting it. Our diets of sugar and chem isle and GMO foods, our non-existent exercise because of working such long hours, our poor mental health from the state of this economy giving us financial stress; it’s all affecting the quality of our stock.” You explained. “I can’t just walk up to someone and say ‘hey, take care of yourself for a few years so that your organs are healthy and I can harvest them!’”

        “Excuses, excuses. Surely you can try to come up with something better.” Vincent sighed, rubbing up and down the girl’s arm.

        “You do it if you’re so concerned about my work then.” You huffed. 

        “Listen, I think it’s time we move onto something better. We need more opportunities, more better stock; and you’re not providing.” Vincent spoke. “We stuck with you for so long because you used to have such good stock. Keyword: usedto.” Vincent explained. “Even though organs are in high demand, and a little girl like you can only do so much, we still kept you around because you did good at your job—but not anymore.”

        “You’re gonna what? Replace me?” you laughed in disbelief.

        “Well, we all had a family meeting, and we all made a decision.” Vincent spoke, resting his cheek on his palm. “We decided the best course of action was to replace you, yes. But we need to make sure you keep quiet.”

        “You’re gonna kill me?” you questioned, smiling.

        “Oh, no! Not yet. Not until you make a decision at least!” Vincent spoke, grabbing a briefcase next to him. “You can walk away with 100,000 dollars, or you can settle with your life.”                 

        “$100,000? Really?” you chuckled. “That can barely afford a mobile home in this economy.” 

        “You’re not in a position to negotiate, (Y/N). I would really hate cleaning up your blood.” Vincent frowned.

        You looked at him, frustrated. 

        You could use the money… you still did want that poodle skirt, and that money can buy so much…

        “Okay, fine.” You sighed.

        You walked up to his desk, grabbing the briefcase and opening it to make sure the money was there.

        “Deal.” You spoke after confirming the money was there.

        You closed the briefcase, picking it up by the handle before swinging it across your brother’s face. The force knocked him off his chair, his mistress caught in the crossfire as she fell, before quickly rushing into a corner to hide.

        “Stupid bitch! Breaking my fucking nose!” you snapped, lunging over the desk at him.

        You heard the clicks of guns, turning your attention to see the men from earlier holding up guns, not at you, but at Andrew. The barrels of their guns were aimed towards Andrew threatening to shoot.

        “Hey, what the hell?” Andrew questioned, raising his hands in the air, a surrender-like motion. “I’m not even apart of this.” 

        You remained unfazed, bashing and bashing Vincent’s face in with the heel of your Mary Jane’s. You paid no mind, not even bothering looking at your older brother’s face as you mutilated it beyond belief, your eyes laser-focused on the bodyguards.

        “Do it.” You smiled, feeling as blood splattered your black tights. “Kill him. He was my hostage first, not a lover.”

        “What the fuck?!” Andrew shouted, pissed off.

        “What?” you smiled, your hand underneath the desk, opening cabinets, looking for something. “You didn’t actually think we were engaged, did you?”

        “Of course not, but I thought we at least were a team or something?” Andrew hissed.

        “Well, what the hell do we do now?” one of the bodyguards spoke, watching as you stomped your brother’s face to mush.

        “I don’t know. One (L/N) is dead, if we kill another one, we could be in serious trouble with two siblings dead.” The other groaned. “We just need to keep her hostage and bring her—“

        You pulled a gun out from Vincent’s desk, shooting the male speaking, before directing your attention to the other bodyguard, shooting him. 

        Both fell flat, one clutching at his chest while the other laid dead.

        “Y-you stupid bitch!” he shouted, angry.

        “Oops.” You smiled, walking towards him, kicking his gun away. “Andrew, be useful and pick up the guns. We could use them.”

        You watched from the corner of your eye as Andrew leaned down, picking up the gun from the dead man’s hand. Meanwhile, you kept your eyes on the dying man in front of you.

        “I meant to aim for your head, but I was a little off considering the drawback from the first shot.” You spoke, your gun in hand. “It appears I’ve gotten a little rusty; allow me.” 

        You aimed the gun at his head, shooting the bodyguard. 

        “Alright, let’s take the briefcase of money and any other valuables we can find. We have some things to do.” You explained, walking towards Vincent’s woman, side piece, purchased prostitute, who knows?

        The woman cowered in a corner, scared. You smiled, looking at her.

        “What’s your relationship with my brother?” you questioned, fiddling with the gun in your hand.

        “H-he just rents one of us girls at my company every few days.” The girl stammered, her hands in the air, trying to shield herself.

        “So, a rentable prostitute?” you hummed, smiling. “Despite not contributing to his wrongdoings, you have sins of your own that require purification.” You spoke.

        With one quick tug of your finger, you shot the woman in the head. You looked back at Andrew, watching his pale face and wide eyes, an expression of horror and fear. You chuckled, walking back to your brother, shooting him in the chest just to make sure he was dead.

        “Don’t act so surprised.” You hummed. “You know very well what I do.” You spoke. 

        "Yeah, but I didn't know you'd fucking trade me in!" Andrew snapped.

        "It was just improv." You lied.

        Yeah? So what? You'd trade Andrew's life over your own any day. I mean, who'd miss that guy? The gas station will just find a new employee to give their shitty wages to, and it's not like he had a girlfriend who'd miss him, or parents who'd care. 

        Yeah, you'd trade him in for 10 bucks, if even 10 cents. He's practically your human shield at the moment, and he should know his place—beneath you.

        You picked up the briefcase and put it on the desk, picking up some money and testing it, feeling to make sure it was real. You started counting, making sure you didn't get ripped off.

        "Hey, why don't you check those dead bodies over there?" you ordered.

        Bodies. Dead bodies, that's what they were. Not even dead people. To you, they were barely people, people with names, identities, families. They were just bodies, and an easy paycheck.

        "Check for any valuables. Wallets, phones, car keys, rings, necklaces, bracelets; oh yada yada, whatever looks pricey." You spoke, flipping through some 100's. 

        Andrew let out a groan, walking to the corner of your eye so he can go check the dead girl's body.

        All 100's? Please, who accepts 100's now? You're going to have to go to a lot of banks so you can cash these 100's in for 20's now. 

        You let out groan, mentally cursing your dead brother who laid at your feet. Stupid brother, he couldn't even get the simple rules of finances right despite running that branch of your family. 

        Your counting stopped as you heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked, ready to fire. 

        "What do you think you're doing?" you questioned, annoyed as you put down your money, looking at Andrew.

        "You really tried trading in my life." Andrew glared at you. 

        "So you're going to kill me?" you questioned, smiling. "Honey, just this morning you were freaking out about eyes you didn't even gorge out. You were disturbed of a dead body you didn't even kill concealed in a bag; and you think you have the balls to kill me?"

        You saw Andrew's finger pulled the trigger, before there was a loud, deafening click.

        A misfire. 

        You quickly tackled him, his head hitting the ground as you straddled him. Fighting for the gun, you tried to grab it, but he was so much stronger. It's hard to believe a social recluse—a wallflower like him—was this strong. The most exercise he's probably received was walking to his car in the dead hours of the night. So why was he so strong?

        Cause he was a stupid man. Natural born strength you lacked. If you were stronger, born a male, maybe you would've played a more important role in your family's business. Maybe you would've been able to run the financial branch, or the defenses, or anything other than a stupid retriever. Even your younger sister has a better job than you. 

        Even if your parents were old school, they'd at least follow the rules and use the elder hierarchy. Even if your brothers got the best jobs for being men, you as the middle sister would at least get a job better than your youngest daughter.

        But you didn't.

        Why is that?

        Andrew threw the gun away from the both of you.

        Smart, you hate think that you're rubbing off on him. That your intellect is starting to take over him too. 

        You quickly tried running for the gun, but he grabbed your ankle and dragged you right back to him, back and back until you were now underneath him. You squirmed on your back, trying to fight him off.

        "You're stupid! I was just trying to save us both! If they knew I had an emotional connection with you, they'd use you against me!" you hissed.

        "But you don't and you know that! You didn't care if they shot me or not!" Andrew snapped.

        "You're my fiancé, you're being ridiculous!" you huffed, trying to fight his hands as he tried pinning them down, struggling with how much you moved like a feral animal.

        "You said I wasn't!" Andrew rebutted.

        "It was also improv!" you quickly retorted. 

        "As if! You make be smart, but I know damn well my memories aren't lacking. You drugged me and are trying to get me to believe this delusional fantasy of yours so you can try and control me!" Andrew hissed.

        Yeah, maybe your intellect was rubbing off on him. 

        He punched you square in the face, enough to make your broken, bleeding nose bleed even more. You yelped, your hands quick to shield your nose, groaning and whining at the feeling of your broken nose suffering more abuse. 

        "You stupid little—" you gritted your teeth, your hands going to his abdomen, pushing down on that cut you made on him just the other night.

        He let out a gasp, his strength failing him as he collapsed on you.

        "No! Get off!" you snapped, hitting and scratching his back.

        "Ngh... not until I kill you..." Andrew groaned, his face buried into your neck, gasping and panting at the pain from the deep wounds you gave him stimulated once more by your crude touch. 

        "Off! Off! Off!" you whined like a child throwing a tantrum in the vegetable aisle, shouting and cursing and whining.

        You were betrayed, in pain, and being suffocated under the weight of this tall, dark, and stupid man above you. 

        You got tired relatively fast, considering your energy had to be conserved so you can heal up after this traumatizing and unfamiliar moment. You panted, your breath matching Andrew's pained ones as he laid above you, resting on you like a mattress.

        "Truce?" he questioned, to which you nodded.

        "Truce." you agreed.

        "You won't try and kill me?" Andrew questioned. 

        "I won't." You nodded.

        "I'm carrying the guns." Andrew quickly spoke, to which you clicked your teeth.

        There goes your plans on killing him.

        "Fine." You sighed.

        You didn't want to argue. You wanted to sleep. Unlike Andrew, you didn't sleep the whole time your way here. You came from Jackson, Mississippi to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania (from poor city to rich city), which was a 17 hour drive.

        So yes, you were tired and didn't want to argue with Andrew about who holds the damn guns. Besides, if he gets caught with them, you can just say you were a hostage; the police would believe a woman over a man.

        "Promise?" Andrew questioned. 

        "Yes. Promise." You groaned, just wanting him off you.

        He rolled off of you and onto his back, the both of you panting as you caught your breaths. You were the first sit up, watching as Andrew grimaced when he sat up. 

        "Sorry for punching you in the nose..." he muttered. 

        "It's okay; it's already broken." You sighed, adverting your eyes. "And I'm... s-sorry about your stomach..." 

        Those words felt unfamiliar to you. Apologizing to someone. The last time you apologized to someone was in sixth grade, where you kicked a boy in his balls and said sorry so the teacher would leave you alone (of course, you didn't mean it, and you only did it again when he kicked your shin during a soccer game). 

        You got up, dusting your dress off. Your black and white polka dot dress was stained with blood, along with your face. You had lost your matching hair bow somewhere, but you couldn't care less about that compared to the throbbing in your at the moment not-so-pretty face. 

        You walked to the guards, rummaging through their pockets, finding money to steal, and car keys. You repeated the same process with the dead woman and your dead brother, stealing money and valuables. 

        You'll go to a pawn shop later and sell the jewelry and phones, but for now, you'll take the money and steal one of their cars. 

        You had the option between a Ferrari, a Ford Focus, and a RAM; you chose the Ford Focus. Not too big, not too small, and it doesn't attract enough attention. Ferrari's have the reputation of being rich and flashy, and RAM's have the reputation of being tailgaters on the road, but a Ford Focus doesn't really have a known stereotype other than driving up in a mechanic shop and hearing one annoying man comment "I hate Fords."

        Well, they helped invent cars and the assembly lines, so shut up and deal with it, because you probably wouldn't have your big ass 4x4 RAM with it's stupidly bright LED lights and even stupidly brighter high-beams. So be the bigger man and shove an exhaust pipe down your throat before it goes up your ass. 

        But of course, you preferred your Pontiac Bonneville. Although, T-buckets were nice too.

        "Come on." You spoke, closing up your briefcase filled with money, dangling the car keys in front of Andrew. "Let's find a hotel around here, I'm tired and I could use some room service."

        "Reading my mind now." Andrew smiled, glad as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder (to which you quickly shoved off).

        You walked out of the office, guns in Andrew's waistband along with the valuables since he had pockets, while you carried your briefcase and the stolen car keys. 

        You walked into the elevator, standing as you pressed the lobby floor. As you watched the hotel's screen show your descend down the floors, Andrew licked his thumb and wiped your face.

        "Got some blood on you." He hummed, wiping just above your upper lip.

        "Thanks." You hummed, appreciative, before glaring at him as he wiped the blood onto your dress.

        "What? It's already dirty." Andrew chuckled.

        You huffed, walking out of the elevator once the door opened, Andrew quickly following you. 

        You excited the hotel's lobby that your now-dead brother used to own. Of course you weren't going to stay in the hotel you committed murder in, that's like an open and shut case for the police. You'll find a different hotel to sleep in.

        You walked into the parking lot and looked for a Ford Focus, finding one and using your key, smiling once it unlocked with the click of a button. Once entering the car, you gave Andrew the keys.

        "I don't drive automatic." You spoke.

        "Miss Vintage over here." Andrew scoffed, teasing you.

        "Drive!" you snapped, crossing your arms, annoyed.

        Andrew listened to your demand request, reversing out of the parking spot and driving off.

        "We'll keep the car tonight, but we'll steal a new one tomorrow." You explained. "That man had a wedding ring, so his wife will report him missing when he doesn't come home tonight." 

        "Oh god... we killed someone who had a wife? He could've had a family too..." Andrew groaned, feeling guilty.

        "It's a requirement when you sign a contract for the (L/N)'s, you receive a biweekly paycheck. He seemed like he was an employee from the defense branch, so I believe he's a soldier for my brother." You hummed, crossing your arms.

        "You have more than one sibling?" Andrew questioned.

        "Four." You spoke. "Vincent was the oldest. I have an older and younger sister, along with a younger brother." You explained. 

        "They're going to be after us, won't they?" Andrew questioned.

        "Of course they will." You nodded. "But it'll take a few days for word to get out. Once my parents realize the lack of money coming in, they'll send someone to request a report, then find the dead body." You explained. "But we have some time. We need to go to the consigliere and murder him, the soldiers should be put at a disadvantage with their captain gone." 

        "Consigliere?" Andrew questioned, confused. "And murder? No, no, no! We're not murdering anyone else. We're in deep shit already killing someone from a... a mafia!" 

        "Consigliere is practically like the sergeant of an army, and we need to kill him." You huffed, frowning. "If we don't kill him, we're both going to die faster than you can spell nincompoop." 

        "(Y/N), I'm serious. We can't be going around—"

        "Did I ask for your input?" you questioned, quickly reaching your hand out to his abdomen, stabbing your finger roughly into his wound. "Drive." 

        Andrew yelped, muttering a curse under his breath, before doing as you told.

        You drove ways out, driving past unfamiliar cities you've never been in, before telling Andrew to stop at a hotel. You were tired, it felt like your eyes were only a minute away from popping out and rolling down the street. You grabbed your briefcase of money, pulling out two grand; half for the room, and half for room service and shopping.

        You cursed, realizing a flaw in your plan. You threw your head back against the car seat, whining.

        "I don't have an ID or anything since those assholes kidnapped me and didn't take my purse or wallet..." you groaned. 

        "Oh!" Andrew gasped as if remembering something, fumbling in his pants, before grabbing out a wallet.

        "I appreciate it, but we need an ID that's not either of us, so at least my family will have a harder time tracking us down." You explained.

        Well, not like it'd be too different. I mean, if one of their soldiers is dead and it shows "they" checked into a hotel a few cities away, obviously it'd be you after you got kidnapped and hadn't been returned to the family yet... 

        But still, you'd at least like to hope that they wouldn't make that connection (but they're not stupid, so they would). 

        "It's not mine." He spoke, opening the wallet to reveal the ID of one of the soldiers you killed earlier. 

        "Oh, Andrew..." you smiled. "Look at you, little thief! You're so useful!" you let out a sigh of relief, leaning over the car's console to kiss his cheek, your messy red lipstick staining his cheek.

        "It's nothing..." Andrew muttered, adverting your eyes, almost like he was flustered. "I just did what you told me... You told me to take anything that could've been valuable..."

        "So you can listen..." you hummed, smiling. "Nonetheless, did you steal anything else?" you questioned. 

        "More wallets and phones?" he spoke, fumbling in his pocket and grabbing a cellphone. 

        You snatched the phone from his hand, grabbing the wallet and pulling out an ID. You held the ID up to the phone's face scanner, unlocking the phone. You went in their search engine and typed the hotel you were currently parked in their parking lot. You logged in as a guest, renting an expensive suite for one night.

        What? You should be allowed to treat yourself after getting a broken nose and getting kidnapped. It's not your money either, you found as you saw a saved debit card on the dead soldier's phone. With another face scanner you got by using his ID, you successfully rented the room, saving it under the name "Hank", the name you found on the ID.

        "When we check in, say you're Frank and that you rented suite 2 online." You briefed to Andrew.

        "Got it." Andrew hummed, taking the keys out of the car. 

        You both exited the car, you taking the briefcase. You both entered the lobby, walking to the receptionist. 

        The woman looked at you, confused. "Are you... okay?" she questioned. 

        You looked at Andrew, seeing his tousled hair along with your own, meanwhile the white in your polka dot dress had bloodstains, along with your face sporting red. 

        "We're here on a business trip, but I split wine on myself..." You sighed, twitching your arm so she could notice the "work" briefcase in your hand. "It's been a really long night; my fiancé and I just want to rest."

        "Okay..." she muttered, skeptical but probably not caring enough. "So, checking in?" 

        "Yes. We rented suite 2 online for Hank." Andrew—or "Hank"—explained. 

        "Ah, I can see it." The receptionist hummed, typing into her computer. "Here's your keycard. We have delicious room service, 11 AM to 8 PM. We also have free breakfast from 7 AM till 10 AM. Our pool and jacuzzi are available until midnight—"

        Blah, blah, blah; shut the fuck up. You thought, practically rolling your eyes. 

        "Thanks." Andrew gruffed, cutting the conversation off short as he snatched the keycard from the receptionist. "We got it." 

        She might've been doing her job, but I doubt anybody is going to care about the hotel's selling points when it's threatening to be 1 AM. 

        You and Andrew took to the elevator, clicking the button and waiting for it to open, entering once it did so. 

        You clicked your floor, traveling up until the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened.

        You walked to your suite, sighing, "I hope we don't have any neighbors..."

        Despite being in a hotel, you'd feel more comfortable being the only two in the hotel room, that way you wouldn't have to worry about any damn mercenaries standing out your door while you sleep.

        You opened the door, finding a small living space along with a kitchenette. You both stepped in, closing and locking the door behind you. The suite had a nice, marble white bathroom paired with small travel-sized bath products. The bed was thin, cold and breathable, and pure white; personally you always hated when the bedsheets were white, because, you know? Female menstruation exists?

        You opened the closet, finding clothes hangers, an iron and ironing board, a safe, white robes, and some extra blankets and pillows. 

        "So...?" you hummed, looking back at Andrew. "Are you going to take a bath first?" 

        "And have you stand out the door waiting to shoot me? Not a chance." Andrew scoffed.

        "I thought we already agreed on a truce?" you spoke, crossing your arms. "You're being childish."

        "Only children break promises" Andrew retorted.

        "And only children believe in them." You frowned.

        "Fine. I'll take a shower first, but I'm going to take the guns inside with me." Andrew grumbled.

        "Paranoid..." You muttered under your breath, earning a dirty glare from him.

        He decided to spare you, the guns kept in his waistband as he entered the bathroom. He closed the door behind him, making sure to lock it. Andrew took the guns out of his waistband, placing them on the counter. He made sure the safety was on and that they were facing the wall and not him or the shower. 

        "Damn heavy things rubbed me raw..." Andrew groaned, lifting his shirt and pulling his waistband down a little to see his raw red skin. "Damn those soldiers and damn Miss Vintage out there..."

        He sighed, taking off his shirt and pants, climbing out of his boxers and pulling off his socks. He looked at himself in the mirror, at his tousled messy black hair, his even paler than usual skin and the exhaustion on his face, and the dried blood on his torso.

        Even with all the blood covering his stomach, he can still see the words she engraved into him: Mine.

        She had carved a knife in him like a sappy teenage couple engrave their initials to old tree bark; without his permission at that. Like a woodcarver carving their name into their favorite wooden art. 

        It served as a reminder that he was trapped with her. Even if he knew what she was, others wouldn't; that's why she didn't carve her name into his flesh. It would've been evidence against her, something that would get her caught if he even managed to escape. No, even with the carving, only he knew she did it. 

        It honestly pissed him off, to a certain degree. It felt like she looked down on him, because she did. For reasons unknown to him, he felt like a cockroach under her Mary Jane, easy to squash at any chance if she so cared to place her foot down on him. She acted as if keeping him alive was a hassle to her, and that he should be glad that she's kept him alive for so long. 

        Andrew sighed, turning on the shower and hopping in. He washed all the blood and sweat off him, cleaning himself up with the hotel's complimentary shampoo and conditioner. 

        After a quick shower, he was desperate to climb into bed and sleep. He didn't have any clothes or pajamas, so he had to settle with wearing his pants—no shirt since he didn't want to wear a bloodied flannel to bed. His wound stung, a small pulse inside of it. It was still pretty fresh after all, and it only annoyed him. He took the guns, exiting the bathroom. 

        You sat on the hotel's couch, not wanting to sit on the bed and dirty it when you'll be sleeping in it later tonight. You were asleep, but jolted awake upon hearing Andrew. 

        You've always been a light sleeper; it's something your parents trained you at a young age. Your parents wanted you to be able to wake up quickly in case there was an emergency where you had to leave in the middle of the night; like a fire, or a rival family's attack. It's gotten to the point that a pause in the air conditioning wakes you up. Quite a curse more than it is a blessing, as you never have any good sleep anymore, especially since you lived in a city.

        Did. You did live in a city. You're still in a city now, but an unfamiliar one. You're a good five floors high, away from cars and walking traffic of drunk city life people passing by the hotel, so perhaps you can get a good night's sleep. 

        You stood up from the couch, watching as Andrew walked to the closet, opening the safe and placing two guns into the safe. He checked the third and final gun, looking to see how many bullets were inside, before clocking it. 

        He looked back at her, before holding the gun up to her.

        "Again?" you questioned, sighing. "Haven't you had enough of guns for today?" 

        You knew you shouldn't have let him have the guns, but you were tired, and you really didn't feel like fighting anymore. 

        Even still, he tried to shoot you earlier. The only reason you're not dead was cause of a simple misfire, but whose to say the gun will get jammed again like last time?

        It's a chance you're not willing to take again.

        "What do you want, Andrew?" you questioned.

        He was willing to shoot you before, he'd be willing to shoot you again. With how hard you've been pushing him around, threatening his life and telling him to do stuff for you, of course he'd be fed up. You both need to have some benefits in order to work together; you get his help and labor, and Andrew gets... whatever he wants right now.

        "Well, for starters, I think you should get on your knees and apologize." Andrew hummed, shrugging the gun at you carelessly, as if he didn't care if the gun went off or not from a simple small touch. 

        You’d rather he ask for money rather than something as humiliating as that. Really? You? A (L/N)? But you don’t have much of a choice with a gun aimed at your head, so you practically dropped down onto your knees, in no mood to argue after more than 24 hours of no sleep.

        ”I am… s-sorry for… trying to kill you in the past, along with almost having you killed today…” You had to grit your teeth and use as much (or as little) of the mental capacity you had.

        ”No… I don’t really buy it…” Andrew sighed. “The words sound nice, but they don’t feel nice. You’re just saying a sentence, so I feel like you’re not really sorry…”

        ”Hurry up and tell me what you want.” You snapped quickly, not looking to play anymore games.

        ”How about you open your mouth and let me use it? Then I’ll be good tonight.” Andrew smiled.

        ”No.” You quickly huffed.

        ”Bang, bang. Don’t make me.” Andrew hummed, waving the gun at you.

        You looked at him cautiously, weighing down your options.

        Give him a blowjob? Something you’ve never even given your ex-fiancé while you guys were engaged? Or take a bullet in the head?

        Swallow down your dignity and some cum to save your life? That’s a very compelling argument.

        You? (Y/N) (L/N)? Thee (Y/N) (L/N) of the infamous underground (L/N) mafia? Submitting to a mere city-dweller male who probably eats instant ramen for dinner (only dinner because he skips lunch and breakfast). 

        You sighed, pushing your hair back out of your face, opening your mouth for him.

        ”Hurry up.” you ordered. “I want to sleep.”

        Andrew smiled as if he won a million bucks, proud to have actually convinced you to do something he wanted to do for once.

        Sure. He could be asking for his freedom or something right now, but you wouldn’t give that. You’d kill him in a heartbeat, especially after all he’s witnessed now. 

        Besides, you can keep your mouth stuffed to keep his closed, right?

        Andrew undid his belt buckle with one hand, the other hand holding the gun which was aimed at your head. He wasn’t taking no chances having the fun off you; he’s seen enough blood and death today. 

        You watched as he pulled down his pants and boxers, a bit surprised to see what he was holding in them.

        Honestly, you’ve never seen a dick before; not one hard, at least. You’ve seen dead naked men, as it was apart of your job collecting organs and such; before being cast aside by your family, that is.

        You’ve never bothered with sex or porn either. You never expected to see another dick other than your husband’s. If you were going to have sex, you are were going to have kids. 

        You had old values after all—what’s the point in engaging in a sexual act that’s supposed to cause reproduction if you don’t want offspring? It’s like eating a sugar cookie without wanting any sugar. So you might as well have sex with your husband when you want kids; because you don’t want a breeding farm like your family has, since your siblings have turned against you, after all. 

        Andrew’s cock was half-hard, already excited with his blood pumping all over, stoked to have this opportunity.

        He might be just a little bit sex-starved.

        Even with Andrew’s dick half-hard, it amazed you to see a dick look like that. You never about sex and what happens, but you didn’t know that it would actually start rising up; you thought it just hardened, not grow and point at the sky! 

        “Well? Aren’t you gonna get to work?” Andrew smirked, a shit-eating grin on his face as he saw how entranced you were with his package; which only seemed to fuel his ego.

        You should twist his dick and rip it off…

        But you don’t, as you carefully scoot closer to him. He sat down on the hotel’s couch, his eyes and gun carefully trained at you as he watched your every move. 

        Your hands rested onto his knees, staring at his member, wondering even wear to start.

        His half-hard erection only grew by the second. His tip looked like a mushroom, a soft shade of red with a small slit on it where clear, pre-cum leaked out of.

        You carefully grabbed his cock, even with the minimum knowledge you had, you knew it was easily sensitive to pain and pleasure. 

        The gun in Andrew’s hand shook, his wrist twitching. Holding up the heavy metal was starting to hurt his wrist, but he didn’t trust you to do something smart. 

        As your hand grabbed his dick, you were surprised to see that as it grew to it’s full sized, his dick had a small curve upwards.

        “You’re supposed to lubricate it.” Andrew spoke quickly, worried that you’d try to rub it and accidentally give him a snake bite.

        You know, where someone grabs your arm and twists their hand in one direction and their other hand in the opposite? Yeah, but with his dick.

        You would frown up at him if it wasn’t for the gun. Annoyed, you looked at him.

        ”So what do I use to lubricate?” you questioned.

        ”Spit on it.” Andrew smirked.

        It sounded a bit gross, but whatever. You just wanted to hurry this up so you can go to bed and have nightmares about this.

        You gathered the spit in your mouth, spitting onto his tip, lathering it up and down his dick. 

        Andrew’s knee jolted up, surprised as a quick groan escaped his throat. He wasn’t expecting you to start massaging his dick already; he thought you’d do something stupid because of your inexperience, but honestly what else was there to do?

        Noticing his reaction, you figured that must’ve been the easiest way for him to come so this can be done with. You started understanding as you wrapped your hands around his dick, your grip a bit more firm now that you hand an idea in what you were doing.

        ”Fuck…” Andrew sighed, nodding his head back against the couch cushions. “Like that…”

        The gun in his hand bobbled up and down, but he fixed his grip on it, not wanting it to go off and shoot you when he was finally getting some well-deserved head after all the shit you’ve put him through the past two or three days. 

        "It's better when you put your mouth on it." Andrew breathed out, "No teeth." He quickly added, not wanting you to get any smart ideas. 

        There goes your plans.

        You played with his cock, gliding your hands up and down it, before listening to his advice. You opened your mouth, careful to place his tip in your mouth so you didn't hurt him. 

        You might've had some book knowledge pertaining sexual intercourse despite not having any first-hand experience. After all, a lady's favorite past time is using her imagination and wishing her husband could lift her up on his shoulders. Or, in your case, yearning for fictional men because real life ones were gross and couldn't cook a meal or clean up their socks for the life of them (which is concerning considering they're adult life skills).

        You hollowed your cheeks, sucking on his tip. You slowly bobbed your head, taking more of him into your mouth with every bob down as you gained confidence in your abilities. You carefully breathed through your nose, making the conscious effort to breathe so you wouldn't lose consciousness despite it honestly hurting to breathe through your broken nose. You got used to the feeling of his heavy cock in your mouth, licking a stripe on the underside of his mouth.

        A damp spot in your panties started to grow, your own arousal setting in as you felt a certain heat in your abdomen. You chalked it up to it just being a natural human body reaction upon hearing auditory pleasure, knowing you're the cause of such moans and groans.

        It was just human nature, right? You weren't actually enjoying this, right?

        Andrew groaned, placing the gun down onto the couch cushion. His hand went up to your hair, tangling his fingers in it and shoving your head down to take all of him.

        You gagged, your throat tightening around him as tears welled up in your eyes. Despite that minor setback, you pushed on. Your tongue worked on his tip's slit while you focused sucking in your cheeks to stimulate the rest of his cock. Your hands went from his knees up to his balls, gently fondling and squeezing them. 

        "Oh my god, baby... That's perfect." Andrew groaned.

        His other hand reached out and cradled your cheek, almost as if appreciating your effort, or admiring you with your mouth finally quiet except for the wet sucking noises your throat emitted. 

        Despite the gun no longer in his hands, for some reason you still kept going even though you were no longer being threatened to do so.

        Andrew's breath quickened, his chest rising and falling. His abdomen squeezed and unsqueezed, a pained groan escaping his mouth from his wound being abused, but the sight of him biting down on his lip led you to believing maybe he didn't mind it so much. 

        His hands tightened in your hair and on your face, starting to shake as he closed his eyes. He came with a loud groan, his hot cum spraying out his slit in ropes. 

        You did your best to swallow as much as you can, squeezing your eyes closed as you focused on swallowing. You pulled away, some cum dribbling down your mouth as you looked up at him.

        "Y-you need to work on your diet..." You rasped out.

        "C-careful," Andrew breathed out, annoyed at your comment as he tugged on your hair, "I'll make you do it again if you don't watch it." 

        You kept quiet, catching your own breath now that your throat had nothing blocking your larynx. 

        “Good job.” He smirked, patting your shoulder as if you got an A+ on your report card.

        You sent a glare his way, wiping the cum dribbling down your chin with your wrist. 

        “I’m gonna go clean up…” you muttered, using his knees to help you up off the ground, your body exhausted and just ready for bed.

        “I’ll join too. I’m all sweaty now after all…” He hummed, smiling as he pushed his cock back into his boxers, pulling up his pants.

        He seemed to be in a much better mood now that he had an orgasm. Meanwhile, you were practically on the verge of death, with a stinging nose and limp legs. 

        “I’d rather you not.” You rasped out, looking at him annoyed.

        First, he practically forced you to give him a blowjob with a gun to your head, then he has the audacity to try and bathe with you? After he knows you’re celibate? 

        “Do you find my suffering amusing?” you questioned.

        “If the tables were flipped around, you would say yes——so yes. I do.” Andrew hummed. 

        “Well I wouldn’t have made you do what you made me do.” You grumbled, frustrated as you walked to the bathroom.

        You got in the bathroom, quickly trying to close the door, but Andrew stuck his foot in, inviting himself in.

        “You’re insufferable!” you snapped, annoyed as you turned away, walking to the bathtub and turning on the faucet.

        “Boo hoo.” Andrew taunted, a permanent smirk on his face as he took of his pants, already shirtless. “We should’ve went and got some cheap clothes or something…” 

        “I know,” You groaned, annoyed. “We could only do so much right now. We’ll do it tomorrow.”

        "You're not going to make me Mr. Vintage, are you, Miss Vintage?" Andrew teased.

        "No, it'd be an insult to the style and to me." You scoffed, watching as he hopped into the tub. 

        "Aren't you going to come in?" Andrew questioned. "It's nice and hot, the exact temperature you turned the faucet on."

        "I don't wish to bathe with you while I'm naked." You spoke, crossing your arms. 

        "Really? After you swallowed my cum?" Andrew deadpanned.

        "Well, it didn't taste good. And you held a gun to my head too." You frowned.

        Andrew shrugged, having no shame in what he made you do. He patted the bathtub's side, beckoning you to come in.

        "I'm not coming in as long as you can see my naked body. It's only for my husband to see." You explained.

        And there was no way in Hell you'd let him see the spot of arousal your panties had upon blowing him off earlier. 

        Andrew groaned, rolling his eyes. He grabbed all the hotel's complimentary soaps, squeezing the bottles into the water until large bubbles formed. It was a waste of product, one that would upset you if you hadn't been so exhausted.

        "Happy, princess?" Andrew questioned, the clear water replaced with white clouds. 

        "It'll do..." You muttered. "Close your eyes now."

        Andrew huffed, closing his eyes, being extra dramatic as to covering his eyes with his hands. You hesitated, before pulling off your bloodied polka dot dress, discarding your bra and panties, and kicking off your Mary Jane's and socks. You climbed into the water, settling on the other side of the bath tub, as far away as you can be. You hid your necklace of your ex-fiancé's eyes in a jar right under your dress, so he couldn't see it and freak out. 

        "You can look now." You spoke, covering your chest with your arms and crossing your ankles together to cover your lower body.

        Andrew removed his hands from his face, smirking as he playfully whistled a cat call at you; in return, you rolled your eyes and sunk lower under the bubbles.

        "Come here, let me wash you." Andrew spoke.

        "I don't want you touching my body." You quickly chimed, setting down boundaries (like you have much after earlier). 

        "I meant like your hair. Let me wash your hair." Andrew clarified. "You're still all gross and bloody from earlier."

        You relented, just wanting to be done with this and go to bed. You brought your knees to your chest and spun 180° in the tub. Andrew scooted closer, his legs resting on each side of your own as his hands brushed through your hair.

        "Lean back into the water some so your hair can get wet." Andrew spoke.

        He grabbed the sides of your skull, carefully guiding you back into the water enough for the water to wet your hairline. You closed your eyes as he wet your hair, before squeezing some shampoo into his hand and washing your hair, rinsing and repeating the process, before applying conditioner to your roots. 

        "How do you know haircare? You're a boy." You questioned.

        No boy with short hair knew (or needed) to condition the roots, or shampoo twice. Your own brothers didn't even know to do that. 

        "I had a sister who would always complain about my hair being greasy back in middle school." Andrew hummed.

        A sister? You didn't know that.

        "She died." He quickly added before you could question about it. "Got hit by a car while out walking with her friends."

        "Sorry for your loss." You spoke, completing your duty society gave you to pretend to give a shit about a dead stranger.

        "Stop lying." Andrew huffed, pinching your shoulder.

        "Ow!" you whined, although it didn't really hurt, you were just being dramatic. 

        "Besides, it was like 10 or 12 years ago. I don't remember. I don't remember much about her anyways. We weren't really close." Andrew shrugged, rinsing the conditioner out of your hair after he let it set. "Gonna let me wash your body now?" Andrew questioned, smiling.

        "No." You frowned, washing your body yourself (without his help). 

        Once you finished bathing, you turned to look at him.

        "Close your eyes." You spoke. 

        Andrew shut them, letting you get up and dry off with a towel.

        "You can open them." You spoke, closing the bathroom door as you walked out, grabbing a white robe from the hotel's closet, slipping it on and tightening it tight around your waist so it wouldn't slip off and expose yourself.

        You had no pajamas or extra clothes given the situation you weren't prepared to be kidnapped, so you settled with that. You put lotion on your legs and arms while you waited for Andrew to come out of the bathroom. 

        "I'm loving the robe. You gonna use the coffee machine and read a newspaper too?" Andrew teased, stepping out of the bathroom in his same pants from earlier.

         He had no belt on, his pants barely hanging onto his hips, his v-line and black happy trail visible for you to see as he got under the covers. 

        "Oh, shut up." You scoffed, taking in his appearance. "Have you no shame upon sleeping with a unmarried lady?"

        "Like you haven't seen it all." Andrew smirked, almost proud of himself as he situated himself under the covers.

        You glared at him, lifting up the covers to get into the bed, sitting down.

        "Why is it so cold?!" you exclaimed, jumping out of the bed.

        "It's not that cold." Andrew spoke, raising an eyebrow at your reaction.

        "It's freezing under there!" you spoke. "Damn hotels trying to cut corners with their cheap, paper-thin blankets!" 

        You walked over to the closet, grabbing all the blankets inside, placing them under the bed covers for you. You hopped in, a discontent expression on your face.

        "It's still cold..." You muttered.

        "Come here and I'll warm you up." Andrew hummed, smiling as he patted the mattress next to him.

        "Only because it's cold." You huffed. "And because if someone enters the room, I'll use you as a meat shield." 

        "Sounds good." Andrew smiled, grabbing you and placing you down on the mattress, furthest away from the door. 

        He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, letting you lean onto his bare chest. He reached and grabbed the TV remote, turning it on.

        "Wow, fancy stuff here." Andrew whistled. "They have an app for white noises. The neighbors must love this." 

        "I do not wish to listen to white noise while there are people after us; it could disguise the noise of them picking our locks!" you spoke. 

        "Well I'm right here to protect you." Andrew smiled. "So, rain noises? Fan noises? Orchestral music?"

        "Rain..." you muttered. "The soft one, not the thunder and lightning one. I'm a light-sleeper and I still want to hear some stuff." 

        "Got it." Andrew hummed, clicking a 10 hour video for it. "We waking up for breakfast?"

        "Duh. Free food. Let's wake up early, exactly on the dot so we can get there before everything is gone." You spoke.

        Andrew set an alarm for 6:30 AM on the hotel's complimentary clock resting on the bedside. He turned off the lights, getting comfortable against you, his arm gliding down to your waist and dragging your back snug to his chest. You closed your eyes, your hand fiddling with his fingers as you got comfortable next to him, awaiting for sleep. 

Long chapter, yay... (It's 2 AM, I have work tomorrow, I need sleep).

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Current chapter, chapter 4, chapter 5 (in the works)

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

Inbox is OPEN for questions about the story and new plotlines/ideas, not for requests!

[stellar-constellations]

Star Patient: Chapter 1 (FINISHED SERIES)

WARNING: This series will include; possible inaccurate medical procedures and medical setting, gore, toxic relationships that should NOT be replicated in real life, murder, yanderes, cursing, suicide mentions, implications of misandry (male misogyny), and possibly more.

Inaccurate canon-timeline (this is before Ashley and Andrew murdered their parents).

Reader has a small fear of adult men/rape and has a history of suicide attempts.

Incest is not Wincest.

Amnesiac! Obsessive! Patient! Andrew Graves x Yandere! Nurse! Reader:

Wordcount: 8,390 words (I am so sorry for how long the first chapter is).

Chapters: Current chapter, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, chapter 8, final chapter.

Want to listen to music while reading? Check out the Star Patient's Official Playlists! Multiple different playlists and genres!

         “Can you say ‘aaaaaah?’” (Y/N) drawled out.

        Her patient, little eight-year-old Lou, opened his mouth widely like a lion and ‘aaaaaah’ed for her as she shined her mediscope light down into his throat, checking his tonsils, uvula, throat's lining, gums, and tongue.

        “Mmm, I see. You can close your mouth now. Good job, Lou!” she cheered as the kid beamed. “He has enlarged tonsils. Do you hear him snore at night?” she questioned, turning her attention to the concerned mother.

        “He snores so loud he’s woken us up from across the house.” His mother sighed. “Is that bad?”

        “Does he have problems focusing in school because he’s tired. Taking naps that are over an hour multiple times a week?” (Y/N) asked.

        “Yes. His teacher complained just last week about him sleeping in class during a spelling test.” Lou's mother confirmed.

        “I see. Lou, do you have any problems sleeping? Like do you wake up multiple times a night?” (Y/N) questioned, looking over towards the small boy.

        “Maybe once or twice a night…” Lou muttered as he thought to himself.

        “And does your throat hurt when you wake up?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “Sometimes.” He responded.

        “How often do you get sick?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “Honestly, we’ve lost count. This past year he’s been sick at least three times.” His mother admitted.

        “And it’s June. I see.” (Y/N) nodded, grabbing her clipboard of papers and a pen. “Lou is experiencing obstructive sleep apnea due to his enlarged tonsils affecting his sleep, which is affecting his daytime behavior and is the cause of why he gets sick so often. I do recommend surgery to remove them. I’ll write down some children hospitals near your area that specialize in pediatric surgery, that way we can get the right surgeon for the job.” She explained, writing down hospitals, where they’re located, and doctor names specializing in tonsil-study.

        “Does this all sound about right, Doctor Ryan?” she questioned, turning her attention to the corner of the room where the doctor and her instructor stood, observing her performance. 

        “Absolutely phenomenal. You got everything right.” He praised, giving her a teethy smile that belonged on a Colgate commercial while a bubble of pride formed in her chest at his praise.

        “Oh thank you, Ms (L/N)!” Lou’s mother smiled as she clutched her hands together.

        “No worries. Here you go.” (Y/N) spoke, handing Lou's mother the papers. “Check out will be on your right when you walk out. There will be some ring pops too, go get yourself a reward for behaving so good today, Lou.” (Y/N) smiled as she rummaged through her cabinet for a sticker.

        She found one and handed it to Lou's open hand. 

        “You were my star patient today, bud! I’ll see you in a few weeks for your next check-up.” (Y/N) smiled.

        “Thank you again.” Lou’s mother smiled as she held Lou’s hand. "What do we say, Lou?"

        “Thank you! Bye bye!” Lou cheered.

        “Fantastic work today. We have one more patient before you can head out, okay?” Doctor Ryan spoke.

        “Yes, sir!” (Y/N) smiled, excited of who she'd be working with next.

        She loved kids and she loved helping them. It made her happy to be able to care for them and help them on their recovery to healthiness and happiness, hence why she's studying to become a pediatrician.

        “They’re a bit on the older side, but we’re really short-staffed at the moment so I need you to take care of them.” Doctor Ryan explained.

        “How old?” she questioned, noticing they were leaving the hospital’s pediatric branch and going to the elevators.

        They both entered the elevator and Doctor Ryan pressed the 4th floor button. The doors closed as (Y/N) held the handle, feeling a little nauseous at being in a closed space with a man. She doesn't mind Doctor Ryan, but she doesn't like being trapped in uncomfortable proximity with a male—just a fear that was installed into her when she was young. Th elevator moved up two floors before the ride finally ended.

        “Well… they’re twenty-two.” The doctor sheepishly smiled.

        “Sir, I’m training to be a pediatrician, not a regular nurse.” (Y/N) stated firmly as the elevator doors opened, allowing them to walk out into the psychiatric branch of the hospital (must to her relief). 

        “Yes, but like I said, we’re short staffed. We just need to you re-evaluate his wounds and do a check-up on his physical health. He’s on suicide watch.” Doctor Ryan explained.

        She opened her mouth to complain before hearing his last words.

        Damn it, suicide watch? I don’t want them dying on my watch. Not only that, but I have experience in that field so I’m decent help for it. She thought. 

        “I… Yes, sir. I’ll get him checked out.” (Y/N) sighed, caving in.

        "Thank you! You know it's been with the shortages of nurses and all, especially for the psychiatric branch." Doctor Ryan sighed out, in relief rather than reluctant-acceptance that (Y/N) did.

        "I understand..." She sighed again.

        Yes, I understand that the psychiatric branch is full of unstable patients with crazy-strength if set off. How do they expect me to hold up on my own against a fight with these guys? (Y/N) thought to herself.

        They walked to the branch's help desk, scurrying through papers before Doctor Ryan made a noise of acknowledgment.

        "Ah-ha! Here you go." He smiled, giving the paper packet to (Y/N).

        (Y/N) grabbed a chair with wheels and moved it behind her, sitting down and reading the information. 

        "Like I said, just quickly re-evaluate his wounds and do a check up on his physical health. If he has any information on why he tried to commit suicide, write it down. It can help us with finding a therapist or at least a hotline for him. I'll go and write a report for Lou's visit, get that off your plate." Doctor Ryan explained, turning and walking away. "It's sad how young these kids are when they think all hope is lost..." he sighed.

        Twenty-two? That's a pretty normal age for suicide. Try eleven, Doc. (Y/N) thought sarcastically. Well, no time to mope about. Let's get this over with and hope for the best. (Y/N) thought, dreading the interaction.

        She wanted to be a pediatrician not only because she liked kids, but because they were much easier than adults. Adults live in a world where they're made to believe their pain is insignificant because elders and children are much more vulnerable to pain and suffering, so adults constantly fight their pain and hide it from others. Adults hide their pain to avoid pity, to avoid the expensive medical bill they don't want to pay. (Y/N)'s morals may be questionable, but if there's anything she believes as a nurse and upcoming-pediatrician, it's that you can't put a price on life. Kids have no shame telling someone if they're in pain, adults act as if they're dishonoring their family's reputation and pride if they tell someone they have a cough.

        Not only that, but she doesn't want to work with adult men. It's been proven that some perverted adult men cause injuries to themselves so they can be in the care of gentle women, who they take overpower and advantage of. Of course, women can do the exact same thing too, but it's more prevalent with males. (Y/N) hates working with adults because she doesn't want to be apart of their sexual fetishes or apart of the statistics.

        (Y/N) read through her patient's information, gathering the details she needs to access the situation:

Patient: Andrew Graves, 22. Room 402. Reason for admission: Jumped from a third-story building and ended up landing on his legs. By miracle, no injury to spine other than minor bruises. Both legs and ankles are shattered, needs multiple surgeries. Stitches on ankles, change bandages every 4-8 hours. Minor concussion and possible amnesia.  Precautions: Patient isn't very cooperative. Use restraints if necessary. Has a sister that is extremely uncooperative and violent, has threatened other nurses. Use extreme caution with patient and sister to prevent any pain or stress that would worsen patient's condition. 

        (Y/N) put the paper packet down on the desk and sighed, shoving her hands into her face and groaning.

        Of course! Not only an unruly patient, but an unruly visitor too? God, if you're real, is this your way of telling me it was a mistake being a pediatrician? (Y/N) thought to herself. Let's just get this damn thing over with, after this, I can go home and rest.

        She walked to a medical supply closet in the staff room and took some bandages and anti-septic cream, along with checking to make sure her stethoscope and mediscope was all there. She grabbed two water bottles from the mini fridge and shoved it into her bag along with two mini-bags of pretzels from the snack cabinet. 

        She shut the staff room's door and locked it, shoving her key and lanyard under her lilac purple nursing scrubs in case some pocket-picker (or someone stupid enough) tries to steal her key. She made sure her bag's strap was secure against her firmly and walked towards room 402.

        (Y/N) stopped at the patient's door to collect her breath. She heard voices inside, only dreading the next few minutes once she realized how angry the voices sounded.

        "Damn it, Andrew! You just had to fuck shit up like you do with everything else, huh?" a girl's voice rang through the room.

        "Isn't this what you wanted? You make no sense..." a boy's voice, Andrew perhaps, sighed.

        "I didn't expect you to take me seriously, dumbass! What if you actually died? You'd leave me all alone to deal with the shit you caused!" the girl shouted.

        "Keep your voice down! And the shit I caused? You're the one that started it all! If it weren't for you, we wouldn't be on the run!" Andrew hissed.

        "Oh, so eating the neighbor was my decision? Is that what you're saying! No, you're the one that fucking said it!" the girl exclaimed.

        "You implied it!" Andrew retorted.

        "I did nothing! But even then, we would've starved in that damn apartment! Is that what you wanted? And you're the one that killed the warden, then the damn lady!" the girl claimed.

        "Hey, the lady was self-defense and you're the one that made me kill the hitman! I killed the warden because you got caught! We would've both been fucked at that point!" Andrew reasoned.

        "WE ARE FUCKED!" the girl screamed.

        "Ashley! Calm down!" Andrew spoke, raising his tone.

        "ME CALM DOWN? HOW CAN I BE CALM AT A TIME LIKE THIS?!" the girl, Ashley screamed, sounding crazy enough to potentially be pulling her hair out.

        "Well you're going to have to! Someone might discover we're on the run!" Andrew hissed through his teeth.        

        "Don't you realize, stupid?! If you died, you would've left me all alone in this shitty world. I can't live without you, Andy..." Ashley muttered.

        "My name isn't Andy, Andy is dead. It's Andrew." Andrew stated firmly.

        "Fuck you, Andrew! I hate Andrew! I want Andy back! At least Andy still liked me!" Ashley shouted, her tone sounded like she was close to breaking down in tears.

        "Ashley, come on... We've gone over this. I like you." Andrew sighed.

        "Yeah right! You tried sleeping with that lady at the apartment complex!" Ashley accused.

        "Damn it, Ashley! I already told you, she tried to kill me so I killed her! What part of that involves sex?" Andrew hissed.

        "I don't want to hear it, you bastard! The second you get a girlfriend, I become invisible to you!" Ashley complained.

        "As if! I was always ditching Julia for you! Even then, you fucking convinced her into breaking up with me!" Andrew huffed.

        "I was weeding out the whores that sprout their legs open! She doesn't deserve someone like you, Andy!" Ashley shouted, then took a deep breath. "I'm your sister, Andy. I know what's best for you! I know who's best for you! She wasn't shit!"

         "You're stressing me out, Ashley..." Andrew groaned, his voice muffled (presumably shoving his face into his hands). "I don't want to talk about this... I don't even know how we got on this topic but just shut up about it... We'll leave as soon as I heal up some." 

        "That'll take too long. We can leave now!" Ashley whined.

        "And what? You want me to run on two broken legs? Are you going to carry me?" Andrew spoke, verbally knocking some sense into her. 

        "I-I'll find a damn wheelchair! We'll put you on a wheelchair and run." Ashley spoke, suddenly not sounding as confident and aggressive as she was previously. 

        "Run where? There's no where we can go! Mom doesn't want us and we can't just live on the streets forever. This is a good opportunity for us to rest here and think about our next move." Andrew explained.

        "Says you. You get a nice bed and food provided to you while I'll be stuck outside, cold and alone while I rot away outside." Ashley snapped, exaggerating her voice on the last bit.

        "I'm sure you'll figure something out. You have a way with getting what you want." Andrew huffed.

        "Not all the time..." Ashley muttered. "I still think we should take a wheelchair and-"

        "Leave, Ashley. Visiting time is over." Andrew spoke firmly.

        "But-" Ashley started, but was cut off.

        "No buts, Ashley. Leave... You're just making me feel worse..." Andrew sighed in frustration.

        Good, stand your ground against her. I don't know their full story, but Ashley sounds really manipulative to me, but Andrew definitely doesn't sound like a victim either... (Y/N) thought to herself. 

        "Fine, I'll leave and I'll never come back! You can't live without me, Andy!" Ashley shouted before walking towards the door.

        Sounds like a threat... (Y/N) thought. 

        Damn it, she's infuriating. As expected of her though... Andrew thought to himself.

        (Y/N) realized that Ashley was coming her way. She didn't want to seem nosey so she quickly ran to an open hospital room, making sure to redirect her weight to her legs so her footsteps wouldn't make noise in case it alerted Ashley. She heard Andrew's door open before slamming close, then footsteps walking past the room (Y/N) was in.

        (Y/N) held close to the wall where the door was, hiding herself in case Ashley peeked into the room on her way out. (Y/N) waited a minute after the footsteps vanished, just to be sure that Ashley wasn't on her way back. She walked back to the door before stopping, realizing what the siblings revealed to her.

        They're murderers. Not only that, but cannibals too. They both confessed. I have to be careful about this guy, two broken legs or none, he's dangerous. (Y/N) thought to herself, then held her fist up to the door.

        She gently knocked three times, then opened the door, not caring for a response back. She saw Andrew staring out of the hospital's window (one without bars, (Y/N) believes that's a stupid decision since this is a known suicidal branch on the fourth floor). His reflection showed his eyes closed, his eyebrows pinched in frustration.

        "I said leave, Ash—" Andrew's head turned to look at the nurse and his eyes only hardened, as if seeming more mad at the nurse than at Ashley who ran off.

        Watch it, buddy. I can make your death look like an accident... (Y/N) thought inside of her head, only proving her dislike of caring for adults.

        "Expecting someone else?" (Y/N) spoke, forcing a polite smile on her face. 

        I'd rather not have to try and fight him into restraining him against the bed. She thought. 

        Andrew stayed quiet as he glared at her.

        The previous nurses that entered his room weren't very kind to him, they were old and seemed annoyed to care for their patients. They got an earful from Ashley. Not only that, but they sure were rough with re-doing his bandages, sloppy too. He didn't want to deal with anyone else today, he just wants to go to sleep.

        Maybe a permanent sleep like jumping out of this window... At least I wouldn't hear Ashley complain so much. Andrew thought to himself.

        To be honest, Andrew doesn't exactly remember much. For some reason, he only has memory of the past three months and that's it. All of his memories consisted of being locked in an apartment with little food, to no food, for three months with Ashley, rotting away. Then Ashley had the bright idea to eat the neighbor after breaking into his apartment and seeing him fail a seance to a... demon? As crazy as that sounds.

        Well, she didn't exactly say it, but she placed the thought into Andrew's head then forced Andrew to say it to make it seem like it was his idea. Then she started chopping the neighbor up to eat him, then the warden came and Ashley got caught, which resorted in Andrew having to kill the warden so the warden wouldn't contact any other wardens with his walkie-talkie. Ashley had the bright idea to escape the apartment complex by completing the seance and offering live human. Andrew eventually agreed to it.

        Then they ran from the place and ended up in a lady's apartment. Turns out she whored herself to get food from the wardens, so they used her to escape. While Ashley left to do the seance, Andrew had to hold her hostage so she wouldn't try to call for help from the wardens. He made the mistake of taking his clever away from her neck and letting go of her, but she got ballsy and tried to kill him with a nail gun, resulting in Andrew killing her. Then Ashley came back and started to freak out, saying that Andrew was trying to get in the girls pants (however she came up with that conclusion, Andrew is unsure). 

        They completed the seance by sacrificing a warden and escaped the apartment complex, finding themselves on the run as wanted felons. It was then when Ashley and Andrew got in a fight and Ashley told Andrew to kill himself, to make it easy for her and the police. Andrew was fed up of running and listening to his sister's idiotic (and borderline psychotic) ideas that he actually did jump (to which Ashley brought him here instead of just letting him bleed out, much to his dismay). 

        But before all of those events, everything else is blurry. He has no recollection of himself or his family after all the horrid memories trapped in his head.

        (Y/N) felt a little unsettled under his very judgmental gaze, remembering that he confessed to killing at least two people (possibly even more).

        Is he sizing me up to be his next victim? (Y/N) briefly thought before pushing that thought away. No, he said that they would've starved in their... apartment? What did they mean by that? 

        As much as she wanted to find out, she didn't really feel like wanting to die either. Her college debt would go to her family, and it'd be too bothersome to die. Too much time wasting on dying (she'd be too impatient to die slowly). 

        “I’m a student studying nursing, please call me (Y/N) despite the name tag.” (Y/N) smiled. 

        I'd rather not tell him I'm studying pediatric nursing. I don't want him freaking out or anything since I'm technically out of my field. She thought.

        “They couldn’t bring a real nurse or doctor?” Andrew huffed.

        Great, if she makes any mistakes, he might have to stay here longer than necessary, and Andrew does not want that.

        “Unfortunately, we’re short-staffed at the moment. No one here likes working the night shift.” (Y/N) sighed. “But, luckily for you, I happen to be a very good student. I even dare to say better than some of the other nurses here.” (Y/N) joked, a smile on her face to try and brighten up the murderous aura surrounding Andrew.

        Andrew stared at her in silence, unamused.

        “Tough crowd…” She muttered. “Alright, let’s get this over with first.” (Y/N) spoke, walking closer to Andrew (whose guard only raised even more at this). “How many fingers am I holding up?” she questioned, holding up two fingers.

        “Four.” Andrew huffed, crossing his arms.

        “And now?” she questioned, holding up one.

        “Two.” Andrew answered.

        “Last time.” She commented, holding up two fingers again.

        “Four.” Andrew spoke.

        “Okay, are you thirsty right now?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “I guess…” Andrew muttered.

        “Here.” (Y/N) spoke, digging into her medical bag and grabbing the bottle of water she shoved in there from earlier. “Hungry too?”

        “No.” Andrew answered, resulting in her placing a bag of pretzels and water on his nightstand.

        “They're for later. It’s important not to have them now even though you’re thirsty. Just trust me.” She spoke before continuing her little survey. “Feel any pain anywhere?”

        “My legs.” Andrew spoke, pointing out the obvious in a ‘duh’ tone.

        “Other than there?” (Y/N) added. “Such as a headache? Behind the eyes?” 

        “Both.” Andrew answered.

        “Have you vomited? Do you feel nauseous at the moment?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “Haven’t thrown up, but I feel sick” Andrew admitted.        

        “Have you or your sister noticed any gaps in your memory? From today to a few months or even more?” (Y/N) asked.

        “Yeah, actually…” Andrew muttered.

        (Y/N) took a few steps towards him, basically hovering over him.

        “What the hell are you doing?” he snapped, but didn’t pull away or shrink from her.

        “Calm down. Are your hands clammy?” she questioned.

        “A little...” Andrew muttered, not breaking eye contact from her.

        She broke the eye contact as her eyes swept through his face, looking at his disheveled black hair and electric green eyes, a beautiful combination, she noted. She also noted how pale his skin was along with the sweat running down it.

        “Andrew, open your eyes wide for me, please.” She spoke, reaching into her bag and pulling out a mediscope.

        Andrew complied with a little bit of hesitancy, allowing her to watch as his pupils shrunk from the light. She looked closely at his retinas to make sure there was no tear along with the hydration in his eyes. They did seem a little blurry, she noted.

        “Open your mouth, please.” She requested.

        Andrew sighed but listened as she did. She checked his tonsils, throat lining, tongue coloring, gums, and uvula. 

        He felt awkward having her do all these procedures and asking all these questions, whether it was her job or not. He wouldn’t deny it, she was pretty, prettier the woman at the apartment complex he murdered.

        Wow, nice thinking… Andrew internally scolded himself as he looked away from the girl. Comparing your nurse to a dead girl you killed really isn't a sign of insanity or detachment.

        At least he was self-aware?

        “And real quick, let me look inside your ears, please.” She requested.

        Andrew stood still as she shined the light in his ear, checking through the tiny camera to see if there was any ear infection or something out of the ordinary. Nothing.

        “Last thing.” She spoke, placing her mediscope in her bag and switching it for her stethoscope. 

        “Can I ask why you’re doing this? All these questions and procedures?” Andrew questioned, adverting his eyes from her as she started listening to his heart.

        There was a moment of silence as she focused, looking at her watch as she listened to his pulse.

        It's 102 beats per minute, a bit quick for his age, but it's not too worrying and it can be easily caused by the stress and trauma of his situation, she noted. 

        “Are you telling me the other nurses didn’t do all of this to you?” (Y/N) asked as she responded his question from earlier surprised and a little concerned.

        “Nope.” Andrew replied lazily. 

        “Ugh… elders.” (Y/N) muttered quietly, earning a small smile from Andrew (one he quickly hid with a cough as he adverted her gaze). “They’re supposed to check you for any possible illnesses or worsen conditions. I know you came in here because you jumped a three-story building, but it can be linked to serious health concerns. You can develop future problems we can identify and fix right now if we take the time to look.” She explained.

        “So what did you discover, doc?” Andrew questioned in a monochrome tone (she wasn’t exactly sure if he was making a joke or being serious or even sarcastic).

        “Well, you have internal bleeding.” (Y/N) spoke, not bothering to even try to sugarcoat it or break it to him lightly.

        “What? How bad?” Andrew grimaced, afraid of the reaction Ashley would give when she hears this. 

        “How much blood did you lose when you fell? Were you conscious when you hit the ground?” (Y/N) questioned. 

        “I mean, I was conscious till I hit the ground. After a couple of minutes I woke up and was in pain, understandably so, until my sister dragged me to a hospital. So I was probably out for five maybe ten minutes.” Andrew explained. 

        That’s not good, along with all the other symptoms he’s experiencing. She thought to herself.

        “How about this. On a scale of 1-10, how much blood did you think you lost?” (Y/N) rephrased.

        “Seven, maybe eight.” Andrew huffed. “I don’t really know.” 

        “No worries. It’s not a big deal. They said you shattered the bones in your legs so you’re going to need surgery for it. Luckily they were able to reposition and place back your ankles.” I explained. “You’ll be bedridden in the hospital for a couple days, then you're going home and being bedridden for six months, minimum.” (Y/N) emphasized the last word to show the most importance to it. 

        “Fuck... What about the internal bleeding?” Andrew sighed, dreading the lecture Ashley would give him.

        "For your severity, you'd need surgery. It'd take a couple weeks for you to heal, but your internal bleeding should be healed by the time you're discharged." (Y/N) explained. “Now, bear with me for a second. I’m going to level your legs and it’s going to hurt.” She spoke as she walked to the tall hospital cabinets, taking three soft and limbless pillows from it.

        “Ugh…” Andrew groaned, already dreading that part as she walked back to him.

        “Take a deep breath.” She instructed.

        She waited for Andrew to audibly breathe in. He did what she requested, his chest and shoulders rising (he ignored the shock of pain that came with it, but she noticed and figured it was due to the internal bleeding).

        “Hold it in.” She spoke, then lifted his heavily bandaged legs with one hand (with a bit of struggle) and placed the pillows under him.

        She gently rested his legs onto the pillows and looked at Andrew face, seeing his eyebrows furrowed and his fists clenches tightly.

        “Breathe, darling. You’re all done.” (Y/N) instructed, letting out a deep breath for him to mimic too in case the pain was too much.

        Andrew let go of his breath, regaining control of his lungs after a few manual breaths. 

        “You did so well, my star! Do you want a sticker?” (Y/N) questioned.

        Andrew adverted his eyes from her smile, his face red from what he wants to be because of holding his breath, but it was instead caused by her praise and pet names (or maybe both).

        “No…?” Andrew muttered.

        “Mm. What color do you want? Gold, pink, blue, red, purple, or gray?” she questioned.

        “Why do you have a gray star?” he questioned.

        “Good choice!” (Y/N) spoke, rummaging through her bag for her stickers. 

        She found them and searched for a gray star, finding one and undoing the paper back. She sticked it on Andrew’s chest, clothed with the blue hospital gown. 

        “Tah-dah! You were my star patient today!” (Y/N) beamed. 

        “Are you done?” Andrew sighed dully, adverting his eyes to hide his blush.

        “Nope! I have to redo your bandages. This’ll also hurt, but I’ll be gentle with you.” (Y/N) explained.

        “Hurry up.” Andrew huffed. 

        “So soon to have me leave, huh?” she sighed jokingly. ���Hurts my heart.” 

        She reached into her bag and grabbed bandages, gauze, and anti-septic cream. 

        “So, Andrew. Kinda curious, what made you jump?” (Y/N) questioned, remembering her superior's words as she started undoing Andrew’s bandages on his legs.

        “Why would you need to know that?” Andrew growled, becoming defensive.

        Ah, I pissed him off. But this is important information for his health, murderer or not. (Y/N) thought to herself.

        “You know, I tried killing myself too. I was eleven. Failed multiple times. But you had the courage to jump. I didn’t do that.” She explained.

        “How’d you try?” Andrew questioned, a spark of curiosity in him.

        “I’m not giving you any ideas, mister.” (Y/N) laughed, giving him a playful yet stern expression before switching her gaze to study the stitching on his ankles. “But, I gave up and made an oath to never harm myself in that way again because it really affects the people you care about. Your sister was probably very sad when you jumped.” 

        At least the surgeons did that good, so no worries there. Luckily the swelling is just from the breakage and replacement of bones, so his stitches aren’t infected. She thought to herself. But let’s add anti-septic cream just to be safe.

        "How long ago was that?" Andrew questioned, ignoring her comment about his sister.

        "Ten years ago." She hummed.

        She must be around the same age as me. Andrew thought.

        “Did it get better?” Andrew questioned as (Y/N) applied the cold cream onto his wounds.

        The temperature of the medicine barely even got a reaction from Andrew since he was so focused on the conversation they were having. 

        “At the beginning? Of course not, in fact it spiraled downhill from there. Overtime I started picking myself up and it helped. It helps to surround yourself with people who cared about you. And if you have no one who cares, then learn to care for yourself. Your confidence in yourself will attract others to you.” (Y/N) explained. "We humans need to be there for each other, you know? We're social creatures after all."

        “Hm.” Andrew hummed in acknowledgement, not really paying attention to her optimistic speech.        

        It's not like he had anyone to turn to. He remembers his girlfriend breaking up with him on the phone while he was rotting away in his apartment. Ashley had verbally abused her enough that she didn't want to see him or Ashley anymore. He doesn't have any other family than his parents who rejected him because "he and Ashley were too close and had to learn independence" his mother said on the phone during their last phone calls in quarantine. He's not exactly sure what she meant by it (especially with his memory gone), but so far all Ashley's done is pissed him off these past months he's remembered, so he really doesn't want to see her again anytime soon. He doesn't remember if he has friends or not either.

        “Andrew, what do you like to do? What do you do in your free time?” (Y/N) questioned.

        Andrew thought about her question. The three months that he remembers, all he did was sleep, starve, and watch TV (all with Ashley). He read books from his parents room out of boredom before losing the energy to even try and keep acting like he was actually remembering the plot—it took too much energy remembering the events that happened in the book. 

        When Ashley and Andrew did talk to each other during the time, it was to bicker and complain to each other about food and the other’s company (Ashley always started it).

        “I don’t have any… None that I remember at least.” Andrew admitted.

        “Don’t stress it. Your concussion could be affecting your ability to remember. We’ll find some new hobbies for you.” (Y/N) reassured. “Maybe books, card games, video games? I’ll find something.” She spoke as she redid the bandages on his ankles.

        “Why are you even bothering?” Andrew sighed. “After some months I’ll be gone.” He pointed out.

        “Yeah, but I wouldn’t want you to be bored the entire time. Personally, I would hate being bedridden with nothing to do.” (Y/N) admitted.

        What a sympathetic girl... Andrew thought.

        “Whatever…” Andrew muttered, crossing his arms. 

        “Voilà! Whaddya think?” she questioned.

        “It’s tight…” Andrew admitted, it didn't hurt much, but it did feel a bit annoying.

        “That’s to keep your ankles in place. Your bandages aren’t bleeding much, so you should be ready for casting. I’ll leave a note for that.” She explained. “Any requests before I go?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “You’re leaving?” Andrew questioned, sitting up and straightening his back before cringing at the pain shooting up his legs (and the pathetic tone in his voice).

        “Yeah, my shifts almost over...” She paused and checked her watch. “It’s actually been over for 20 minutes now.” 

        Andrew muttered something under his breath, adverting his eyes as he looked away from her.

        “You’re coming back tomorrow, right?” Andrew questioned.

        “Ah… I don’t know. I don’t work in this branch, I work with kids in the pediatric branch.” (Y/N) smiled nervously.

        I hope I’m not upsetting him. She thought to herself.

        She tolerated Andrew’s company, for a man of course. It was surprisingly refreshing and the atmosphere is much more comfortable than it was when she first entered.

        Andrew huffed, looking back at her.

        “I like you better than the other nurses.” He admitted, crossing his arms and looking away again so she wouldn’t notice his red face.

        “Aw. I’m sure you’ll enjoy Penelope tomorrow, she’s a wonderful nurse!” (Y/N) smiled. “I’ll make sure to visit you tomorrow before I leave work and check in on you, make sure you’re still intact and dandy, okay?” she smiled.

        It’s like I’m making a promise to a child. She thought to herself. 

        Her thoughts were backed up by the spark in his eyes as he looked back at the nurse.

        “Okay…” he muttered, pushing down the urge to smile.

        “I’ll see you later, star!” she smiled, referring to his sticker on his chest. “Door open or closed?” she questioned.

        “Closed.” Andrew answered.

        “Alrighty! Click the button on the side of your bed if you need a nurse or need to ask something. In an hour you can drink a little bit of the water, but hold off on the pretzels until tomorrow. Make sure you get good sleep! Body’s natural way of healing.” She explained, flashing him a smile. “Goodnight, Andrew.” 

        She closed the door and took a silent breath in.

        That went surprisingly well… She thought to herself.

        She walked back to the staff room and unlocked the door, opening it to find Ruby, an old and stern nurse who worked day shift.

        “You’re clocking out late.” Ruby gruffed. “Heard they were understaffed tonight.”

        “Ah, yes. I had to go to patient 402’s room.” She smiled politely despite it being very draining to.

        It's hard acting so happy all the time with her patients and coworkers. She liked work, but her face wasn't friendly, so she had to resort to smiling a lot (as annoying as it was for her).

        “The moody patient with the psycho sister? How’d that go?” Ruby questioned.

        “How did you know?” (Y/N) questioned, sparing her a glance.

        Ruby’s day shift, so she comes in at 7 am and leaves at 7 PM. How would she knows about Andrew? she thought to herself.

        “Penelope was in near tears when she clocked out. Told me how closed off the boy was and the sister was screaming and yelling at Penelope, talking about how she’s trying to steal her brother away from her—something like that…” Ruby muttered the last part to herself.

        Psycho sister indeed. (Y/N) thought to herself.

        “The girl wasn’t in there when I entered. The boy is reserved at first, but if you keep talking to him he’ll respond. Just be patient.” She spoke, shoving her leftover medical supplies into the supply closet.

        “I swear, Penelope gets too butt-hurt about these patients. And I don’t understand how you can deal with those kids, snotty and crying all the time.” Ruby complained as (Y/N) snagged a computer seat and sat down, typing up her report on Andrew Graves condition.

        “The kids are just scared. Give them a lollipop and it’s like Christmas.” She laughed, straining a smile. “Good talk rubes, but I’m going to head out.”

        “See you tomorrow.” Ruby responded lazily.

        “See ya. Good luck on your shift.” (Y/N) spoke.

        She walked out of the staff room and locked the door behind her, taking the elevator to the first floor. She exited the elevator and walked out of the hospital lobby, walking to the staff parking lot to her car. She grabbed her keys from her scrubs pockets and unlocked her car, opening the door and buckling her seatbelt before driving off.

        The drive is longer than she likes from her apartment but at least her thoughts plagued her so she didn’t have to be bored.

        A murderer and a cannibal? Not one but two! Should I call the police? I mean, they must have reasons. They were locked in an apartment and resorted to eating their neighbor? Why would they be locked in an apartment? I’m sure if they went to the police they would’ve been understanding, I mean it was life or death and one dead is better than two. What am I thinking? I shouldn’t be thinking that at all, I’m a nurse. (Y/N) thought. 

        “Ugh…” She groaned. 

        She made it to her apartment and unlocked her door, opening it and closing it behind her, making sure it was locked before she walked into the kitchen.

        I don’t feel like cooking, I don’t have the time for it anyways. She thought, opening her freezer. 

        She grabbed a quick microwaveable meal and put it in the microwave, setting it at the box’s desired time before walking away and grabbing her computer.

        She checked her emails then started her medical essay for pneumonia and bronchitis. The microwave ringed and she grabbed her food and some drink, walking back her to computer and continuing her work while eating.

        She finished her dinner and the final touches of her essay before sending it her college professors at her university. She stood up and stretched, walking to the kitchen and cleaning her dirty dishes before going to her room and picking out a nightgown. She walked to her shower and undressed, washing her hair and allowing the water to relax her nerves and sore legs from standing all day.

        Check-ups tomorrow should be Rachael Gardener and Joseph Stall. I'll meet a new patient, Lily Wells, since she's switching healthcare. After that, it's walk-in's from there. I'll pay a visit to Andrew thirty minutes before my shift ends and check up on Hailey. (Y/N) thought in her head. 

        Andrew. He's sure a special case at the moment. Nurses are going to have to keep a watchful eye on him to ensure his condition doesn't worsen or cause any harm to himself or others. (Y/N) thought. Two broken open-fracture ankles and complete fractures in his legs. Just thinking of that pain makes me squirm. She cringed, stopping herself from washing her hair to shake the imaginary chills she created.

        Not to mention his internal bleeding from his brain, his concussion from his fall must've caused that. Luckily he doesn't have any other injuries otherwise I'm pretty sure he would've been dead. She thought as she stepped out of the shower, drying her hair and body.

        I should find some video games and books to keep him from being bored. I need to get some new books for Hailey to read too, my bookshelf is going dry for her. She thought as she started getting dressed. I'll also do a quick google search of Andrew and Ashley, get some information out of their situation (or at least the most of it).

        .

        .

        Andrew woke up and stared out of his window blankly, watching as people walked in and out of the hospital, some in wheelchairs and some in casts. In a while, that'll be him leaving this place.

        Or with the pace Ashley wants, tomorrow. Andrew thought, a frustrated huff escaping his mouth. 

        Who could blame him? He tries to kill himself and all of a sudden he lost basically all of his memory from when he was born to three months ago, that's almost twenty-two years of his life lost in just a flash!

        Ashley told me to jump too. I shouldn't have listened to her and her damn rants, it would've caused so much less trouble, but I was going insane listening to her. Andrew thought. 

        Andrew's been wishing a lot of things lately. He's been wishing he could remember everything about himself, wished he never drank that supposed contaminated water that got him locked in the apartment which got him here in the first place, and wished he could get up and walk out of here.

        Ashley visited him earlier. Something in him was happy to see his sister, but dread filled his stomach at seeing her walk into the room.

        "Thought you said you weren't ever coming back?" Andrew spoke, recalling what Ashley said yesterday.

        "I might've been a bit hasty... and inconsiderate" Ashley huffed, crossing her arms and glaring at Andrew. "I found a hotel nearby. I'm staying there until you get better."

        "How will you pay for it?" Andrew questioned.

        "Easy! I'll just kill people and take their wallets!" Ashley beamed, getting an glare sent her way.

        "Don't do that, idiot. You'll get caught easily without me." Andrew sighed, already finding himself frustrated at their conversation so early in.

        "Well, I could stay here! I'll stay in the bathroom when the nurses are in the room. I can keep you company and sleep in the same bed as you as we used to." Ashley teased.

        "I have two broken legs, remember?" Andrew pointed out.

        "I'll be extra careful." Ashley smiled, as he looked at her unamused. "Hmph! Be that way!" Ashley huffed, giving attitude as she crossed her arms. "Was it lonely without me last night? Did you have any nightmares?" Ashley questioned, her tone teasing with a hint of suggestion.

        Nightmares? About what? Andrew thought. And what's with her damn tone?

        He paused as he thought about anything the past three months.

        "No. Why would I have any nightmares?" Andrew questioned

        "Did you hit your head when you fell?" Ashley teased harshly, poking his cheek roughly. "Your nightmares! About that girl we killed back then? What was her name?" 

        "I don't remember." Andrew admitted. "Wait, we killed someone else?!"

        "Wow, you must've actually hit your head hard." Ashley spoke, a little surprised.

        "A nurse said I had a concussion and internal bleeding, so my memory isn't sharp at the moment." Andrew explained, still worrying about who else he's killed in his past.

        "Ugh. That'll only slow us down..." Ashley sighed. "Would you like to know?"

        "Might as well." Andrew sighed.

        "You killed that girl when we were young! She had an asthma attack in a box and it was hilarious!" she cackled.        

        "That doesn't sound funny. She was a kid, wasn't she...?" Andrew murmured.

        That nurse, (Y/N), she works in the pediatric branch. I don't think she'd be happy if she heard that. Andrew thought to himself. Why am I caring about her all of a sudden? I think I really need my brain checked out... hopefully by her... 

        "She had it coming though! She liked you and she was trying to separate the two of us!" Ashley tried to justify, noticing his reaction.

        "Whatever you say, Ashley." Andrew sighed.

        "I don't like this... I miss you, Andy! We were really close! You didn't need a girlfriend because you had me by your side!" Ashley whined. "It's because of one of these slutty nurses, huh? They're just holes for you to stick your dick into! You don't need them like you need me! I'm all you need!" Ashley started shouting.

        Andrew's really starting to think their sibling-ship is bordering to relationship the way Ashley's been acting and saying. 

        Gross... Andrew thought.

        He remembers the downright suggestive comments Ashley spoke in the apartment (and just a few minutes ago), along with the overprotectiveness he's experienced at times with her. Even if, just a bit, if their relationship was that (incest-like), it hasn't gotten physical since he places money that they would've done something while trapped in that apartment for three months. Andrew let out a sigh of relief, glad their relationship hasn't escalated to that point. 

        So there's still a turning point to get out of that. Andrew thought to himself.

        It's simple really, separate from Ashley. 

        That's all he has to do, but with her co-dependency, it won't make it easy. Unless, all he does is reject Ashley's advances towards stepping-up their relationship and trying to escape the hospital.

        "Andy, fucking listen to me!" Ashley shouted into his ear.

        Andrew was snapped out of his thoughts as the world around him spun. Ashley was holding his hair and shaking his head back and forth, creating a headache behind his head and eyes.

        "Ashley, let go! What part of concussion and internal bleeding didn't you understand?!" Andrew shouted, grabbing her hands as he fought them away from his hair.

        He succeeded in pulling her hands away, but she didn't want to let go without locks of hair in her fists.

        "I hate you, Andrew! I hate you! You and this stupid hospital and those stupid damn nurses! I hate it I hate it I HATE IT!" she screamed loudly.

        The hospital door opened and three nurses came in, their hair disheveled and bun's messy from racing down the hallway.

        "Ma'am, calm down. Otherwise I'm going to have to ask you to leave." One of the nurses spoke, their name tag reading Penelope.        

        "DON'T YOU TELL ME TO CALM DOWN, BITCH!" Ashley screamed at the poor woman, her finger jabbed into the nurse's chest. "I bet it's you! Yeah, you! You're the bitch manipulating my brother! I'll fucking kill you!"

        "Ashley!" Andrew sternly shouted, catching her attention long enough for the three nurses to tackle the girl.

        Ashley kicked and screamed as they got her, two nurses dragging her by her legs out of the room as the other nurse ran to go call security to escort her out (and keep her out).

        Andrew watched as all the women crowded out of his room, a little surprised.

        Well, she won't be coming back soon... that was surprisingly easy... Andrew thought to himself. Step one, separate Ashley from me. Complete.

        Ten minutes went by and someone stepped into his open-doored hospital room. It was Penelope, the nurse from earlier (and yesterday). 

        "M-Mr. Graves. Would you allow me to check--?" she was harshly cut off.

        "Get the hell out." Andrew growled, glaring at her with his vibrant green eyes.

        She nodded and quickly turned around, about to leave before he spoke up.

        "Wait." he spoke, effectively stopping the nervous girl as she turned around, fiddling with her hands. "When's that nurse coming back? (Y/N) (L/N)?" Andrew questioned.

        "(Y-Y/N)...? I don't know... She's not in our branch." Penelope muttered sheepishly.

        "Well, find out!" Andrew snarled. "I refuse to accept treatment from anyone else but her!"

        "Okay!" Penelope exclaimed all too quickly (glad to no longer be taking care of Andrew) and ran out of the room.

        He really meant it too. Any time a nurse tried to come into his room, he'd shout and throw anything nearby at them. It was a drastic change from yesterday's silence. Some nurses assumed he was scared as potential memories reappeared in his head, or perhaps he needed a higher dose of pain killers. They regretted entering the room after getting hit by pens and notebooks from the nightstands, he even threw his pillow.

        "I hate working in this damn branch! Where the hell is (Y/N)?" Ruby shouted in the employee's only room, the elder asking for her help from her inferior. 

The first chapter for this is done! This series will also be posted on AO3 and Wattpad! This series won the poll after a close tie, and I'm so glad it did because I was internally rooting for this to win! Don't worry, the other series' will be posted too after this one is completely posted for what I have so far.

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

Inbox is OPEN for questions about the story and new plotlines/ideas, not for request!

Chapters: Current chapter, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, chapter 8, final chapter.

Want to listen to music while reading? Check out the Star Patient's Official Playlists! Multiple different playlists and genres!

[stellar-constellations]

Star Patient: Chapter 8 (FINISHED SERIES)

WARNING: This series will include; possible inaccurate medical procedures and medical setting, gore, toxic relationships that should NOT be replicated in real life, murder, yanderes, cursing, suicide mentions, implications of misandry (male misogyny), descriptions of self-harming, accusations of cheating, child death, death of major and minor characters, OC's are used throughout the story for plot and depth, reader is in denial and paranoid, toxic family dynamics, perversive thoughts, reader is bipolar (not saying that in a quirky way, like literally bipolar), religious comparisons, light mention of demons, stalkers, nonconsensual drugging, minor implication of necrophilia, possibly more to add.

Inaccurate canon-timeline and setting (this is before Ashley and Andrew murdered their parents). They also live in America (because I wasn't aware they lived in Europe prior to this series).

Reader has a small fear of adult men/rape and has a history of suicide attempts.

Incest is not Wincest.

Amnesiac! Obsessive! Patient! Andrew Graves x Yandere! Nurse! Reader:

Wordcount: 17,700+ words

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, current chapter, final chapter.

Want to listen to music while reading? Check out the Star Patient's Official Playlists! Multiple different playlists and genres!

(Y/N) woke up from her sleep, tired and disoriented. She felt a warm presence holding her, and looked up to see Andrew. Andrew's hand was placed on her head, his other arm wrapped tightly around her body, holding her close in a protective manner. 

        (Y/N) tried to carefully sneaking out of his hold, but it was to no use. She didn't want to wake him up, so she just resorted to lying there. She looked at her clock, noticing it was 8 A.M, far earlier than she'd like to be up by.

        She looked over at Andrew and smiled. It's funny how she enjoys this practical stranger's company far more than she enjoyed Ren's, but I guess the difference between them is Ren was a stalker who didn't have any boundaries, and Andrew wasn't. 

        (Y/N) mentally gushed over his handsome face, resisting the urge to giggle as she saw drool on his lips.

        What? She's allowed to mentally enjoy the peaceful sight. Who cares if he's a murderer staying with her rent free and she murdered his sister. She doesn't have many peaceful things in her life, shut up and let her enjoy this moment before her life goes to hell once more!

        She remembered that her parents had spent the night, and that (Y/N) had express-shipped a package today for Andrew. 

        (Y/N) groaned, closing her eyes for a second before reopening them. She placed her hand on Andrew's arm, shaking him until he woke up.

        "Uh... (Y/N)?" Andrew muttered, sleepily. "Something wrong...?"

        "Morning, sleeping beauty." (Y/N) teased. "Ready to start today? We have a bunch of shopping to do."

        "To spend a day with you? I'm honored." Andrew hummed sarcastically, before reaching his hand out and touching her cheek, gently pinching and tugging it. "Let's get today started, bedhead." He smirked, before ruffling her messy hair. 

        (Y/N) smiled, standing up from her bed and stretching. She grabbed Andrew's crutches and handed it to him, standing near his side until she was certain he was up and balanced. 

        "I'm going to go change. Do you need a change of clothes?" (Y/N) questioned, rummaging through her drawers. 

        "No, don't bother." Andrew hummed, picking up his clothes where he left them last night. "I'll wear what I wore yesterday."

        "Okay... but I'm warning you, I meant it when I said that you're not going to be wearing the same clothes days at a time. After today, that outfit is going inside of the laundry basket and being washed." (Y/N) spoke sternly, holding her chosen outfit in her hands.

        "Got it, mom." Andrew teased, playfully rolling his eyes at her. 

        (Y/N) smiled, before walking into her bathroom and shutting the door, locking it behind her. They were only going out today, so there wasn't any reason to dress up in diamonds and bling. She changed out of her nightgown, putting on her bra and white shirt. She threw her dirtied bandages in the trash, before adding more gauze and medical tape to cover her stitches. She left her other scarred arm exposed, considering she was no longer bleeding and it’d be a waste of resources to cover it. She put on black shorts and a pastel purple jacket, a white star on the back of her jacket. She did her hair, adding in her signature yellow star hair clip before walking out of the room. 

        Andrew was done changing, wearing his black sweater and ripped grey jeans. His hair was messy from his bedhead, so she grabbed her hair brush and handed it to him.

        "Thanks." Andrew smiled, taking the brush and brushing out his black hair.

        Even with his hair brushed, it still stuck out in places, looking very fluffy and tempting to touch.

        Burnt marshmallow fluff... (Y/N) thought, staring at his hair. 

        Andrew handed her back her brush. She set it down on her bathroom counter, before looking over at him.

        "Are you ready? I have a surprise for you." (Y/N) smiled. 

        "Nothing bad, right?" he questioned, smiling.

        "No, no. Nothing bad." (Y/N) chuckled, placing her hand on his back as she guided him to the door. "It'll be helpful for you."

        "If you say so." He smiled, fighting back the shivers her touch gave him. 

        (Y/N) opened the door and guided him down her hallway. Rose and Frank were up and sitting at the dining table, 

        Frank’s phone sitting in front of them as they studied a digital map.

        “Good morning.” (Y/N) greeted, causing Rose to look up from the phone.

        “Do you know any good breakfast spots? We’re heading back to the farm now.” Rose spoke.

        “Morning, kiddo.” Frank smiled politely, before looking back at his phone.

        “Um… there’s IHOP? I like their crepes?” (Y/N) suggested.

        “Nevermind. I shouldn’t have expected you to know much about taste…” Rose sighed, her eyes drifting to Andrew, which seemed like an insult. 

        “Thanks, Ma.” (Y/N) smiled, more on the sarcastic end.

        (Y/N) guided Andrew to the living room coach for him to sit and rest his legs. She walked over to her front door and opened it, looking around before spotting a white package. 

        Thank God a porch pirate didn’t still this. This was about 300 bucks for a good quality one on sale. (Y/N) thought, crouching and picking up the box. 

        She carried the box inside, placing it down on the living room floor. She grabbed knife from her kitchen, cutting open the box and pulling out a plastic bag with something inside of it. Andrew looked curious, but was unsure if he was allowed to question her on what she bought.

        (Y/N) ripped open the bag, placing the object on the ground as she skimmed over the instructions. She got the gist, and grabbed the object, pulling it apart until it unfolded in a wheelchair. 

        “Ta-dah!” (Y/N) smiled. “I noticed you were struggling with those crutches, perhaps you had gotten used to wheelchairs at the hospital. I don’t blame you, they can tire out your arms quicker. I didn't want you having to apply pressure on your legs while they're trying to heal either.”

        Andrew smiled, placing his crutches down on the side as he looked at her. He was moved that she thought about his comfortability like that.

        "Thanks... but you didn't have to. I'm sure I could've managed." Andrew spoke, watching as she adjusted some screws and locks to keep the wheelchair from collapsing. 

        "Hey, don't worry about it. I want you to be comfortable." (Y/N) spoke. "Besides, we need your legs to heal after all." She added, testing out the wheelchair by placing her hands down on the chair, applying pressure to see if it’d collapse. “Here, test it out.” She smiled, turning the chair to his direction, wheeling it up to the couch.

        She placed her hand on his shoulder, her other hand wavering close to his waist in case he needed assistance. Andrew stood up using his crutches, before moving over to the wheelchair, sitting down on it. 

        “I paid extra for it to have brakes on it, that way you don’t have to burn your hands to stop.” (Y/N) explained, taking his crutches and resting them on the couch. 

        “Really now? How much?” Andrew questioned, tilting his head over at her.

        “Don’t worry about it.” (Y/N) smiled, ignoring the question. 

        “That’s a more fancy looking wheelchair than the movies.” Frank chirped, walking into the living room. “Hey, how’d you even break your legs? I’ve seen your legs move, so you’re not paralyzed waist down.”

        Andrew paused, looking over at Frank hesitantly.

        What’s he supposed to tell him? That he jumped off a building a few stories high? That’s a bit personal, and in a sense, humiliating.

        “A car accident about a week back.” (Y/N) jumped in, placing her hand on his back in a silent reassurance. “It’s was some shattering, but he seems to be healing up quick!” 

        “Yeah. It was a nasty car accident.” Andrew nodded, playing along. 

        “That sucks…” Frank commented, before looking down at his legs. “Does it hurt?”

        “Obviously it hurts, Frank.” Rose scoffed, entering the living room. “He shattered his bones.” 

        “Well, maybe he has strong opioids! Or maybe he’s superhuman, like Hulk or something…” Frank spoke.

        “I wish.” Andrew chuckled. “It hurts, but it’s not terrible…”

        (Y/N) looked over at him with a concerned expression. She had completely forgotten that he should’ve been taking pain meds, but Andrew looked to be the guy to tough it out (much to any nurse’s annoyance).

        “Hey, do you need any meds?” (Y/N) questioned. “I have some. They’re not the strong kind but they can help?” 

        “Nah, don’t worry about it.” Andrew smiled. “This wheelchair helps me a lot already.” 

        “If you say so…” (Y/N) muttered, concerned.

        “Oh, (Y/N). We need to talk before I leave.” Rose spoke, sitting down on the couch, gesturing for (Y/N) to sit next to her.

        “Yes, Mama…” (Y/N) nodded, a bit hesitant before sitting down next to her.

        “You boys go on git for a few seconds. Go outside on the balcony or something.” Rose ordered to the boys.

        “Why can’t we stay?” Andrew questioned, a sort of annoyance fizzing in his stomach and chest.

        “Cause this doesn’t concern the likes of you.” Rose scoffed.

        “C’mon, you heard the lady.” Frank spoke, before forcing Andrew out of the room by pushing his wheelchair, taking him out to the balcony.

        “So?” Rose hummed, crossing her legs together, placing her hands on her lap. “Tell me, how has your job been going babysitting?”

        “Nursing.” (Y/N) corrected, though she knew Rose said that on purpose. “And it’s been very fun. New things everyday. No repetition. There’s always something to do.” (Y/N) explained. “And of course, the kids are absolute sweethearts.” 

        “Right” Rose hummed.

        “I’m studying more. I’m continuing college and taking classes so I can up the ranks and be a pediatrician.” (Y/N) explained, crossing her arms. 

        “More money is good…” Rose nodded.

        “And you? Being a nurse?” (Y/N) questioned. “How is that for you?” 

        “Money is money, you can never have too much.” Rose smiled. “Besides, the farmhands have the farm under control. They do the work, get some pocket change, and get some money—you’ll be doing that soon too.” 

        “Is that so?" (Y/N) hummed. 

        "He wouldn't do good on the farm, you know." Rose spoke, her cold eyes trailing to (Y/N)'s. "He's a city boy—he doesn't know a thing about farming." Rose spoke, her fingers tapping her thigh impatiently. "But don't worry, I was able to ask around and I have some suitors for you. They grew up doing the farm work on their family farms, so they know how to care for the farm. They're only a town or two away from ours, so they don't know anything about your problems or what happened with Ren."

        It felt like a blood vessel popped as Rose said his name, causing (Y/N) to bite her tongue and her nails to dig into her palms. 

        "Don't you fucking talk about him." (Y/N) spat out.

        "Excuse me?" Rose exclaimed, shocked. 

        "I'm not going back home, I'm not going to inherit the farm, and I'm not going back to him so long as he breathes. I've already told you this, Mama." (Y/N) hissed. 

        "You need to let go of the past. You need to get over your denial and understand that you were the one that killed that boy, not Ren." Rose spoke, pointing her finger at her. "You just don't remember because you have that stupid fucking curse just like your father."

        "It's not a curse; it's a disorder." (Y/N) scoffed. "You're a nurse. The least you can do is understand what patients you'll have to deal with."

        "Whether you like it or not, you're going to take over that farm. You're the only existing (L/N) and my family name will not die off because of your selfishness." Rose spat. "The farm will be written in your name when I die, it'll be in my will. You're going to marry a farmer, and you're going to take over the farm until you produce a child with my last name who is actually grateful for the opportunities the farm gives them."

        "No, I'm not." (Y/N) hissed. "I didn't just move out of home to hide, I came here to be seen." (Y/N) spoke. "This is where I belong. Nursing is where I belong. My coworkers are amazing and they don't judge me like you. The kids are absolutely fantastic and so, so smart. So much smarter than you! Even the kids' parents are better than you when they throw fits because at least they care for their children's health!"

        "You're an attention seeker. You're selfish. You're incompetent. You're nothing without my last name." Rose hissed, clenching her fist as she stood up from her seat. "If you don't open your eyes and realize that soon enough, that boy is going to run away from you as soon as he can walk!" 

        "No, he won't!" (Y/N) exclaimed, sitting up from her seat. "Andrew's not going to leave me."

        I won't let him. She thought. 

        “You’re delusional if you think he’d actually stay with you as you are.” Rose laughed. “You’re practically nothing without the farm! No money, student loans—you’re nothing but the embodiment of paranoia and guilt. You have it worse than your father.” 

        “You are not going to disrespect me under my own roof, Rose.” (Y/N) hissed, clenching her fists.

        “I’m your mother.” Rose scoffed. “And I’m not disrespecting you, I’m guiding you! I’m trying to give you a good life and you’re being a brat about it!” 

        “Oh, excuse me for choosing what I want to do in my own life.” (Y/N) scoffed.

        “If you chose what you want, you'd be dead!” Rose exclaimed. “I have to make decisions for you because you’ll kill yourself otherwise!” 

        It stung to hear that, a piercing knife stabbing through (Y/N)’s heart that couldn’t be pulled out without causing more damage. It hurt to know she was such a burden, and it hurt even more to know that Rose was—in a sense—right.

        "I decided all of this; not you!” (Y/N) shouted, her arms opening up as she gestured to everything around her. “I left the farm on my own, I was homeless for months on my own, I got a job on my own, I made money on my own, I got into college on my own. I don’t need you to make decisions for me!” 

        “You have no experience in life, you can’t even commit to living your life!” Rose spoke. “You don’t know anything about life because you’re so close-minded. One day you’re going to wake up alone in bed without that little boy and wish you would’ve listened to me because that’s not a man out there, that’s a boy! He’ll leave you as soon as his legs heal, and you’ll come crawling back to me about how I was right, and that you’ll marry one of those farm boys and live a lavish life with raspberries and riches!” Rose blabbered, rambling on about her fantasy.

        “You don’t get to decide that!” (Y/N) spat out, her hands reaching out to grab her own hair anxiously, tugging on it from the claustrophobic pressure.

        “You can’t even talk to me like a normal person without freaking out! What makes you think that you can even make decisions for yourself if you can’t even take care of yourself?” Rose hissed, pointing her finger accusingly at (Y/N).

        “I am normal—I just have a few extra steps to me!” (Y/N) spoke, exasperated. “Mama, I’m not going to take the farm. I’m not going back. I’m not marrying those damn farm boys you want! I don’t need your generational wealth!”

        “It doesn’t matter what you say, it’ll be in my will.” Rose retorted.

        “You give me that farm and I’ll sell it!” (Y/N) hissed. 

        Rose’s face dropped, surprised, before it hardened once more.

        “You know, I’ve made plenty of decisions in my life; but marrying your father and having you was by far the worst. It haunts me to this day.” Rose spat out. “Your father has complicated my life, but you’re the one who's completely destroyed it.” 

        “Stop it, Ma.” (Y/N) spoke, gritting her teeth.

        “Even though you’re out of town, I still have to pay for your actions. It’s my family’s farm and reputation on the line. My last name is slandered because of you. I can’t even go to the grocery store without getting nasty looks. I’ve been kicked out of church, my own damn religion and identity rejects me because of your actions. Those pesky kids in town are burning my berry bushes and stoning my chickens and throwing rocks at my windows. I can’t talk to the other mothers, or even try to talk to Ben’s mother., all because of you and your father.” Rose spoke.

        Another stab to her heart, guilt overwhelming her. Even if she wasn’t the one holding the stones, she was still the target; Rose was just unfortunate enough to be caught in the crossfire. Even if it wasn't her fault, nobody will believe the freak show's daughter over the jail warden's son. 

        After all, you wouldn't expect your son to be a bad person until he is. Ren being the warden's son only gave him an advantage in life to break the law. Maybe his father believes that Ren could "straighten" or "stray the path" of (Y/N)'s away from the Devil (her disorder) to where she wouldn't be a freak. Either way, Ren will inherit his family's jailhouse just like (Y/N) will inherit her family's farm. A normal civilian can't vote for who inherits the jailhouse or farm, only the previous owner can; and it looks like Ren isn't being put off that will anytime soon.

        “Why don’t you move away? Start a new farm?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “Because I don’t run away from my problems, unlike you.” Rose hissed.

        No, that wasn’t the truth. The truth was Rose’s home was at the line. Her money was at the line. Relocating and having to renew all her crops, find a large enough piece of land with a similar climate, hire new and experienced farmhands; all of that would be too tedious for Rose's liking.

        “You’ve made my own home unsafe.” Rose spoke. “And I hope you die for it.” 

        “Please get out of my house, Mama.” (Y/N) pleaded.

        “House? House? You can’t even call it a home because you don’t have one! You’re welcomed nowhere!” Rose shouted. “Even after you took my home you have the audacity to claim you don’t have one! It’s right under your nose!”

        (Y/N) didn’t know whether to cry, scream back, or run. She felt nauseous and weak, any second longer and she might puke on the ground. 

        There was a feeling of fear too, even though there was no immediate threat. Maybe it was the fear of her feelings, or maybe it was just the urge to run again—whatever it was, it was overpowering.

        (Y/N) didn’t want to put her hands on her own mother, that’d be disrespectful even if she was being slandered herself.  

        Even if she hates her mother; she loves her too.

        “It’s time to go, Mama.” (Y/N) sighed. “Go eat breakfast with Papa.”

        “Don’t tell me what to do.” Rose hissed. “I’m going to go get lunch now instead!”

        So petty.

        (Y/N) mentally rolled her eyes, walking to the balcony to get the men.

        The pair of boys stopped their conversation, their heads turned to the door. They both had an expression verging on confused, concerned, and surprised. 

        “Papa, you need to leave. Me and Andrew have plans today.” (Y/N) spoke, opening the door.

        .

        .

        “C’mon, you heard the lady.” Frank spoke, before forcing Andrew out of the room by pushing his wheelchair, taking him out to the balcony.

        Andrew reluctantly turned his head to the pair of women. The pair held poker faces, but there was tension in the air even before their conversation started. 

        Frank opened the balcony and pushed Andrew out with him, closing the balcony door. They stood on the balcony together, looking down at the dirty city. 

        “I really hate places like this…” Frank sighed, leaning on the balcony railing. 

        “Uh… yeah. I guess it’s not pretty.” Andrew agreed hesitantly.

        Even though he did agree, he was more concerned of Frank throwing him off the railing 2 stories high. Sure the drop wasn’t too far down, but 20 feet is 20 feet, and if he lands on his head wrong, he’s not so sure he’ll get back up this time.

        Frank fumbled in his back pocket, before pulling out a box of cigarettes.

        “You smoke?” he questioned, shaking the box as an offer. 

        “Yeah.” Andrew nodded.

        Frank opened the box and pulled out two cigarettes, handing Andrew one. Andrew just realized that Frank was missing a finger, a clean nub where the bones should be. Andrew doesn't know what Frank works as, but he can only guess it's a factory or a manual labor job.

        Frank grabbed his Zippo lighter, flipping the cover and spinning the flint wheel till it sparked and fire appeared. He lit his cigarette, then Andrew’s.

        “If I smoke by Rose, she’ll chew me out.” Frank hummed, exhaling smoke. “She doesn’t like the smell. Says it sticks on my clothes. 

        The mention of third-hand smoke made Andrew pause, looking down at the cigarette he was about to put in his mouth and hesitating.

        “Actually… you can keep this…” Andrew spoke, smudging the end of the cigarette so it went out. “I don’t want to smell bad in the car with (Y/N).” He spoke, holding the cigarette out.

        “Thoughtful, huh?” Frank chuckled, taking the stick and placing it back in his cigarette box. “I stop caring about that 20 years ago.” 

        “You’ve been smoking that long?” Andrew questioned, surprised.

        “You're bound to pick it up after dealing with that woman.” Frank huffed. “(Y/N)’s got her moments too.” 

        “She does?” Andrew responded, surprised.

        (Y/N)? Really? He’d be shocked if she even raised her voice. Even when he was yelling and shaking her back at the hospital, she didn’t try fighting or talking back, just cowered.

        “Yeah.” Frank nodded. “Though, we all have our moments.”

        “What’s hers?” Andrew questioned before he could think.

        “What’s yours?” Frank retorted.

        Andrew opened his mouth to speak, before deciding to just shut up. Yeah, he’d rather not talk about his moments either.  

        “Touché…” Andrew nodded, crossing his arms.

        “Do you have any farming experience?” Frank questioned.

        Andrew looked at him funny, caught off-guard from the unexpected question. “No… why? Is that on the job requirement?” Andrew chuckled, making a poor joke. 

        “Rose has a family farm, and it’ll be in (Y/N)’s name when she dies.” Frank spoke. “So, Rose is pretty adamant on a guy who can farm.”

        “So?” Andrew questioned. “I mean, does (Y/N) even want that? Why is she even in the city as a nurse if she’s supposed to take over the farm?”

        “She doesn’t want it.” Frank smiled, taking an inhale of his nicotine, before exhaling. “Acres upon acres of land. Selling the land is hundred thousands, maybe even a few million. But selling the land with the family business included, that’s a guaranteed 5 million or more.” 

        If Andrew was smoking a cigarette, he’d be choking on smoke now—well, even without a cigarette in his mouth, he was practically choking on his spit, shocked.

        “W-wait—ack—really?!” he gasped, coughing. 

        “Yeah.” Frank smirked, proud as if he was the one bestowing upon his daughter a fortune. “But she doesn’t want it.”

        “Why?” Andrew questioned, his jaw dropped.

        Who the hell would reject that much money? He thought.

        “I don’t know.” Frank shrugged. “I don’t care what her reasoning is. If she doesn’t want it, she doesn’t want it. I’m not going to try and get an answer. Sometimes you just gotta follow what your heart says.” 

        Andrew looked over at Frank, before groaning. 

        “That’s… kind of stupid.” Andrew commented.

        “You just don’t have the heart to understand it.” Frank hummed, tapping the end of his cigarette, watching as grey ashes fell from the burning end of the stick.

        "Can I ask you something?" Andrew spoke up.

        "Is it stupid?" Frank questioned. 

        "Maybe?" Andrew chuckled, but his voice held a sense of nervousness. 

        "Shoot." Frank nodded his head Andrew's way, telling Andrew to proceed. 

        "Why do you stay with Rose?" Andrew questioned. "No offense, but she's kind of... a bitch."

        Andrew sure was bold...

        Frank hissed, gritting his teeth like the question physically hurt him. 

        "Ah... Sometimes I wonder that myself." Frank grumbled, raising his cigarette to his mouth, inhaling as he thought, before he blew out the smoke. "I think I stay because it feels natural." 

        "Natural?" Andrew repeated, confused. 

        "When you stay with someone for so long, their bad qualities just seem like qualities in your life." Frank sighed. "A routine builds, and overtime, you just follow that routine on reflex. Every bad thing just feels like second-nature to you... There’s not much for people like me in this world, so I have to take what I can get." Frank cleared his throat and smiled. "But hey, maybe that's just natural for me."

        Andrew turned his attention back out to the city, staring down at the people who walked on the streets, talking on their phones or window-shopping. 

        "No, I think I understand you." Andrew nodded.

        Sure, he can't relate 100%, but he thinks he knows what Frank means. If Andrew actually remembered what happened before quarantine, maybe he’d have a better understanding.

        What he does know from now, is that his past self was stitched to Ashley’s side; who sewed who together, he’s still unsure. 

        Ashley’s made him do tons of bad things as far as he’s aware of. He’s had to kill people, eat people, sacrifice people to summon demons; he doesn’t know where the bad ends and the good begins in himself.

        Maybe his past self was just used to Ashley’s ways too, that it felt normal just as Rose’s ways feel normal to Frank.

        But if that’s the case, where does (Y/N) fall in?

        Andrew sighed, a knife of guilt stabbing his chest as he stared out at the city.

        Jesus, where was Ashley? She was still missing. He hasn’t seen her in at least three or four days now. Or has it been a week? Shit, he can’t remember? Why can’t he remember how long it’s been? That’s his sister for goodness sake, where is she? Is she okay? 

        The mens’ attention were turned to the closed balcony door, they could hear yelling, but they couldn’t hear exactly what they were shouting about.

        “Don’t worry much about it, it’s not too rare for those two.” Frank sighed. 

        Pushover. Andrew thought to himself, his eyebrows furrowed as he contemplated if he should go in there or not. He’d rather not (Y/N) get hurt, and he doesn’t want any neighbors to be curious of them and accidentally discover his identity. 

        “Shouldn’t you do something? It is your family in there.” Andrew spoke up.

        “I believe that problem is their problem.” Frank hummed, inhaling his addictive substance. “I don’t have nothing to do with it because I’m not welcome in their girl talk.” 

        “Seriously?” Andrew scoffed, annoyed at Frank’s lack of concern for the pair of women. “If they fight so much, shouldn’t you be the voice of reason?” 

        “It’s not worth getting chewed out for.” Frank retorted, exhaling smoke. “Life works in mysterious ways. It’ll resolve or it won’t, it’s as simple as that.” 

        Andrew rolled his eyes. He’d chew Frank out himself if he wasn’t currently wheelchair-bound.

        “But… I’m worried for her.” Frank admitted, looking out to the city. “I’m afraid she’ll end up like me. Or worse.” 

        Andrew tilted his head to Frank, unsure if he should try and pry into that or not.

        The balcony door suddenly ripped opened, (Y/N) appearing there as she peered at the two men. Her face held a frown and her skin was pale. She bit her bottom lip anxiously, her eyebrows furrowed before she spoke:

        “Papa, you need to leave. Me and Andrew have plans today.” 

        “Right. I still remember.” Frank sighed, pressing his cigarette’s burning end to the balcony railing, smushing the fire out. 

        Frank walked back into the apartment as Andrew followed, wheeling himself inside. (Y/N) shut the balcony doors and locked them tightly, before looking over at her parents.

        “Well, it was lovely to see you again. Thank you for stopping by and checking up on me, it means a lot.” (Y/N) forced a smile, clasping her hands together. 

        “Anytime, kiddo.” Frank smiled, before it dropped. “Okay, well, maybe not anytime. I mean, we don’t want you getting hurt again. And gas is pretty expensive too…” 

        “I’ll make sure to be more careful for now on.” (Y/N) reassured. 

        “Let’s go, Frank. I want to get lunch now.” Rose huffed, grabbing her husband’s arm.

        “Be safe. I love you, Papa, Mama.” (Y/N) smiled.

        (Y/N) gave a goodbye hug to her father, before going for a hug from Rose, but Rose refused as she walked out the door swiftly.

        “Ah, you know her…” Frank sighed, before walking over and shaking Andrew’s hand. “You know, Andrew. You’ve been looking pretty familiar this whole time I’ve seen you, but I just haven’t been able to put my finger on it until now…”

        Fuck. (Y/N) and Andrew thought at the same time.

        While Andrew thought his identity and crimes were a secret, (Y/N) was aware of them; however, she wasn’t willing to turn him in, having a sort of strange pull from him to her. If Frank somehow knew about Andrew, then why is he telling them this?

        “I-I do?” Andrew stuttered, nervous as his face paled, a struggling smile painting his lips.

        “Yeah, you look like my future son-in-law!” Frank cackled, letting go of Andrew’s hand.

        Andrew practically deflated of air as it escaped his mouth, glad to have not had his suspicions right.

        “D-do I?” he chuckled, breathless as he got over his previous scare.

        “Jesus, Papa… Don’t go saying things like that.” (Y/N) breathed, releasing her own breath she had held in. “You might scare him off by talking about such topics so early into our relationship…”

        “I just had to have the last word.” Frank shrugged, smirking before he walked out the front door and down the apartment stairs. “Nice meeting you, Andrew. Stay safe, (Y/N). I love you, sport!”

        (Y/N) smiled, waving her hand as she watched Frank hop into his pickup truck, Rose sitting in the passenger seat with the AC blowing. Frank drove out of the parking lot as the couple watched them leave. 

        “So…” (Y/N) sighed, her forced smile dropping as she looked back at Andrew. “You wanna out now? Get some lunch then go shopping for some clothes?”

        “Yeah. Sounds like a plan.” Andrew nodded, smiling.

        .

        .         Andrew always knew the stereotype that girls love shopping. He recalls Ashley browsing through the Internet during quarantine, saving a link of a cute choker from Hot Topic or searching the web high and low for a cheap pair of Doc Martens. 

        He was under the impression girls liked shopping for themselves, but (Y/N) proved him wrong with how much shirts and pants she kept adding to their basket. 

        She didn’t like shopping for herself—she liked shopping for him. 

        Andrew had a basket full of clothes sitting on his lap, another basket hanging off (Y/N)’s arm as she held up a shirt, bringing it to Andrew’s chest as she pictured him in it, before she threw the shirt into her basket.

        “Jesus, (Y/N). Don’t you think this is enough?” Andrew groaned.

        He was being to understand why kids complained about back to school shopping with their mothers at Old Navy. If his legs weren’t broken and he was standing throughout this whole ordeal, he’s certain his legs would be cramping and he would sit down on the dirty public floor with no shame.

        “No way. You’re staying with me, so you gotta be set.” (Y/N) spoke, feeling the fabrics to make sure they were comfortable and that it matched her taste.

        “Maybe we’ll go to a few more stores after this.” (Y/N) hummed. “Like, we can go somewhere you’d be into. Perhaps you’d like those sarcastic shirts from Spencer’s.” (Y/N) teased, giggling.

        “Ha ha.” Andrew laughed sarcastically, rolling his eyes. 

        He’s not sure exactly what his style is, he just likes being comfortable—then again, he kept rotating between two or three shirts a week during quarantine. Anything after quarantine, he doesn’t remember, so he doesn’t recall what his favorite clothing store is.

        “I can’t remember what my favorite store is…” Andrew admitted, a sort of sorrowful look in his eyes.

        (Y/N) noticed his gaze and halted her movement. “Well… we’ll just have to find a new favorite store.” She smiled. “You seem to like dark and comfy clothes, let’s try my favorite sweatshirt shop after this. They have sweatpants there are to die for! You might find something you like." 

        "Nah, don't bother..." Andrew muttered.

        He still felt a little iffy about this. It felt weird having someone spend money on him like this, much less someone he hasn't known for even a week yet—much less his former nurse who's now housing him. He already feels awkward enough having to bother her for shelter (even if she was the one that did suggest it), so he feels even worse having her buy him clothes. 

        (Y/N) heard his words, but willingly ignored him; either way, she was still going to end up going into that store, that was inevitable. 

        "Here, why don't you try some of these on while I continue browsing?" (Y/N) suggested. "Don't be afraid to tell me what you do and don't like. I'd rather buy you something you'd enjoy and wear, okay?" 

        "What? You're not going to help me change?" Andrew teased, smiling. "I am limited, you know."

        "Oh please, you changed into your clothes just fine this morning." (Y/N) spoke, rolling her eyes playfully at his teasing.

        "Worth a shot." Andrew shrugged, smirking before wheeling himself into the changing rooms, shutting and locking the door behind him. 

        (Y/N) looked around at the clothes surrounding them. Surprisingly, it was hard trying to find clothes or colors that fit Andrew's style. Having a white shirt causes a weird contrast between his hair, and not in a good way. Bright and vibrant colors such as yellows, reds, and oranges were an automatic no, it made him look far too pale. Blues and purples made him look a bit silly; a dark blue could work, but the plain color just matches his eyes poorly. It was like Andrew was made for boring, monochromatic colors. She relied on blacks and greys, but she was able to find a dark green flannel that worked. Flannels and sweaters seemed to be the only thing that looked good on him, which was pretty unfortunate considering he has such a handsome face. 

        (Y/N) pondered if she should stop at just clothes. She doesn’t mind getting cologne and bath products, maybe a pair of shoes too. 

        She started wondering what scents Andrew would be into. Mint, lemon, pine tree, a mix of all three? Maybe he likes more woodsy and musky scents? Or maybe he likes the more citrusy scents? Perhaps beach-like and sandalwood? Maybe an infusion of all? 

        (Y/N) heard the store’s bell ring, signaling a customer entered the store. She looked over at the door, her heart dropping once she saw who it was.

        “No fucking way…” she whispered to herself, almost hissing as she gritted her teeth.

        A mix of annoyance and fear brewed inside of her. She quickly looked around for a place to hide, before ducking into the clothing rack and hiding there. 

        Please, please. To anyone above listening to this. Please don’t let them see Andrew. Please don’t let them see me. Please don’t let them see us together… (Y/N) practically pleaded, looking up into the sky and pressing her hands together in a prayer. 

        There was silence for a few moments, followed by the store’s bell ringing; either signaling another customer entering, or exiting.

        (Y/N) peeked through the clothing, seeing nothing except a small boy and his mother shopping together.

        There was a few taps of what sounded like heeled shoes, before the clothing rack was ripped open, causing a surprised yelp to escape (Y/N)’s lips.

        The perpetrator's strawberry blonde hair glistened brightly under the store lights, her glossed pink lips in a wide smile as her eyes sparkled. 

        “(Y/N)!” Penelope beamed, smiling widely. 

        “H-hey, Pen…” (Y/N) smiled, nervous as she stood up fully from her crouched position behind the clothing racks. 

        “What are you doing there, silly?” Penelope questioned, opening the clothes wider for (Y/N) to exit.

        “I dropped my pen. It’s somewhere now…” (Y/N) lied, shoving her hands into her jacket as she stepped out into the aisle. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t important. I can just buy a new one.” 

        “So, what are you here shopping for in the men’s section?” Penelope questioned, smiling.

        “Just… looking for a new jacket.” (Y/N) muttered, coming up with an excuse. 

        “Really?” Penelope hummed, looking down  at the jacket (Y/N) wore. “I don’t… think that the men's section exactly matches your style? They don’t have much pastels or stars here.”

        “Just hoping I would be lucky.” (Y/N) smiled. “I just like the more oversized things, I guess.. They actually have pockets.” She spoke, before redirecting her attention back to Penelope. “So, why are you here in the men's clothing section?”

        “Oh, you know!” Penelope laughed. “My husband needs some new clothes so I’m just here looking for some. I know what looks better on him.”

        A nauseating pit formed in (Y/N)’s stomach as she forced herself to smile. (Y/N) forced herself to look down at Penelope's ring finger, but she couldn't find a ring on it. 

        (Y/N) doesn't like Penelope much, even if they do have a "friendship." She hangs out with Penelope outside of work merely for her social image, and so hopefully if she went missing, Penelope would at least tell the police. Though, with what Penelope's done in the past, it's hard to believe Penelope would even walk 100 meters near a police station. 

        “Husband, huh?” (Y/N) spoke, resisting the urge to cringe. “That’s lovely… Um, where is he?”

        “He’s at home. Don’t worry about him.” Penelope smiled, the corner of her lip twitching slightly, threatening to fall. 

        “Right.” (Y/N) muttered. “Well, nice seeing you…” She spoke, turning around to quickly walk away to the other side of the store, but Penelope grabbed her arm, stopping her.

        “Wait, I completely forgot to ask you! I’m so inconsiderate!” Penelope frowned. “How are you holding up? Are you feeling better after what happened?” 

        “Oh yeah… as dandy as ever.” (Y/N) forced a smile. “You ain’t gotta worry about me. I’ll be back at work in just a few short weeks.”

        “Speaking of work, Hailey’s parents stopped by recently.” Penelope spoke, causing (Y/N)’s smile to drop.

        “Crap, what did they say? How are they holding up?” (Y/N) questioned, suddenly interested in the conversation. 

        "Well, Mrs. Burnson didn't take the news well, neither did Mr. Burnson. But then again, who does take the death of their kid well?" Penelope sighed. 

        "Yeah, you can say that again." (Y/N) sighed.

        It's natural for parents to grieve over their children and become aggressive in those circumstances. Something as traumatic as that can drive anyone insane. The parents might blame themselves or the hospital staff. A few months ago, (Y/N) had to break the news of a patient's death to their parents. The child was three-years-old and died from a case of severe pneumonia. Promptly after receiving the news, security had to be called once the mother started choking out (Y/N). 

        Yeah, not so fun times. 

        "Oh, they were mad. After receiving the body and hosting a funeral a few days later, they came back to the hospital and barged through the front lobby looking for you, but they were promptly detained by security and the police came and arrested them." Penelope explained.

        "That's horrible..." (Y/N) frowned.

        Hailey's death was hard on everyone. It hurt pretty bad for (Y/N), but that's to be expected considering she was Hailey's nurse for three years. It would be worse on her parents. Even if the parents did constantly travel for work, (Y/N) still felt they should've visited Hailey more, maybe with their presence, Hailey's emotional health would've healed a bit. There are studies between depressed patients dying more often than those surrounded by family, friends, and support. But (Y/N) can't reverse time nor tell a parent how to parent, so the possibility of Hailey's death being different (or nonexistent) will just remain as a alternative outcome based on the events. 

        There's a possibility Doctor Ryan also feels a sense of despair or sorrow with Hailey gone, considering Hailey has been Doctor Ryan's patient for about just the same time as she was (Y/N)'s. When (Y/N) returns to work, she'll make sure to check up on him.

        "Hey, we should shop together." Penelope suggested, trying to lighten up the pitiful mood. "We couldn't hang out due to your accident, but we can hang out now that you're up on your feet!"

        "Oh, I would love too." (Y/N) smiled, looking away as she tried to come up with a lie. "But actually, I have to get home and cook dinner..."

        "We can have dinner together!" Penelope suggested, smiling.

        "Oh, but I'm put on a diet so it'll just be boring soup." (Y/N) added.

        "That's fine. I like soup!" Penelope reaffirmed. 

        "I can't because—"

        (Y/N) was cut off by the sound of the fitting room door creaking open, following by rubber grazing against the tile. Penelope's eyes traveled behind (Y/N), surprised. 

        God fucking damn it. (Y/N) thought internally.

        She sucked in a breath before turning to look at the wheelchair-bound male.

        Andrew's eyes focused on Penelope, a feeling of annoyance creeping up behind him..

        Why the hell was she here? Does this shop look like a damn hospital? Why was she here talking with (Y/N)?

        "These fit. Ready to go?" Andrew spoke, ignoring Penelope's existence.

        Andrew talking to her just confirmed that the two came here together, which looks pretty bad on (Y/N)'s part.

        "Yeah..." (Y/N) nodded, looking over to see Penelope's expression.

        Penelope's eyes were wide, shocked as she kept glancing at Andrew and her fellow co-worker. She fiddled with her purse strap nervously, before clearing her throat.

        "Um... (Y/N). You're aware of the hospital policies, right?" Penelope questioned, frowning. "What are you doing with a former patient? Having any sort of connection outside of the hospital is strictly frowned upon and can result in termination!" 

        "Penelope, I can explain." (Y/N) hissed, lowering her voice so the other shoppers nearby can't eavesdrop. 

        "I thought you said to leave him—"

        Right. Penelope knows Andrew's secret just as (Y/N) does. (Y/N) was barely able to convince (bully) Penelope using extortion to keep her quiet when she confronted her at the hospital. She had implanted the idea that Andrew might attack the other patients if either her or Penelope sent a tip to the police, but now that they were out of the hospital, in public with (Y/N) going clothes shopping for him like nothing was wrong—this would definitely look suspicious to Penelope. 

        Something needs to be done before Penelope's big mouth goes and tells someone who will go to the police.

        "Penelope!" (Y/N) snapped, her lips contorted into a strained smile. "Let's not talk about this here. We can discuss work later, yeah?" 

        Penelope's eyebrows furrowed, hesitant before she eventually sighed. "Okay, okay..." she muttered, nervous as she looked between the two. 

        "So..." (Y/N) coughed, clearing her throat as the tension between the three felt suffocating. "You said you wanted to hang out with us. We can go get boba." she suggested, although it sounded more like a demand. 

        "Y-yeah..." Penelope nodded. "Let's do that."

        .

        .

        The sky was grey, a storm brewing in the air and (Y/N)'s mind as she walked next to Andrew, Penelope at his side (she really didn't want to walk alongside Penelope at the moment). She had a medium cup in her hand, an oversized straw between her lips as she sucked a boba into her mouth, popping the fruity ball with her teeth. Her other hand rested in her jacket's pocket, making a fist as her nails dug into her flesh. 

        She watched as Andrew drank his own boba. He opted on going for the same order as (Y/N) did since he's never had boba before. He doesn't look displeased, so (Y/N) can only guess that he's satisfied with her order. 

        Penelope had a passionfruit slushie in her hand, strawberry and kiwi bobas mixed into her drink. Would that be considered an official and traditional boba, (Y/N) doesn't know nor does she care. She has other things to focus about. 

        (Y/N) observed Penelope's outfit. She wore a cute pink sweater with a white shirt underneath, and a blush red circle skirt with brown pumped boots. Sometimes (Y/N) felt envious of the way Penelope looks, how she can pull off an outfit like that. Whenever (Y/N) tries to wear something cute like that, it doesn't look cute, but childish. Maybe that's her mother Rose speaking, but it made it hard for her to put on outfits like that, only on special occasions such as when she greeted Andrew and helped him into her apartment; she always has an imaginary audience in public. 

        When (Y/N)'s not indulging in her feelings, loathing everything about the way Penelope walks to the way she talks and dresses, she's pondering how the hell she can get rid of Penelope before the girl yaps to someone about Andrew's existence.

        (Y/N) might've convinced Penelope that she would send an anonymous tip to the police to have Andrew arrested after leaving the hospital, but since Andrew was here in the flesh rolling alongside (Y/N), she really doubts Penelope will believe that now. She'll have to come up with another lie to keep Penelope at bay, but while she tries to conduct a new lie, she'll have to keep Penelope by her side at all times to prevent a slip-up. 

        "Here. This is my favorite sweats store." (Y/N) smiled, opening the door for Andrew and Penelope. "Have you gone here, Pen?" she questioned.

        She'll have to keep Penelope engaged in conversation so Penelope doesn't get lost in her head and come up with an excuse to leave. 

        "I can't say I have!" Penelope smiled, walking into the shop.

        "They’re great. Very comfortable.” (Y/N) spoke, entering the store.

        She tried to keep Penelope in small talk so that Penelope couldn’t leave, pretty much leaving Andrew to his devices (much to his dismay). 

        He stifled a yawn and looked at Penelope, annoyed before semi-looking around at the clothes. He was a bit tired, probably hitting a wave of afternoon sleepiness after having been shopping and grabbing lunch with the girls. Still, he couldn't help but he annoyed. 

        Just what the hell was so interesting about Penelope that (Y/N) had to stop paying attention to him?

        It was a sickening feeling, really. Even if he was an introvert, he wasn’t really used to being alone. With Ashley gone, he found himself thinking a lot more than, his thoughts seemed louder than ever—but (Y/N) helped ease those echoing voices. With Penelope around and distracting her, Andrew’s thoughts couldn’t have been more louder than ever.

        He imagined Penelope with a nail stuck between her forehead, nestled right under her bangs. Penelope looked pretty similar to that lady he killed in his old apartment using a nail gun, he’s sure he could find something lying around.

        No, that’s not good. He thought. Best just leave it be. Surely she can’t be around for too long. Eventually she'll have to go back home. 

        He can’t risk anymore attention drawn to him. Just being in a wheelchair in public makes him nervous, he’s more likely to stand out from a crowd, and he’d hate for a police officer to catch attention of him.

        By now, the police must’ve expanded the manhunt once realizing Andrew’s not in his home city. This manhunt could’ve spread to a few cities around, which means this city’s law enforcement must be up to date about his crimes and runaway. 

        Another thing that worried him is if he’s a target, then so is (Y/N). If the police know she’s with him, that could be bad. He can’t let her find out anything about him. If she turns him in, he’s screwed. If she doesn’t turn him in, then they’re both screwed. She’ll be charged with hiding a criminal, possibly even being an accomplice with the right (or for their case, wrong) detective. 

        Yeah, he didn’t like the idea of that being a possibility. 

        (Y/N) grabbed a bunch of random clothes from the hangers, not bothering to look at the sizes or patterns really, placing them down in Andrew’s lap. 

        “Here. Go try these on.” (Y/N) hummed.

        “Um… okay.” Andrew nodded, confused at her haste, but deciding to listen as he found his way to the dressing room. 

        (Y/N) waited a few seconds as Andrew entered and locked the door, before she turned her attention to Penelope. 

        “I figured we can talk more outside…” (Y/N) smiled. 

        Penelope looked over at the dressing rooms, uncertain if they should leave Andrew, before she eventually agreed. “Okay…” 

        They walked outside and looked up at the sky. It was starting to sprinkle, the sky turning dark at 11 AM from the rain clouds. It would turn out into a storm soon, that’s usually how the weather in this city goes.

        “Sorry. I just didn’t want Andrew to hear us.” (Y/N) sighed, making her way to the alley of the clothing store.

        “I don’t understand. I thought you said he was dangerous? Why are you hanging out with him? And why isn’t he in jail?” Penelope questioned almost immediately. 

        “I tried to go to the station.” (Y/N) lied, looking at the ground as small wet circles started to appear on the ground, clear crystals falling from the sky and impaling the earth. “But the police didn’t believe me. I wrote a police report and that was it. They didn’t call me or anything.” 

        “Drats…” Penelope sighed, putting her hands together.

        “It makes sense. They might’ve went a done a background check on me when doing the case. With my records, it’s no wonder why they rejected the case. They probably thought I was spouting nonsense.” (Y/N) hummed, crossing her arms. 

        “Still, they should take your case serious! Just because you’re bipolar doesn’t mean anything!” Penelope huffed, balling her fists.

        For a second, (Y/N) felt a pang of guilt lying to Penelope. Seeing Penelope so worked up on the behalf of her was almost admirable, before she pushed down those feelings.

        “Don’t worry too much. It’s just life.” (Y/N) sighed. “They’re just doing their jobs.”

        Penelope frowned, her expression showing her distaste in (Y/N)’s lie. 

        “I'm sure I can think of something quick to get rid of him." (Y/N) spoke.

        "Like what?" Penelope questioned. 

        "Well, he's a public store right now..." (Y/N) smiled. "When we leave, I can send an anonymous tip to the police station that he was here. They'll talk to the store owners and review the store's camera footage; hence proving he's in the city. That'll keep the police on their toes and look out for him. So the next time he's in public... bam! We got him!" 

        "Well... it's not the worst idea." Penelope hummed, before a smile made way on her face. "Yes! That works! Men like him shouldn't be on the streets!"

        "Problem solved." (Y/N) smiled. 

        She's officially convinced Penelope to lay off the situation. Now that Penelope is under the impression that (Y/N) secretly has everything under control, she doesn't have to worry about Penelope anymore; so long as Penelope keeps her big mouth shut.

        Still, there's always a lingering threat that Penelope could spout her mouth to the wrong person and have (Y/N)'s secret close. (Y/N) will just have to keep a close eye on her then. Penelope only talks about other people's wrongdoings, never her own.

        "But... what if he kills someone? Either tonight, or tomorrow?" Penelope spoke up. 

        "He's wheelchair bound." (Y/N) scoffed. "I'd like to see him try to run and stab a person."

        "Guns exist!" Penelope retorted.

        "If that's the case, then the police are going to be on alert." (Y/N) tried to reason convince Penelope to stay out of it, to stop thinking logically. 

        "But then we're useless!" Penelope snapped back. 

        "Excuse me?" (Y/N) questioned, offended and confused.

        "Don't you ever wonder why we do this? I mean... right now someone else could die, so the people we saved are suddenly unimportant... because we couldn't save them all..." Penelope frowned. "No matter how many people we save, whether it's 100 or 1000, it's irrelevant when we can't save just one." 

        "And?" (Y/N) questioned.

        "And it hurts!" Penelope hissed, an ugly grimace on her pretty face. "It hurts knowing we couldn't save them! It hurts knowing I couldn't of been good enough!"

        "Penelope, we are humans. We're not a God that can heal people!" (Y/N) spoke, rolling her eyes.

        "Well, I'm scared!" Penelope shouted. 

        There was a pregnant pause, the two of them staring at each other. (Y/N) stared at her with confusion, frustration, anger, and a sense of betrayal. 

        Penelope was a threat.

        "Why?" (Y/N) prompted cautiously.

        "Why? Why? Because this job sucks!" Penelope hissed, stomping her foot. "I hate our job, that's why!"

        "Why?" (Y/N) hissed, slowly starting to circle Penelope's body, before standing behind Penelope.

        Penelope turned to face (Y/N) as (Y/N) blocked her exit. (Y/N) planted herself in the middle of the alleyway, that way if Penelope tries to run, (Y/N) can stop her.

        "I'm scared! Don't you get it? We're constantly exposed to these shitty patients who just whine and whine about their fucking pain. They have the audacity to cry and cry about a broken pinkie when there's people dying alone in their hospital beds. There's homeless people from the streets looking for shelter so they purposely hurt themselves just for shelter and food! This is really the kind of reality we have?" Penelope shouted. "And all the druggies! All these assholes purposely hurting themselves so they can get prescriptions from their doctors for opoids, fucking drugged up and killing themselves for people dying who actually need that medicine!" 

        "The bedside manner! Having to act nice to these assholes that hit and shove us to where we need to have security to strap them down on the bed so they don't attack us! They verbally abuse us constantly. And we're constantly exposed to fucking unsanitary crap! Shit, blood, piss, vomit! If I have to wipe one more old man's asshole after a shit, I'll snap! We're exposed to flus, viruses, infections, all this shit that can kill us too; and people act like we're doing the bare minimum! That we're there to give them their medicine and lunch like a fast food order and that's it, oh so easy!" Penelope hissed, grabbing her hair and tugging on it, stressed out. "And their family members constantly berating us. 'took you long enough to get here' and 'can't you hear the buzzer' and shit. I have seven patients with seven different problems and seven different lives to keep alive, all piled on me 12 hours for the night and I have to make sure nothing happens to them or me! Because we're always understaffed cause nobody wants to be responsibility for another person's life and I don't blame them!"

        "We can't even date! We're gone all night so that intimacy of sleeping next to our partner's are gone! We sleep during the day and we're up at night; on our days on and off! Agatha in cardiology has a whore of a husband because while she's out at night saving lives and risking her health these strangers; he's saving his balls from being full! I feel sorry for Hannah being a single mom and a night nurse! Poor girl gets 2 hours of sleep and her kids hate her because she's always sleeping or working!" Penelope spat. "And the harassment. I'm sick of picking up towels middle-aged men purposely drop so they can get a view of my ass! I'm sick of getting groped by adults with teenage hormones! I'm sick of their constant attitude, acting like "the customer is always right" like it's a damn McDonalds! I give these damn patients more respect and care than I give myself these days! Here we are, slaving away, working 12 hours a night, driving home and disinfecting ourselves in the shower and eating freezer dinners, before getting 4 or 5 hours to sleep, then waking right up to go back and serve these entitled assholes. When's the last time one of them said 'please' or 'thank you?'" 

        "Then switch to children. Come work with me." (Y/N) reasoned. 

        "I can't! I'm scared of what I'll do!" Penelope hissed, tears welling up in her eyes.

        "Do what?" (Y/N) questioned. 

        "Because I killed them!" Penelope snapped. "I killed Barron Dixon and his mother! You know it and I know it!"

        Barron Dixon. Six years ago, he was placed in Foxlord Hospital Psychiatric branch after suffering a manic depression episode; the same hospital Penelope worked at. Penelope was Barron's night nurse, but his mother suspected something off about the nurse.

        Once Barron started developing weakness in his muscles and retrograde amnesia, not being able to recall how long he was in the hospital, his age, or his birthday; his mother grew suspicious of the nurse. Mrs. Dixon stayed overnight in the hospital, hiding in the patient's bathroom until she caught Penelope in the act. Penelope had been lacing Barron's puddings with Rohypnol, a date-rape drug that's completely odorless and tasteless; so Barron never suspected a thing. 

        The next day, Mrs. Dixon was found dead in the hospital room, stabbed 52 times with a dull object that was later identified as Penelope's key to the medicine cabinet. Barron's body was never found, but it's safe to say Penelope stole the body after cameras caught her parking her car behind the hospital and dragging a black trash bag out, throwing it into her backseat. What she does with Barron's body? (Y/N) would rather not know. 

        The only reason (Y/N) knows about Penelope keeping Barron is that Penelope weekly goes to clothing stores and buys more clothing for Barron's dead body as he rots and ruins the clothes she keeps buys. Penelope is under the impression that Barron is with her till death do both part, or at least, until she finds a new victim; hence why she's still a nurse. But it seems the guilt must be keeping up with her for her to snap like this. 

        There were no police reports regarding the incident. Foxlord was kept on close watch, but they laid Penelope off without reporting her to the police. In cases like that, having a crooked nurse destroys trust in a hospital brand, so the hospital covered up the case. In fact, the only reason (Y/N) connected the dots was looking at Penelope's resume via Treegrowth hospital computers (the hospital they currently work at).

        Sure, it was illegal looking up those documents, but everything the hospital does is illegal.

        Treegrowth hospitals do everything illegal, even the nurses and doctors are convicted criminals who've served their time in prison or are escaping the law. Penelope is a murderer who escaped the law by moving across the country. Doctor Ryan is a recovering drug addict. Ruby from dayshift is a convicted felon who murdered her ex-husbands for life insurance. (Y/N) is a nurse who previously was framed for the death of Ben Rivers, and now a current murderer for the death of Ashley Graves. All the nurses and doctors are freaks or criminals, but now she fits right in. 

        Of course, their patients are unaware that all the doctors and nurses are criminals; it gets covered up just like every other hospital case. 

        Treegrowth hospital is also famous for their organ harvesting ring! Well, infamous in the Black Market, that is. When a patient dies, they pluck up the organs and sell them; it's possible Hailey's heart and kidneys are floating around on the dark web. The ring is in connection with other hospitals nearby too, even branching out to other cities. And alias, the pyramid scheme of money laundering! While some patients donate to the "children in need" and the "patients that need liver transplants", in actuality the money is going to the imports and exports of the hospital. 

        The organ harvesting and money laundering is a department (Y/N) and Penelope have agreed to stay clear of in the hospital; but they're still just as guilty, being aware of the wrongdoings yet refusing to do anything about it. 

        Penelope stays for love. (Y/N) stays because it's her dream job, even if the job didn't choose her. 

        "I know." (Y/N) sighed. "We all know, Pen. We know you killed them, and we don't judge you for it." 

        Well, that's a lie, but it won't hurt to lie in a situation like this. 

        "I killed her because she tried to get in the way of our love. And I killed him because he didn't want my love." Penelope admitted, tears welling up in her eyes. "And I'm scared because if I do it again, how do I know I won't get away with it? I can only have so much luck before it runs out."

        "It's okay, Penelope." (Y/N) smiled. "It doesn't matter what you did in the past."

        "Will it be wrong if I do it again?" Penelope questioned. 

        (Y/N) stared blankly, surprised. How was she supposed to answer that?

        "I... what?" (Y/N) questioned, shocked. 

        "How much money will it take for you to give me Andrew?" Penelope questioned, fidgeting with her purse strap. 

        "You want... Andrew?" (Y/N) repeated, surprised.

        "When you weren't looking, I poured some Rohypnol down his boba straw. He was too busy looking at you to notice." Penelope explained. "It'll get him off the streets and out of the public, so he wouldn't hurt anyone. I'd keep him in check. Just how much for you to keep quiet?"

        A sickening feeling arose in (Y/N)'s stomach, shocked as she stared at Penelope with a blank expression. She placed her hands in her jacket's pockets, feeling around before grabbing her pocket knife. After Ren, you can never be too safe out on the streets. Honestly, she should've broke hospital protocol and keep the knife in her scrub pockets to try and prevent Ashley's attack; but now's not the time to think about that.

        "But you, just keep getting in my way. You took over as his nurse, even having the nerve to visit him constantly during our night shifts, so he was brainwashed by you, refusing for any other nurse's care and love." Penelope hissed, reaching her hand into her purse.

        That's dangerous territory. For all (Y/N) knows, Penelope could have a pocket knife too. Or she could have a gun. Hell, she can even blow some powdered Rohypnol into (Y/N)'s face, and it would blind her and it wouldn't take too long for that to knock her out. 

        "I'm really sorry. I don't mean for you to get hurt again, but love is just a wonderful feeling." Penelope smiled. "You should know, right? That's how you feel about Andrew, right? It's why you won't turn him in..."

        "Penelope, we don't have to do this." (Y/N) frowned, taking a step back for space as Penelope took a step forward.

        "There's a difference between a man and a woman who kills. A man does it for power, but a woman does it for love. All throughout history, men have killed just because, to take and take. Well, I'm tired of being the one to give and give constantly to these scum, I want to take too." Penelope spoke. "I want that love all for myself; but another woman into the equation just won't do. It doesn't matter if it's a poly or not, there will always be a duo, and there will always be a better woman. If there's no other woman, then I'm always the better woman—so you have to go." 

        "How can you even call yourself a woman if all you seek is male companionship? A real woman knows how to take care of herself on her own. You're a woman, not a child." (Y/N) spat, frustrated.

        Like she had any room to talk when all she does is sulk and puke.

        "You think you can just do what you please? There's consequences, and it'll chase you forever! Whether you're good, bad, or in between, there's always a toll to pay! Who says you can avoid it?!" (Y/N) hissed.

        "Who says you can avoid it?" Penelope questioned, before lunging at (Y/N). 

        She pulled a pocketknife out of her purse, recklessly stabbing the air before (Y/N) jumped back and pulled out her own pocket knife.

        “Penelope, stop!” (Y/N) shouted, but Penelope didn’t bother to listen.

        Penelope ran up to (Y/N) with her knife held high in the air, causing (Y/N) to use her free arm and grab Penelope’s forearm. (Y/N) stabbed her knife in Penelope’s wrist, before roughly tugging down and splitting the skin and fat in half.

        It wasn’t her first knife fight after all.

        Penelope let out a scream, dropping her own knife. (Y/N) quickly covered her mouth so nobody nearby could be alerted, before kicking Penelope over onto her back and climbing on top of her body.

        “Stupid bitch! Ungrateful! After I gave you the opportunity to just let this be too!” (Y/N) hissed, stabbing her pocket knife into Penelope’s chest, mimicking her actions with how she killed Ashley.

        “Nothing but desperate whores nowadays! Can’t you find your own man?! He wanted me first, so he’s mine!” (Y/N) snapped, grabbing Penelope’s pocketknife and holding it in her other hand, before stabbing Penelope.

        (Y/N)’s knife went into Penelope’s chest, then Penelope’s knife into Penelope’s chest, until (Y/N) dragged the knives from her chest to her stomach, gutting her open. 

        “Always hated you! I always hated you! I always knew you dragged down our team and you'd be one to quit! Nothing but a pretty face! No brains! I knew you’d pay one day, but you just had to piss. Me. Off!” (Y/N) shouted, before the knives dove into Penelope’s lifeless face.

        Die without love. Die without happiness. Die without honor. Die alone, that’s all she could think of when she looked at Penelope. Nothing but pure, unadulterated rage.

        First she takes a helpless man and his mother’s life, then she has the audacity to try and chain Andrew down to her? To try and buy him like he was a product—like he could ever be hers?

        (Y/N) panted, wiping the blood from the knives off on Penelope’s skirt. 

        The rain poured harder as (Y/N) took a second to compose herself, before letting out a groan. 

        “Jesus... What’s with all the crazy chicks now? What happened to elegance?” (Y/N) groaned, collecting rain water and rinsing her bloody hands using the water.

        She looked around for a place to hide the body. She can’t just leave the girl out in the open, especially because she's unsure if she left any evidence or DNA on Penelope, and she can’t just walk around with a dead body in her arms.

        She contemplated on a dumpster, before realizing she’s might’ve left evidence of the murder on her. She sighed, annoyed before her eyes landed on a public clothing donation box. 

        (Y/N) looked around cautiously, dropping Penelope’s purse onto the ground, before quickly picking Penelope’s lifeless body up. She opened the box’s hatch and shoved Penelope inside of the hatch, repeatedly pushing and pulling the lid before she finally sunk in with the donated clothes and shoes.

        She took off her bloodied jacket, placing it into the clothing donation. This way, it wouldn’t be suspicious if her jacket had blood or if there was any of (Y/N)’s hair on Penelope, because now everyone’s DNA from inside the clothing would be left on Penelope. It’d be nearly impossible for the police to track (Y/N) down once the donation truck comes to collect the clothes. 

        (Y/N) could almost laugh at her luck. In fact, she did laugh. She dedicated a moment to laugh about what just happened; about Penelope slipping a drug into Andrew's drink without her knowing, about having to kill her co-worker, about shedding yet another person's blood on her hands.

        The bodies just keep piling up. 

        (Y/N) looked over at the purse Penelope left. She wiped the rain from her face and crouched down to the ground, opening the purse and looking inside. There was Penelope's phone, her pink wallet, a small bottle of Ibuprofen, her make-up pouch, and perfume.

        (Y/N) picked up the perfume bottle and scoffed. 

        Ah, a woman's beauty is another's poison. (Y/N) thought, thinking back to Ashley, before placing the perfume bottle back into the purse. 

        She looked closer into the purse before spotting a hidden pocket. She unzipped the pocket and found a small box of Rohypnol. She also found a small snack-sized bag of white powder, which must've been crushed Rohypnol tablets. 

        (Y/N) contemplated what she should do with those. In one hand, she’s a bit uncertain leaving the drugs in Penelope’s purse considering just anyone can steal them; and she’d rather not have someone with bad intentions take them. On another hand, she didn’t want to carry date-rape drugs, even if their intended use is for helping with insomnia.

        (Y/N) sighed, before pocketing the bag and box of tablets into her own purse. She’ll just keep it for insomnia, like how it should be used for.

        (Y/N) closed Penelope's purse and grabbed her pocketknife instead. Her pocketknife was a plain one with a black handle, she never thought of personalizing her own pocketknife, she never wanted it to be traced back to her. (Y/N) washed off the pocketknife where the blood that didn't wipe off on Penelope's skirt was left, then folded down the blade and pocketed the knife. She glanced over at Penelope's pocketknife and admired it. 

        It was a regular blade, but the handle was beautiful. It was a rose gold with a small, plastic red rose on the center of the handle meeting the blade. (Y/N) folded down the blade and tapped it against her palm, thinking before ultimately deciding to keep it.

        It’s not like Penelope would be able to use it anymore, and it’d be a shame to throw out a pretty knife.

        She walked back into the store after double-checking there was no blood on her. Once she walked into the store, she looked around for Andrew, before realizing he might be unconscious in the fitting room. 

        She walked to the fitting rooms and knocked on the one she remembered him going into. After hearing no reply, she figured the Rohypnol kicked in and opened the door.

        Andrew sat in his wheelchair, a black sweatshirt on him that belonged to the store as his head laid tilted to the side at what she can only assume is an uncomfortable angle for his neck. 

        (Y/N) smiled, relieved to see him alright and relatively unharmed. 

        She had saved him.

        (Y/N) walked in and closed the door behind her, sorting out all the random sweatshirts she threw at Andrew earlier. She grabbed the dark and monochrome ones in his size that fit, and placed the rest in a neat, folded pile. 

        She walked over to Andrew and gently shook him, though she really wasn’t expecting a reaction. After receiving no response, she removed the sweatshirt he tried on and replaced it with his old sweater. 

        She placed the sweatshirt in the pile with the ones she intended to buy, then looked at herself in the mirror. 

        She was soaked from the rain, and her hair was covering her face like a wet dog. Her face looked pale, and she could still feel her heart trying to calm itself after her previous attack. Her nerves were going haywire as adrenaline pumped in her veins.

        Two attempted murders in one week. (Y/N) thought, sighing. Not only that, but if I kill another person this month, I’ll be an official serial killer.

        She moved her hair out of her eyes and sighed. She looked over and Andrew and took note of his sleeping face.

        She’s never gotten the opportunity to see him up close like this. Sure, she slept next to him last night, but she didn’t bother admiring him much; she was more focused on going to bed and having her parents leave her apartment in the morning.

        (Y/N) reached her hand out, noticing how her hands trembled as she placed her hand on his hair.

        It was surprisingly soft, shocking considering how messy and uncoordinated his hair was. Her palm went lower as it rested on his cheek, her thumb tracing a soft line under his eyes.

        She always thought he had pretty eyes. Even with his eyes closed right now, she can still picture the vibrant green of them inside her head. His eyes were hooded and there were eyebags under their eyes, but those bags were far less present than the ones he had when he first arrived at the hospital, so he’s been catching up on his sleep.

        Her eyes trailed down to his lips, her palm following as her thumb rested on his chin, just shy under his bottom lip. He had pale, thin lips, but she recalled him having a lovely smile and a confident smirk. 

        She could feel his slow, constant breaths, relaxed from the Rohypnol. 

        She felt how warm he was compared to her and couldn’t resist wrapping her arms around him, seeking out his warmth.

        God, that feels so good. (Y/N) mentally sighed, melting into his chest. 

        Her posture felt uncomfortable hunching over him, so she got on her knees and continued to hug him.

        His body heat was a wonderful contrast to the cold rain outside as Mother Nature kept punishing the city. It felt even better than last night, and it felt almost like a reward for protecting him from Penelope. 

        (Y/N) smiled, embracing the warmth as she left out a contented breath. She cradled his face and closed her eyes, pressing her forehead against his, a gesture that would've been intimate if he was awake. 

        Right. He's still unconscious... (Y/N) thought, opening her eyes as she re-evaluated the situation.

        "Oh, God. What am I doing?" (Y/N) whispered, a pang of disgust and even fear seeping into her chest.

        (Y/N) forced herself up from the ground, letting go of Andrew and sitting down on the fitting room bench. 

        Am I just as bad as her? (Y/N) questioned.

        She's killed two people just like Penelope did. Is she Penelope in this situation? Is Penelope Mrs. Dixon in this situation; trying to break them apart? Is Andrew Barron in this situation; just caught in the crossfire?

        Will he die from her too? 

        Will he upset her just enough to where she'll snap again? 

        (Y/N) didn't want to know the answer to that. She stood up and opened the fitting room door, wheeling Andrew out of the room and walking to the cashier with him in toll. 

        She grabbed two grey jackets on her way out, one to replace the one she had to throw away, and the other to keep Andrew dry from the rain outside. She grabbed a few sweatpants in Andrew's size too, just to make sure he has enough. She walked to the cashier and stood in line, before checking out.

        "Sorry, he just has a little sugar crash, so he's taking his afternoon nap. I kept him out too long, haha!" (Y/N) laughed, smiling when the cashier questioned if Andrew was alright. 

        She wheeled Andrew to the front door, before grabbing one of the jackets she bought and putting it on Andrew, flipping the hood up so he'll stay dry from the rain, then doing the same with herself using the other jacket she bought. She exited the store and mustered up all the strength she could, dragging Andrew into the passenger seat and buckling him up. She folded his wheelchair and put it in the backseat along with the shopping bags before hopping into the car. 

        I'll go get groceries tomorrow instead. (Y/N) thought, looking over at Andrew as she buckled her seatbelt.

        She turned the radio on a random jazz channel, keeping the volume low so it wouldn't disturb Andrew in case he woke up from the noise, and she drove back to her apartment. 

        Once arriving, she took the time to grab her kitchen knife Ashley stabbed her with, along with Ashley's gun and her strange occult charm. She threw the knife in her sink and washed it, then placed Ashley's gun and occult charm in her bedside drawer along with Penelope's Rohypnol and pocketknife, hiding them there. She then managed to retrieve and drag Andrew up her apartment complex steps and unlock her front door, entering the apartment and dragging him to their bedroom. She placed him on their bed and took off his shoes and socks, tucking him into bed. She almost contemplated giving him a goodnight kiss, but not even she was crazy enough to do that. 

        She took off her shoes and was about to change into her pajamas when her phone rang. (Y/N) immediately lunged for her phone, grabbing it and accepting the call before Andrew could wake up.

        "Hello?" she whispered, exiting the bedroom and walking to the living room where she could speak louder.

        "Hello, this is Starworth Hospital. Is this (Y/N) (L/N)?" a woman's voice questioned.

        Starworth Hospital? (Y/N) thought.

        She's not familiar with that hospital, it must be one far away from her. What are they doing calling her?

        "This is her." (Y/N) hummed. "Can I help you?"

        "We regret to inform you that Mr. Frank (L/N) and Mrs. Rose (L/N) have passed away in a car accident."

        "P-passed away? What do you mean they're dead?" (Y/N) questioned, shocked.

        "They were deceased upon arrival. They were involved in a car accident at a gas station and were unfortunately unidentifiable; however Starworth County Police were able to identify them using the surveillance cameras and transactions made at the counter." The woman spoke, as if she was speaking with a paper in front of her face. "You were listed as their daughter under their emergency contacts. We're sorry for your loss." 

        (Y/N)'s heart dropped, spiraling into confusion, pain, and guilt.

        "Is... is there anything I have to do?" (Y/N) questioned. "Do I need to drive over there or... or anything?" 

        "Usually we would request you to come and identify the body, but I don't believe that's possible considering they have third-degree burns and are burnt to a crisp." The woman spoke. "The car crashed into the fuel station right next to them while they were refueling their car."

        Ouch. Talk about breaking the news lightly. 

        "A bill will be sent to you in three weeks. You can use our website to pay once receiving the bill, there will be a QR code to scan." The woman explained. 

        "Excuse me? Pay for what?" (Y/N) scoffed. "You didn't do anything! You said they were dead once arriving to the hospital!" 

        "Someone has to pay for the ambulance." The woman responded. 

        "Yeah? You can take that bill and shove it up your—" there was an audible click, the woman hanging up.

        Well, now she knows how her patient's families feel.

        "You stupid fucking cunt!" she hissed, grabbing her living room vase and flowers.

        She was about to throw the vase against the ground, but remembered Andrew was just next door in her bedroom. She carefully placed the vase down, grabbed her shoes and keys, and exited her apartment, locking the door behind her. She hopped into her car and slammed the gas, reckless swerving out of the parking and speeding down the roads. It took her an hour before she spotted the familiar sight of the forest amongst the heavy rainfall. 

        She parked her car and stormed out into the forest, not bothering to grab a flashlight despite how dark it was. (Y/N) trudged through the heavy mud forming on the ground as she shoved bushes and tree branches violently out of her way. She finally made it to Ashley's gravesite, recognizing the scenery as she looked down at the ground. 

        "Is this your doing?" she shouted. "Is this your damn demon buddy? Was you dying apart of your contract with them or something? Is this you trying to get back at me? You stupid bitch, answer me!" 

        She stared at the ground, waiting for a response. Waiting for a pale hand to shoot its way up from the ground, or a giggle, or anything—but as always, she received nothing good. Nothing that told her Ashley was here. 

        (Y/N) grabbed her hair and tugged the ends violently, frustrated. 

        "Leave me alone! Leave me alone! Leave me alone!" she screamed, ripping a few strands of her hair out until her head ached and a headache formed. "I can't! I can't!" she shouted, crouching down on the ground.

        "Why can't you just leave me alone?! Why can't everyone just leave me alone?!" (Y/N) cried out, a few tears escaping her eyes before she started sobbing.

        "I'm sorry, Ashley. I'm sorry." She sobbed. "I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to lash out. I didn't mean to kill you, or Penelope, or Ben, or mama and papa or anyone. I just wanted to be something bigger and better than myself, but I can't even do that. Not even a job or a lover or a friend." 

        It hurt, it hurt worse than any stab wound or cut or pill she could endure. Her chest ached, her stomach felt sick, her throat burned, her eyes felt tired, her nose was stuffy, her leg ached from her injury, her arms stung from her injury and self-inflicted cuts, her mind throbbed, and her heart ached. 

        Whatever excuse she tries to put it, it's still her fault in the end. It'll always be her fault. 

        "Please, just make it stop..." she cried. "Haven't I given enough? Haven't I atoned enough? Haven't I saved enough? Haven't I hurt enough? Why isn't it enough? Why isn't anything enough?"

        It's too much. It's too much. It's too much. It's too much. It's too much.

        She stopped crouching, rising up as she walked further in the woods, finding the forest path and following it as the rain punished her back and the thunder scolded her. 

        She made her way until the ground reflected with the lightning in the sky. She had reached the forest's lake. 

        She sat down on a wet bench that showed a scenic view of the lake, but she wasn't concerned about the lake. 

        She thought about that small room she grew up in alone, affection-starved, and hungry; a punishment for being born.

        She thought about all those times she was shoved up against school lockers, or tripped in class, or wads of gum stuck in her hair; a punishment for being a freak.

        She thought about those hospital walls, the numerous markings on her wrists, the empty pill bottles scattered around; a punishment for wanting death. 

        She thought about that courtroom, about being sentenced guilty, and those days she spent starving herself and force-fed through a tube in jail; a punishment for having Ren love her.

        She thought about escaping Ren, about living in her car homeless as she tried to make ends meet; a punishment for wanting freedom.

        She thought about receiving that sketchy email from Treegrowth Hospital, meeting Doctor Ryan and Penelope, and Hailey and many many other patients dying; a punishment for following her dreams.

        She thought about that first spray of perfume to Ashley's eyes so she could blind her, that first stab into Penelope's wrist so she could harm her; a punishment for standing up for herself.

        And now, the rain punishes her back for standing out here alone, and Mother Nature weeps with her as she cries. 

        Sometimes, it still feels like she's trapped inside that room; except this time, she's the one that locked herself in it. 

        She stood up from the bench, walking to the edge of the lake, and stepping a foot in. The water was freezing and cold, but what it promises makes her feel warm. She took another step, walking deeper as it reached her knees. Soon it reached her hips as she looked up at the moon, witnessing her ultimate—and hopefully final—death. 

        She looked at the trees, watching as lightning lit the sky and showed the vibrant green of the forest.

        There was a picture shoved in front of her eyes, an image of a male with black hair and vibrant green eyes, a soft look in his eyes as he held her tight, whispering to her.

        (“That video showed Hailey saying that she wanted you to get better, right?”) he spoke, his hands cradling her face as his thumbs wiped the tears from her face. ("She knew you weren’t feeling good, even when she wasn't doing good herself She cares about your health. Do you think crying would make her happy?”)

        The image changed to them on her bed watching a movie on TV, his arm around her shoulder as her head rested on his chest naturally. It provided a sensation she never felt before, one that burned her chest, but it didn't hurt for once. It felt soothing, comfortable, and she couldn't help but want more.

        Andrew.

        "Andrew!" she gasped, before being submerged under water at a steep drop.

        She quickly swam back up to the surface, coughing and spitting out the water she swallowed, before peddling back to the edge of the lake, crawling out and lying down on the ground, coughing and panting as she stared at the stars as they laughed at her.

        She didn't care about their mockery though.

        I want Andrew. She thought, forcing herself up off the ground.

        The autumn air mauled her skin as she ran, ignoring the ache in her leg as she followed the path and got off track, running back to her car.  She hopped in the driver's seat and started the car, speeding out of the forest. 

        She'll pay a visit later and apologize to Ashley, but right now she didn't want Ashley, she wanted Andrew. 

        She sped back to her apartment, an hour drive taking 30 minutes as she speeded. She made it back and parked her car, almost tripping on the steps from her haste as she almost broke off her key in the keyhole. She practically ripped the front door open, her eyes meeting with Andrew's panicked ones.

        He was out of his wheelchair, no crutches in sight as he leaned against the couch, tears falling down from his eyes. Every door in the house was open, and every light was on along with pillows and blankets scattered on the living room floor. It looked like he was trying to find her. 

        "(Y/N)!" he exclaimed, out of breath and panting, seeming to have had his own episode himself. 

        "Andrew!" she smiled, glad to see him awake and well.

        (Y/N) shut the door behind her, locking it before rushing over and running into Andrew's arms. He stumbled before falling back, but luckily he fell onto the couch. He didn't hesitate in reciprocating her hug as he wrapped his arms tightly around hers. 

        "(Y/N), where the hell were you?! I don't remember falling asleep or coming back home but I had a nightmare and—Jesus, you're so cold and wet." He spoke, lifting her legs up and placing her down in his lap. "Baby, what happened? Where were you? It's dark and raining outside, what were you thinking?"

        "Oh, Andrew. It's been so terrible." She cried, pressing her forehead against his. "I-I feel so terrible and lost. I'm so scared. My parents died and she's dead too and—" she wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tighter as she nuzzled her head in his neck. "Please don't leave me too. I need you, Andrew."

        Andrew's heart broke and mended at the same time. Seeing her crying and scared hurt, but seeing her need him felt better. 

        "It's okay... I won't leave you. I'm right here." Andrew breathed out, calming down as his arms held her waist, pulling her tightly against him as he shared his warmth with her.

        Suddenly, his nightmare felt almost silly in comparison to seeing her like this. Just like when she was in the hospital with him, he felt bad seeing her like this. It felt like a foreign sight seeing tears fall down her cheeks. 

        "Hey, you're really cold right now. C'mon, let's go get you warmed up." Andrew spoke, his hands rubbing up and down her arms to try and warm her up, though her wet jacket blocked the touch.

        (Y/N) nodded and stood up from his lap, a feeling of annoyance creeping up on his immediately after. He wished his legs could just heal up faster, he hates having to rely on her so much, he wants her to rely on him for a change.

        He wanted his legs to go back to normal so he could be able to carry her without having to have her get off his lap. He wanted to be able to walk side by side with her and hold hands while doing so. He wanted to help her reach the high shelves in the supermarket. 

        He hated having to look up at her to talk or speak, it was a blow to his ego and felt insulting to his masculinity. He wanted to be able to look down at her for once.

        Andrew got up and led (Y/N) to the bathroom, turning on the warm water and setting out a towel for her. (Y/N) went and grabbed a nightgown from her closet along with a sweatshirt and pair of sweatpants she bought Andrew today, coming back and resting them next to the towel. 

        "What's that for?" Andrew questioned, noticing the extra outfit just as he turned off the bathtub faucet. 

        "Why don't you stay with me again tonight?" (Y/N) suggested, swallowing her nerves. "I'd rather not be alone tonight... and you said you had a nightmare. We can comfort each other."

        Andrew's eyes widen, a rare blush dusting his cheeks as he looked at her surprised. He looked over at the bathtub, before back at her. 

        "Y-you mean... you wanna bathe together?" he questioned. "And sleep together willingly?" 

        "Jeez, you make it sound like I'm asking you for 1,000 bucks." (Y/N) sighed, crossing her arms, ignoring the cold shiver that went down her spine. 

        Oh no, this was much more than 1,000 bucks. This was priceless. If anything, he should be paying her for this. 

        "Only if you want to though. You don't have to feel pressured or anything, I don't want you to feel pressured because you're living with me. I'd feel bad if you were uncomfortable with this..." (Y/N) spoke, adverting her eyes from his.

        "Oh, honey. I'm far from uncomfortable. That's lightyears away." He chuckled, causing a smile to form on her face.

        "Well, that's good to know at least..." she smiled.

        "C'mere." He spoke, reaching out and grabbing her waist, pulling her flush against him. "So, you gonna help me change now?" he questioned, smirking as he asked her that question for the second time today.

        "You're insufferable." (Y/N) giggled.

        "Worth a shot." He shrugged, smirking. 

        He let go of her waist, much to her disappointment, and grabbed the hem of his jacket (Y/N) put on him earlier while he was asleep, lifting it up before she quickly adverted her eyes.

        "Hey!" she exclaimed, her body turning 180 degrees as she covered her eyes. "Y-you can't just do that in front of me!"

        "Oh, so you get flustered about seeing me undress but not asking me to bathe with you?" Andrew laughed, a genuine one as he undressed. 

        "Leave me alone..." (Y/N) muttered, suddenly feeling nervous about the situation at hand. 

        There was a moment of doubt, but it was washed away as she heard a splash from behind her. 

        "The water is warm. No need to be shy." Andrew spoke. 

        She could practically see his wolfish grin.

        "Can't you close your eyes?" (Y/N) huffed, turning her head towards him carefully, a mixture of gratitude and disappointment to seeing nothing exposed of him in the bathtub.

        "If that's what makes you comfortable." He sighed, pretending to act like it was a big deal when it wasn't. 

        "Wait, here..." (Y/N) spoke, reaching into her bathroom cabinet and pulling out a bottle.

        "Bubbles?" Andrew questioned, reading the label as she handed it to him. "Strawberry scented too. Yummy." 

        "Don't eat it." (Y/N) huffed.

        "I won't. Promise." He smiled. "I have a better snack here in front of me. A whole course meal." 

        His words caused her cheeks to flare up as she looked away from him.

        "Just get those bubbles made... yeah?" she hummed. "And don't look." 

        "Jokes on you, I know what reverse psychology is. You want me to look." Andrew teased.

        "Andrew!" (Y/N) whined. 

        "Okay! I promise I won't look." He spoke, his fingers crossed behind his back. 

        He turned back on the faucet and poured some bubble formula into the stream as she undressed, though he stole many glances with zero shame. He was only a man after all, but he could control himself. 

        "Okay..." (Y/N) spoke, removing her socks and undoing her bandages on her arms and leg.

        "Ready?" Andrew hummed, closing his eyes again. 

        "Yeah." She nodded.

        She turned around and looked at the slightly-pink foam from the bubbles, before looking at Andrew to make sure his eyes were closed. When she confirmed they were closed, she entered the bathtub and sat down in front of Andrew, her back facing him as her leg hung over the edge to prevent her stitches from being wet. 

        "I'm in. You can open your eyes now." (Y/N) sighed.

        "You sure look comfortable." Andrew chuckled gesturing to her leg. 

        "You should be doing this too. You still have stitches on your ankles." (Y/N) retorted.

        "You're such a worrywart." Andrew teased.

        "They could get infected." She bit back.

        "Well, it's a good thing I live with a cute nurse." Andrew smiled. 

        Her heart stammered at his compliment, she tilted her head to look back at him. 

        "Liar." She muttered under her breath.

        Andrew heard her and smiled, amused. His arms reached out and wrapped around her waist, before pulling her back into his chest.

        "H-hey! What are you doing?!" she gasped, feeling his warmth directly behind her. 

        "Don't worry so much, pretty. It causes wrinkles." He teased.

        "Well, I didn't know my looks were the only thing important about me." She huffed, her hands nervous settling on his.

        "You sure know how to bite back at everything I say, huh?" he sighed, albeit the smile on his face showed how much he enjoyed their little bickers. 

        His thumbs played with her hips, drawing circles on them as (Y/N) relaxed her head on his chest, the scent of strawberries in the air calming her down.

        "Should've brought my speaker in here and played some music." (Y/N) sighed. 

        "How romantic." He chuckled. "I can just hear George Michael singing 'Careless Whisper' to me right now." 

        "Classy." She hummed sarcastically.

        "What? Don't like his song?" Andrew questioned.

        "No, I'm really hearing Jo Stafford right now." (Y/N) chuckled. 

        "Ew. Oldies." Andrew teased, before musing over it. "...What song?"

        "'I've Got My Love To Keep Me Warm' sounds really fitting right now." She hummed thoughtfully.

        "So I'm your love?" he inquired, a playfully smirk on his face.

        His hand reached up and held her cheek, tilting her head towards him more. He pressed his forehead against her intimately, looking into her eyes with this fond expression on his face, one she could hardly believe was real. She reached her hand out and held his wrist, smiling.

        "Well, you did meet my parents..." she hummed, before a pang ached her heart, remembering her parents' death, though she hid that thought in the back of her mind.

        Andrew looked down and noticed the lines on her arm, his smile dropping. "Hey..."

        Shit, (Y/N) mentally scolded herself, her arm dropping.

        She just had to lift that one up. 

        "Hey." He spoke, his voice more firmer as he gripped her wrist tighter to prevent her from hiding her arm. "What's this?"

        "It's nothing." She lied.

        "What's this?" he said firmer, his eyes hardening as he looked down at her.

        "Nothing, I was just being stupid!" she snipped back, trying to grab her arm back. 

        "(Y/N). (Y/N), stop." He huffed, fighting her for her arm as she failed at hiding it. 

        "Drop it." She spoke defensively, tears welling up in her eyes.

        "(Y/N), honey." Andrew sighed, his gentle voice making her melt as she resisted fighting. "Baby, these are fresh. What happened?"

        "They're from yesterday." She corrected.

        "Stop avoiding the question. It's still fresh." He huffed. "What happened?"

        "I can't..." she muttered, looking away from him shamefully as the tears from her eyes fell.

        "C'mon, don't cry." Andrew mumbled, dropping her arm as both of his hands cradled her face. "We talked about crying; it's not pretty on you."

        "I can't help it." She sniffled.

        "So let me help." He hummed, his thumbs wiping away the tears. "What's been going on?"

        "A lot." She spoke.

        "Don't be vague. Speak." Andrew spoke, before noticing her hesitation. "I only wanna help you, baby. I don't like seeing you hurt." 

   "I don't wanna tell you yet..." (Y/N) muttered. "You won't like me anymore."

        "Honey, I'll still like you no matter what." He smiled reassuringly. "You don't gotta worry about silly things like that."

        "I-I still don't wan-na tell you yet..." she hiccuped as he wiped the remaining tears from her eyes.

        "Fine..." he sighed, a bit disappointed but not wanting to pry into her business. "Then tell me when you're ready, yeah?" 

        "Okay..." she nodded.

        "But can you at least promise me you'll stop this?" he spoke, his eyes trailing down to her arm to gesture to it.

        "I can't promise that." She frowned. "It just... happens sometimes." 

        "Well then come to me." He spoke. "I'll help you."

        She adverted her eyes, feeling guilty for making him worry.

        "I'm sorry..." She muttered.

        "I'm sorry too." He mumbled.

        "For what?" she questioned.

        "For not being there for you." He spoke. 

        "Andrew, you've barely known me for a week now." She sighed. 

        "So? I'm bathing with you right now. I get to eat meals with you and I get to shop with you and sleep with you at night." He spoke, before smiling. "We're dating now, remember?" he teased, recalling the words she used yesterday to try and explain their fake relationship.

        "Y-you really believe it?" she questioned, surprised. "You really wanna... you know...?"

        "I don't think I'd be here in the tub with you right now if I didn't." He chuckled, before pressing his nose against hers. "Yeah, I wanna be with you. I wanna always be with you." 

        "You can't possibly always be there for me." She pointed out, pouting.

        "But I wanna." He admitted. "I wanna always be there for you. I need you." 

        Her heart stammered as she looked away from him, nervous. The air was hot and humid, and the heavy scent of strawberries practically drowned her; but she wouldn't want this any other way.

        "You're stupid..." she mumbled, her finally defense being let down.

        "Stupid for you~" he cooed teasingly, coaxing a giggle out of her. 

        His eyes softened as he watched her laugh. One of his thumbs rubbing circles on her flared cheeks as his other hovered next to her bottom lip.

        "You have a pretty laugh." He commented, his eyes watching her lips before meeting her eyes. "And you have a pretty smile. Keep smiling for me, yeah?"

        "You have pretty eyes." She hummed. "Green like Mother Nature; nurturing." 

        "How poetic." He chuckled, smiling. 

        "I really like you, you know." (Y/N) admitted, her arms reaching up and grabbing his wrists, drawing small circles on them. 

        "Like me enough for a kiss?" he teased, although he was hopefully.

        "You want one?" she questioned. 

        "Well, I certainly wouldn't mind." He purred. 

        She giggled, before moving her face closer to his, her eyes looking at his endearingly before they looked down at his lips.

        "I've... never actually kissed anyone before..." she admitted. "So forgive me if I'm bad."        

        "I doubt anything could be bad with you." He hummed. 

        She smiled, raising her hands to rest on his cheeks, before holding her breath and kissing his lips. 

        It was short, sweet, and sincere. It's a serendipity that he managed to live and stumble into her hospital, and get assigned to her specifically despite being in a separate hospital branch, otherwise this might've never happened. She has him spellbound; and vise versa.

        She parted her lips from his, nervous as a hesitant smile resting on her face, yet she still smiled for him. 

        "So...?" she inquired. "How was that?"

        He hummed, pretending to muse, before quickly bending down and stealing another quick kiss from him.

        "Hey!" she gasped, flustered. "We agreed on one kiss!"

        "My mouth slipped." He lied, causing a chuckle to escape her lips.

        "Liar." She laughed.

        "It was perfect." He smiled. "You're perfect."

        "Now you're really lying." She scoffed playfully.

        "I'm extremely serious." He hummed, before lifting his hands. "See? My fingers aren't crossed."

        "Oh, then I guess you must be telling the truth." She hummed sarcastically. 

        "I am." He hummed, watching as she rested her head back down on his chest.

        They stayed quiet for a few minutes, before he spoke up.

        "Feeling better?" he questioned.

        "I'm on Cloud 9." She sighed, before adding. "And I changed my mind. It feels more like '(They Long to Be) Close to You.' that's by The Carpenters"

        Andrew chuckled, smiling. "Well I change mine too."

        "What do you change it to?" she questioned. 

        "'Unforgettable.' Nat Cole." He spoke. "Because you're unforgettable." He cooed, resting his head on her shoulder. 

        "Dummy." She smiled, closing her eyes and enjoying his warmth.

        This is what she longed to come home to every night. This was something worth living for.

        "You wanna get out now? Get to bed?" Andrew questioned.

        "Five minutes more." She smiled, quoting Frank Sinatra. "I'm comfortable..."

And chapter 8 is finished! I've concluded that the series is coming to the end soon, we have about one or two more chapters left! Don't be down though, there will still be more Andrew content and you guys get to vote for the next series once Star Patient is done!

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

Inbox is OPEN for questions about the story and new plotlines/ideas, not for requests!

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, current chapter, final chapter.

Want to listen to music while reading? Check out the Star Patient's Official Playlists! Multiple different playlists and genres!

[stellar-constellations]

Star Patient: Chapter 6 (FINISHED SERIES)

WARNING: This series will include; possible inaccurate medical procedures and medical setting, gore, toxic relationships that should NOT be replicated in real life, murder, yanderes, cursing, suicide mentions, implications of misandry (male misogyny), descriptions of self-harming, accusations of cheating, child death, death of major and minor characters, OC's are used throughout the story for plot and depth, reader is in denial and paranoid, toxic family dynamics, perversive thoughts, reader is bipolar (not saying that in a quirky way, like literally bipolar), religious comparisons, light mention of demons, stalkers, possibly more to add.

Inaccurate canon-timeline and setting (this is before Ashley and Andrew murdered their parents). They also live in America (because I wasn't aware they lived in Europe prior to this series).

Reader has a small fear of adult men/rape and has a history of suicide attempts.

Incest is not Wincest.

Amnesiac! Obsessive! Patient! Andrew Graves x Yandere! Nurse! Reader:

Wordcount: 15,700+ words

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, current chapter, Chapter 7, chapter 8, final chapter.

Want to listen to music while reading? Check out the Star Patient's Official Playlists! Multiple different playlists and genres!

Hello, my stars. Before starting this, I wanted you all to know I've updated my warnings. I'm telling you this to warn my sensitive readers who might get triggered or uncomfortable.

Warnings: This series will include; possible inaccurate medical procedures and medical setting, gore, toxic relationships that should NOT be replicated in real life, murder, yanderes, cursing, suicide mentions, implications of misandry (male misogyny), descriptions of self-harming, accusations of cheating, child death, death of major and minor characters, OC's are used throughout the story for plot and depth, reader is in denial and paranoid, toxic family dynamics, perversive thoughts, reader is bipolar (not saying that in a quirky way, like literally bpd), religious comparisons, demons, stalkers, possibly more to add.

Please note, this series is NOT to romantize, glamorize, normalize, or encourage ANY of this behavior that we see throughout the story.

I also have playlists for you to listen to while reading this, or just to listen to in general if you're looking for new music!

Thank you for reading this section.

------------------------

        “Alright Ms. (L/N), you’re free to be discharged. Do you have a ride home?” her doctor questioned, signing her discharge forms, consenting to the leave. 

        “Yes, sir.” She nodded. 

        She just planned on driving back home herself. Sure, it was dangerous, but she did come here with a bleeding leg, so she sure as hell can leave with a bandaged one.

        “Alright… Good. And, just a little rundown on what you’ll need to do. Please keep your leg elevated with your heart whenever possible. I signed for you to get two weeks off work, that way you wouldn’t be applying any weight onto your leg. Please keep eating liquids or non-solid for at least a week; so like jellos and puddings and soups. You should know the procedure, we need the inner staples to heal and it'll be good not to tear the stitches.” The doctor explained to her.

        “I also scheduled a appointment for you to visit me next week so we can hopefully check and remove your staples on your outer stomach if all is good, and if so, we’ll decide to give you the green light to eat solids or not. Please avoid wetting or poking the staples and stitches.” The doctor spoke, wrapping up his speech.

        “Thank you, sir.” (Y/N) smiled, taking the discharge papers from the doctor’s hands.

        “Do you need any help finding the exit?” the doctor questioned as her nurse removed the IV needle from (Y/N)’s veins, placing a piece of cotton on the bleeding hole and medical tape to hold the cotton in place.

        “No, sir. I’ll be just fine… I have to make a quick visit anyways…” (Y/N) spoke.  

        The doctor left the room after (Y/N) took the papers from him, the nurse following after the doctor. (Y/N) stood up and resisted the urge to stretch, that would just strain and possibly snap any stitching or stapling.

        She looked at the clothes the nurse left on her bedside. (Y/N) snatched the clothes and walked to the bathroom, locking the door. Because her clothes were ruined yesterday with blood and had to be cut in the emergency room, she was given paper scrubs from the hospital to wear. Sure, they sucked and were flimsy, but it was better than leaving naked. Hospitals can only do so much. 

        (Y/N) put on the fabric and her shoes (that were fortunately in one piece). She unlocked the bathroom, walking out and exiting the hospital room. She walked to the elevators, entering one and pressing the psychiatric floor. 

        She waited for the elevators doors to open, exiting them once they did. She walked down the hallways with a limp, ignoring it as she made her way to Andrew’s room. She knocked on the door to announce her presence, before opening the door.

        Andrew was awake this morning, a bit unusual given how late he stayed up with her last night, but perhaps he couldn’t sleep much. Maybe he has a headache? That brain surgery was only a free days ago, so maybe he's experiencing some pain.

        “Hey, are you okay?” (Y/N) questioned, disturbing him from looking out the window. 

        Andrew’s head snapped over to her once he heard her voice. He looked surprised, and his electric green eyes looked a little puffy and red, like he was about to cry; however there were no tears streaming down his face, as if he was refusing to cry.

        “Andrew? Are you okay?” (Y/N) repeated, concerned as she limped over to him, taking a seat on the guest chair.

        “Ahem, yeah. I’m fine…” he covered his mouth and coughed, turning his head away from her. “Do you need something?” he questioned.

        “I’m getting discharged, so I won’t see you for at least two weeks, possibly even longer.” (Y/N) explained, her eyes subconsciously glancing over his figure and observing his state

        His black hair was messy—as it usually was—and he still remained pale, with the exception of red rings around his eyes and a blush on his nose. His broken legs were elevated to his heart by keeping pillows under his legs. He didn’t have any bandages wrapped around his head anymore since his staples weren’t bleeding anymore after his brain surgery. His breathing patterns looked normal and he doesn’t appear to be sweating, so it’s safe to say the doctors got rid of the internal bleeding problem. 

        “Because I’m leaving, I need you to behave for the night nurses and day nurses.” She spoke, as if trying to communicate with a child.

        “It won’t matter…” he muttered, his voice deep and gravely, sounding as if he was in pain.

        “What, why? What’s wrong?” (Y/N) questioned, subconsciously leaning closer to him with a look of confusion on her face.

        “They’re discharging me tonight.” Andrew spoke, his voice raising its volume so she could hear better. 

        “Why, that’s great s it not?” she questioned, mentally cringing as she tried her best to gauge a reaction out of him, hoping that he could explain more. “You won’t be stuck here anymore. You’re healing.”

        “No… I-“ he paused, unsure if he should speak about the thoughts swirling in his head. “I-I can’t leave. I can’t.”

        “Why not?” (Y/N) questioned. 

        Andrew stayed quiet, his eyes stuck staring at his hands that laid in his lap, seemingly ashamed to look up at her.

        “Andrew, what’s wrong?” (Y/N) repeated, standing up from the chair and bringing herself closer to Andrew, sitting down at his bedside gently so she wouldn’t disturb his legs.

        “Don’t you understand…?” he muttered, his tone going down a dark notch. “I can’t leave you…” 

        “Huh?” (Y/N) audibly spoke, voicing a noise of confusion as she looked at him, more so confused now rather than concerned.

        Why can’t he leave? Is it because of Ashley? Oh god, does he know Ashley's dead? That I killed her? Can he not leave me because he wants revenge? (Y/N) questioned inside her head, her nerves eating her up.

        “Andrew, I need you to tell me so I can help you. Surely we can—“ Andrew’s hands went up to her shoulders and gripped them tightly, his vibrant green eyes suddenly looking a little more of a toxic color, one to warn others that they’re dangerous. 

        “Don’t you understand, damn it?!” Andrew shouted, his nails unconsciously digging into her skin and the flimsy scrubs the hospital provided her with. “Are you an idiot or something? I can’t leave! I can’t do anything!” 

        (Y/N) looked surprised, her feet trying to take a step back but his hold on her wouldn’t allow that. She looked a bit scared, cowering despite him being the one bedridden. 

        Her previous thoughts of getting caught was instead replaced with being trapped. The room suddenly felt more smaller while Andrew yelled at her. The white walls suddenly looked like they were closing in, the pale color looking damn similar to an asylum instead.

        “I should’ve at least taken up Ashley’s offer on escaping this damn place!” Andrew spoke, shaking her back and forth with a crazed look in his eyes.

        Yes, terrifying. That’s why she decided not to work with adults and chose kids instead. Adult men are just scary for her. Having an erratic episode like this is a pain when you’re dealing with kids, but an adult man with a deep yelling voice towering you and shaking you like a rag doll is just plain terrifying. Especially knowing the fact they could definitely overpower you. Hospitals drug up their patients all the time to where patients think irrationally, and there's always the patients that believe they're the customer who is always right; giving them all a sense of authority or inability to understand their wrongdoings, whether they have a god complex or just drugged. It's always going to be dangerous. 

        It brings a shiver down her spine. If this is the effect Andrew has by just yelling at her and shaking her a bit, she’s scared to know what he could do with no broken limbs. 

        He seemed to go on an angry, mindless rant as he shook her back and forth. At this point, she might be the one getting internal bleeding in her brain because of this. 

        “If anything, I should’ve just died! But now I’m royally fucked because of you and these fucking doctors!” Andrew shouted. 

        A patient threatening suicide? Much less a patient on suicide watch? That’s not good, especially if he’s threatening suicide while almost being discharged. He could stay in this unit for mental health evaluation if he actually tries something. He’s lucky that she’s not on the clock, otherwise she would be forced to chart that.

        She mustered her nerves and grabbed his wrists, looking down at him and doing her best to keep a gentle facade.

        “Hey Andrew, let’s calm down and figure this out…” she spoke. “I need you to tell me what’s wrong so I can help."

        “I-I just—“ Andrew’s pissed-off expression changed, his grip on her shoulders loosening as he let out a sigh. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

        So he noticed…

        “I’m scared…” he admitted, his hand going up and playing with her hair, twirling it around her fingers, ignoring that it hasn’t been washed in a couple days due to the accident. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t go back to—“ he paused, stopping himself. “H-home. I can’t go back home because I don’t remember it.” He lied.

        He can’t go back to his apartment complex and be locked up in that room again. He can’t. Hell, maybe the complex actually burnt down like the news has been saying. But he has no home now, and if he goes to a shelter they might ask for documents or for identification, both of which he doesn’t have. 

        He can’t go to his parents. With his face on the news and being indebted to them again? Please, anything but that. He’s already done enough for them. He purposely didn’t write his parents’ names and numbers down when the doctors made him file paperwork because he didn’t want to see them again. 

        And he might go insane if he has to live with Ashley again. The hospital has been boring, yes, but at least he could actually think with some quiet. No more killing people or cannibalizing people or worrying about future visions or any of that crap. He could actually enjoy some peace for once. He loves his sister, but it's about time for them to act like adults and have their own lives. 

        And god, the money to pay back the hospital. He doesn’t have that kind of money. His whole bill must well be 20,000 dollars, possibly even more. He doesn’t even have a job! He’s not entirely sure if he remembers his banking information, and he doubts he has health insurance he can remember! 

        “I-I just… don’t remember anything.” He spoke, a half truth and half lie. “I don’t have parents.” Another lie. “I don’t remember where I live.” Another lie. “I have no money to pay off all this debt I’ll be in.” A possible (?) lie. “I have no job.” True. “I-I don’t know what to do. I’m fucked.” Andrew spoke, tears filling up in his eyes as he chuckled in possible disbelief, his hands going to his face to cover it.

        Yeah, that sounds like a shitty situation… (Y/N) thought, pushing down that fear he installed in her earlier as she hesitantly stayed next to him, uncertain what to do.

        She’s never had to deal with this kind of situation. Her patients are kids, and they don’t usually worry about money or healthcare or such things an adult worries about. Fixing someone's IV needle and fixing their bank account is two very separate things. 

        Honestly, it’s pretty sad. Adults have it rough. Most people now in America hesitate to call an ambulance because of the bill for that alone, ranging from $400 to more than a thousand for the ride to a hospital alone. 

        She doesn’t blame him for being mad, she’d be pretty pissed in his situation too. 

        “And, are you absolutely positive?” (Y/N) questioned, her hand resting on his wrist and drawing small circles to soothe him. “Do you really have nowhere else to go once you leave? Or any money or such at all?” 

        “No…” he answered, a loss of hope in his voice as he resisted the urge to cry. 

        “Okay… it’s okay.” (Y/N) spoke as Andrew kept playing with her hair.

        “I’m sorry for yelling at you. I didn’t mean to scare you…” he muttered. “Please don’t leave me. I-I don’t know what to do and I’m scared and…” he paused, uncertain of the next words about to come out of his mouth. “I-I just need you. I need your help.” 

        God, not the damn puppy eyes… (Y/N) though, nothing how his bright green eyes cleared of any malicious intent from earlier, now just glossy and filled with tears threatening to spill out. 

        He looked like he really didn’t want to leave her (or maybe it’s because he just really needs her help) and that just pulled her heartstrings.

        Think, (Y/N). You’re a nurse. You gotta be quick on your feet and think of a solution… (Y/N) thought, wracking her brain for a solution. 

        “What if…” she paused, thinking.

        Would that really be a good idea? He’s a male after all. The last guy she dealt with was a total psycho…

        No, it’s probably not a good idea, considering he’s on the run and he’s a cannibal. But she doesn’t know his whole story, so she can’t judge so quickly…

        Not to mention she’s a murderer herself now. Even if she killed a wrongdoer, she still killed someone. 

        But is it really a good comparison? Is it really so bad for her to kill just one life after saving many others?

        Now that’s just sociopathic thinking… 

        “What if you stay with me?” (Y/N) suggested, doing her best to keep her tone confident.

        “What?” Andrew questioned, unsure if he heard that correctly.

        Did she actually just say that?

        “What if you stay with me?” (Y/N) repeated, forcing herself to act like it wasn’t a big deal. “I mean, it wouldn’t be bad. I have the space. It’d be good for you too, I can still help with your bandages and elevating your legs and such, make sure there’s nothing going wrong during your healing process and that you’re still sticking to the treatment plan. I can pay the medical bills and you’ll work it off for me over time, until you’re able to get back on your own two feet.”  

        Ha. Pun intended… (Y/N) thought, resisting the urge to chuckle.

        “You’re really serious? You’re not pulling my leg or anything, right?” Andrew questioned, surprised as he sat up, wincing at the pain in his legs and head from the sudden movement.

        “Hey, take it easy.” (Y/N) reminded, placing her hand on his shoulder to stop him (and to hide her shaky hands).

        She decided it wasn’t the time to freeze up or think, thinking would just make her panic to what she just offered.

        “And I’m serious. If you need a place to stay, you can come to mine.” (Y/N) spoke. "Nobody should have to pay to live, it’s just… sad.”

        Even if it is sad that you have to pay to live, that’s just life. There’s a reason why. Not many people would do things for free. Currency was made to pay others for their labor, rewarding them for a job done right. The more money, the more luxurious your life is… sometimes…

        There’s not many people in the world who would save a stranger’s life and expect nothing in return. Especially when you’re working hours to days at a time keeping people alive and healthy, it just wears you down overtime to where that paycheck is the only thing you’re looking forward to. Nurses work for money, and the ones that enjoy helping people instead start to despise them due to their ugly flaws revealing themselves in their states of venerability. Nurses and doctors see more ugly things in people than they do in infections. 

        Well, as long as you do your job, the paychecks won’t die; unlike the patients. 

        “So? What do you say?” (Y/N) questioned, looking down at Andrew with a forced smile. 

        Don’t think about the offer. If you don’t think, you wouldn’t contemplate about how absolutely idiotic that suggestion was. Seriously, allowing a cannibalistic serial killer into your home all alone? Let alone a man.

        The thought was indeed distasteful, but her mouth was quicker than her brain, and she already offered it. It would be cruel to give him false hope and swipe that right under his nose. 

        Andrew wasn’t too sure if he wanted to take up that offer. Sure, it’d save his ass from the streets, but it’d also leave him indebted to her, which can give her an upper hand to take advantage of him. It’s also worth noting that his face is probably still in the news somewhere, which could be bad if she finds out and reports him to the police… 

        But maybe there’s the chance that she’s not well-informed or active in the community or news? Maybe the whole news will blow over soon and she’ll never know? 

        It’s better than nothing…

        “If you’re really sure…” Andrew muttered. “Then I’ll take you up on your offer. I’ll repay you.” He spoke.

        Great. (Y/N) thought, fantastic and nervous.

        “I’ll get an uber for you. I need to get some stuff settled at my house beforehand. What’s your discharge time?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “One P.M.” Andrew answered. 

        “Okay, at one P.M. you’ll go to the front of the hospital and I’ll get an uber for you so they can drop you off at my place.” (Y/N) explained, clapping her hands together to avoid the awkwardness of parting ways. “Well… I’ll see you later.” She spoke, forcing a smile. 

        She didn’t give him time to speak or say goodbye, leaving the room before she could dwell longer. She needed to bury Ashley’s body before someone finds it, she needed to deep clean her apartment, and she needed to mentally prep herself for Andrew’s arrival.

        She took her discharge papers and entered the elevator, pressing the lobby floor and waiting. The doors opened and she exited the box, walking out to the lobby and out the glass doors. She unlocked her car and entered, turning the key in the engine and taking a deep breath, preparing herself for the day traffic and using her injured leg to drive. 

        She turned on the radio to a random adults hit channel, before backing out of the parking lot and taking off. She made a quick pit stop at a hardware store, buying one of those stupid state merchandise shirts, a pair of shorts, a pair of gardening gloves, some hair ties, water bottles, and a shovel. She paid in cash (thank god the emergency gas money she kept in her car since she didn't have her purse) and drove an hour out to that forest she put Ashley in.

        (Y/N) prayed to whatever god she believed in, or at least prayed to herself that luck would be on her side, and parked somewhere in the sticks. She fumbled around the backseat and changed out of the flimsy paper scrubs to that cheap state shirt and shorts she bought in the hardware store, tying up her hair with a cheap hair tie.

        She grabbed her supplies and exited her car, locking it. It took at least twenty minutes before she was able to pick up the dead body smell, following the stench to Ashley’s body. The blankets she was wrapped in didn’t look tampered with, so maybe nobody found the body beforehand. 

        (Y/N) made quick work, putting on the gardener gloves and grabbing a shovel, finding a patch of loose dirt and started digging. 

        Six-foot grave my ass, if she buried that deep then she might not be able to get out of the hole. (Y/N) settled on a four foot grave, digging and making sure to take breaks so she wouldn’t snap any stitches or staples. 

        At least two or three hours later, she was able to roll Ashley’s body into the hole. Staring at the bloodied cloth was just so unsettling… a reminder of what she’s done.

        She’s seen plenty of blood and gore before, but she’s never been the cause of it (or at least, she’s never punctured skin for anything other than the intent to help someone). 

        It felt right to say something, a little memoir or a speech or something. 

        She grabbed some big rocks and made an imaginary audience, setting them near the grave as (Y/N) stood before it.

        “Today, we are here to celebrate life and remember the loss of it…” (Y/N) began.

        Yep, killing someone who tried to kill you first, then proceeding to make a whole damn memoir of them… that’s totally normal and not something someone unhinged would do. Or maybe it’s just because she’s a really compassionate person and feels sorry for killing her. Maybe a bit of both.

        “Ashley Graves was the younger sister of Andrew Graves. She was… passionate and determined.” (Y/N) spoke awkwardly, clasping her hands together, ignoring the dirt itching them inside the glove. 

        “We’re here to celebrate her life and youth. While she died young, she stayed golden. She was very pretty, and I’m sure she accomplished something in her life at one point…” (Y/N) rambled. 

        “I don’t know much about her, and I would’ve brought her brother here too if I wasn’t so concerned about him killing me too. I’m already digging one grave, I don’t need to dig my own too… or one for Andrew…” (Y/N) muttered, hiding that last part from the rock audience with a cough. 

        “Too soon to joke? Yeah… that was a bit hard… like rock.” (Y/N) chuckled too herself. “I’m sorry, sorry! This is a rocky start…” (Y/N) giggled, before her smile dropped, reality coming back and hitting her.

        “Fucking hell… I hate myself.” (Y/N) groaned, dropping down to her knees and covering her face with her hands, before coughing and spitting once the dirt on her gloves got in her mouth and eyes.

        When she got the dirt out of her eyes and mouth, she settled for staring at the dead body. Ashley died young and she was pretty, surely there must've been something good Ashley could've done with her future. 

        It really didn’t have to be this way, perhaps an agreement could’ve been made. While Ashley threatened her first, (Y/N) attacked her first, provoking her by spraying perfume in Ashley’s eyes.

        “Oh fuck…” (Y/N) groaned, pulling the strands of hair that has fell from her hair tie after her manual labor. “I’m really burying a body of a young woman. One I killed no less…” she muttered to herself, wishing that this all could’ve just been one big dream.

        A dream that she met some fugitives on the run, that she stooped so low as to murder another so violently and decided to house another. That she had to witness her favorite patient die after spending three years with her. 

        Honestly, she wished everything in her life was a dream. She wished being neglected and locked into a room for hours upon a time, sleeping and crying and famished, was a dream. She wished the relentless bullying throughout her school years was a dream. She wished all the pressure and stress she set upon her, forcing herself to grow out of childhood early so she could focus on the future, was a dream. She wished that disgusting and obsessive man was a dream, that he never sent those letters or took her to court or even did anything he did.

        No, she didn’t wish it was a dream; she wished it was a nightmare. Dreams are meant to be enjoyed, or at least allow yourself into a false sense of security to enjoy momentarily. 

        The constant harassment, the constant paranoia, the constant loneliness, the constant emptiness. She’d rather not torture herself in the dream world either. 

        Before Hailey died, she asked (Y/N) what she would like to be surrounded by, and (Y/N) said “beds” because she liked sleeping. She left it at that so she wouldn’t disturb the bittersweet moment as Hailey died. Perhaps if Hailey was older, or a friend rather than a patient, (Y/N) might have told her the truth. 

        Sure, beds are comfortable. A de-stressing spot for her and many others alike. Being bundled up in warmth and motherly affection she never experienced in her life, seeking comfort from an inanimate object to replace her own mother's nonexistent affection. 

        Beds are also comfortable when you die. Lots of people die in their beds. Most people imagine that they’ll die surrounded by their loved ones, peacefully succumbing to death. (Y/N)’s never bothered contemplating death, she knew if she was going to die it would be suicide—or, at least she thought so. After Ashley trying to kill her and possibly Andrew being her potential killer too in the future if he ever finds out what she did, she’s not too sure how she’ll die now.

        She’ll probably die from another depressive episode like starving herself and staying in bed, or some other health cause in her sleep. Whatever it is, her death bed would be made of cotton and polyester, she hopes. Perhaps in her will she'll write down she wants a twin-sized mattress in her coffin, at least make her death bed comfortable.

        Everyday just feels like a struggle to get out of bed now. 

        “Ashley…” she began.

        Now thinking about it, is it even right to speak Ashley’s name after she’s the cause of her death?

        “I’m sorry for killing you, and for causing you whatever pain or paranoia you experienced to where you felt the best course of action was to kill me. Things could’ve possibly been different if I had just talked to you, but I didn’t, and for that, you’re gone and I'm still here.” (Y/N) spoke.

        She wondered if Ashley enjoyed her life, what she had before she died. (Y/N) couldn't even enjoy all that she has, yet she still selfishly fought for her pathetic life, killing a woman who could've done better than her. Who could've accomplished more if she just fixed up her ways, if she just gave herself a second chance at living a true life. 

        (Y/N)'s had her chances, maybe happiness just wasn't for her. Maybe life just wasn't for her. Yet she's the one standing over the grave she should be in instead. 

        Maybe she should've just let Ashley kill her. Make all this pain and loneliness and paranoia just disappear like she wants to. 

        There was a moment of silence to respect the dead, before (Y/N) picked up the shovel and got to covering the body with dirt. It was faster to fill the grave than dig it, and she was able to finish after an hour. (Y/N) felt bad about it, but she stomped on the dirt to try and make sure it was packed and wasn’t loose. She grabbed the rock audience and scattered the rocks back where she found them so the grave wouldn't be suspiciously marked.

        Maybe I’ll reserve flowers for Ashley too… (Y/N) thought to herself, before allowing there to be another moment of silence to mourn the loss of life.

        After the silence, she walked back to her car, throwing the dirty supplies into the backseat of her car and hopping into the passenger seat. She buckled her seatbelt and drove out of the forest. Usually she would’ve taken a minute to at least desensitize her emotions so she can drive safely—or at least ponder why the hell she had a rock funeral back there—but she needed to get home and get her apartment in order.

        Once (Y/N) made it inside her apartment complex, she rushed to see if anything was out of place inside her apartment, swinging open her door and observing the crime scene in her bedroom. It smelt of potent citrusy perfume with the hint of metallic blood wafting throughout her home. 

        Before (Y/N) left, she did a quick wipe down of her walls and floors in case the police would investigate her apartment. Why? Well, there's no reason other than classic paranoia and the fear of being face to face with a judge inside of a courtroom once more.         

        Yeah, been there, done that. 

        Despite her quick clean, obviously it wouldn't be enough to get rid of the evidence if the police truly did a deep investigation (that is, if they even her connected to the crime). Well, even if the police doesn't piece out the murder, Andrew might. Andrew is Ashley's sister, surely he must know enough about her to know if she's capable of committing murder, especially because they were partners in crime. 

        Key word: were.

        (Y/N) glanced at the clock, seeing the time was 12 P.M. (Y/N) pulled out her phone and paid for an uber to pick Andrew up at the hospital entrance. His ride will be about thirty minutes if the traffic is good, so (Y/N) can only assume she'll have two hours to clean if she's lucky.

        Surprisingly—for a sorry excuse of a woman—her apartment isn't trashed or damaged; it's pretty clean. (Y/N) always worried if her parents one day stopped by and entered her apartment. She really didn't want to hear her mother's berating comments or her father's comments on how she should move back to the farm and be safe there. 

        She also worried about having her neighbors suddenly knock on her door to talk to her, or her landlord entering. She didn't want to give the impression that she's lazy, and she didn't want to give the impression that she's depressed either; she'd rather not have others pity her in such ways. She's an adult, she needs to learn how to take care of herself eventually, otherwise how will she expect to take care of the kids at work? Let alone Andrew who will now reside in her home? 

        Oh gosh. How is she going to take care of Andrew? Shit. What if the neighbors see him and recognize him from on the news? What if the uber driver recognizes him? She'll go to jail for knowing he's a murderer and still helping him. She'll lose her job if they find out she's keeping a former patient at her apartment. 

        Damn it... damn it... damn it... 

        She paced around her bedroom in circles, her hands shaking and her legs weak as she started overthinking.

        Jesus, what if he becomes crazy? Well, more crazy than a cannibalistic murderer can possibly be. What if he becomes like him? She'll have to move away again. She'll have to hide away before he finds her and ruins her life once more. 

        The vision of torn sugar papers stained with special red ink. The sounds of either paper or her sanity ripping as she screamed and stopped on the scraps, before scooping up the pieces and burning them outside in her father's grill. Or maybe it was the constant feeling of dread and being watched, resorting to her superiors, her friends, her family; just anyone to help her and to listen to her. But they just laughed in her face, or scowled at her.

        "Stop searching for attention."

        "He wouldn't do that."

        "Why are you spreading rumors?"

        "Well, did you do something to provoke him?"

        The sound of the crackling fire as the embers of paper burned in the daylight was replaced with shattered glass and her grunts of frustration. She snapped back, looking down at the mess on her bedroom floor.

        Damn it.

        She shattered her vase, throwing it on the floor as it scattered to dozens of small blue and white pieces, the wave-decorated vase now ruined. Her precious lilacs she worked hard to growing now destroyed and lying in wet soil, the petals smushed, having been stomped on in her fit of rage. 

        (Y/N) stared at the mess for a minute or two—maybe five—before squatting down and hiding her head in her legs. 

        "Damn..." she hissed to herself, her anger at him instead being temporarily aimed at her. "Stupid, stupid, stupid..." (Y/N) muttered, picking up one of the larger shards of glass.

        She turned her uninjured arm over, revealing the past scars from her previous self-harming episodes. They all have healed a bit, still a prominent shade of red, but at least they weren't fresh. 

        She didn't hesitate, not even daring to waste a breath or reconsider her decision as she cut her wrist, watching as scarlet milk immediately started spilling down in a rapid stream. 

        Well, they were fresh now. 

        One cut turned into two, and two turned into four as the blood continued to pour. A painful stinging sensation shot up her arm, burning as the blood dripped down her arm and onto the floor. 

        "Fuck!" (Y/N) hissed, realizing what she had just done. 

        She dropped the bloodied shard onto the floor, clutching the bloody mess with her other hand, another painful sting crawling up her arm from tensing her muscles in her stitched arm. She groaned, dragging her feet to her bathroom and scurrying for her first-aid.

        She opened the kit up, grabbing cotton balls and rubbing alcohol, wiping down her arm with the alcohol. It didn't sting as much like it should when rubbing alcohol is applied to a wound, it's probably expired—if not already—so she'll need to go buy a new bottle. She kept applying pressure until the blood eventually stopped, then checked on the cuts.

        Luckily, the cuts weren't near her wrists and they weren't deep either. It was a miracle she didn't cut a vein open, otherwise she'd have to go right back to the hospital. It seemed in her impulsive decision, she just cut without bothering to look where, slicing up the fat on her arm near her elbow. 

        (Y/N) hastily grabbed a large cotton patch, then wrapped gauze around it tightly, securing it with medical tape. There was blood on her clothes but she wasn't too worried about it, she was going to change out of the tacky merchandise clothing anyways, especially with the dirt on it. 

        She decided that while she was in the bathroom she might as well bathe quickly. She ignored the stinging spikes shooting throughout her arms as she peeled off her shirt and bra, kicking off her shoes and socks, taking off her shorts and panties. She threw the clothing on the ground and untied her hair (after some struggle, the hair tie came off with strands of hair attached), placing the hair tie down on the counter. She turned on the faucet and adjusted it to a bearable temperature, hopping into the bathtub.

        She didn't sit down, standing up so she wouldn't soak her staples or stitches. She grabbed a washrag, dumping it in the water and wringing it of excess water, before carefully going over her surrounding wounds to clean the skin. Once she finished, she proceeded to wipe down her entire body, before applying soap to the rag and washing herself, making sure to avoid getting soap in her wounds. After finishing soaping down and rinsing her skin, she dipped her hair in the water, lathering and scrubbing and rinsing her hair with shampoo and conditioner. 

        After finishing her bath, she exited the tub and drained the water. She grabbed towel and carefully dried off, wrapping the towel around her body and walking out to her bedroom. She grabbed a random bra and a baggy, cotton sweater so she could cover her arms and hopefully not rub too much on her stitches and avoid irritating them. She grabbed a skirt and panties, putting them on, along with clean socks (ones that were not bloody). 

        After dressing herself and sorting out her hair, she exited the bathroom and walked to her supply closet in the hallway, grabbing supplies for mopping, a broom and dustpan, hydrogen peroxide, a scrubber, glass cleaner, duster, etc. She had an hour and a half to clean up the place, which isn't too bad for a simple clean. (Y/N) cleans her apartment weekly, while it's a pain, she didn't want any neighbors knocking on her door and seeing her place trashed. She didn't want to risk a sudden drop in from her parents or such (she'd rather not hear their complaints). She had a reputation to uphold outside of her home and she couldn't afford anymore damage to it. Even after moving across the country, her reputation is held together by cheap duct tape. 

        She stared at her ruined flowers that rested on the ground, kicked on the ground and smashed over like roadkill. Once more, a good thing ruined with no-one to blame but herself. 

        .

        .

        The uber ride was extremely uncomfortable. It felt almost suffocating to be trapped in such a small space with a stranger. Andrew worries if the driver will look in the rearview mirror and recognize him, drive him down to the police station and turn him in instead of arriving safely at (Y/N)'s home.

        That's not the worst of his problems, he completely forgot to tell Ashley where he's going or what's happening (wherever she is, he hasn't seen her for a few days now...)!

        He feels a bit excited to have a place to go to, especially knowing it's (Y/N) he's returning to, but there's also a nauseating feeling in his stomach, a dropping weight sinking his inner organs with doubt. That feeling was replaced with a sense of fear, wondering what happened to Ashley. He hasn't heard from her in days and she has absolutely no clue of his whereabouts. He doesn't even know where she's been staying at these past days, if she even had a roof under her head or food in her stomach—at least he ate food from the hospital, granted the quality wasn't great but it was still something. 

        The uber pulled up to the curb in front of an apartment complex. The concrete on the ground had cracks and plastic wrappers from nearby fast food places, and the bushes out front looked overgrown and had more twigs and branches than it did green leaves. The outside walls were painted a tan, looking sun-bleached with flakes of paint peeling from the walls. 

        He stepped out of the car with the aid of crutches, no luggage to carry as he muttered a thanks to the driver, shutting the car door. He wiped the imaginary dirt off his ripped jeans. He managed to get his clothes back from the hospital after his discharge (luckily, they didn't have any rips or bloodstains that made the clothes unwearable) thanks to the nurses washing them for him prior to his release. 

        The apartment complex had multiple different buildings with alphabetical letters on them, each building having two levels and at least eight different staircases, so there must've been about sixteen apartments in each building. He wasn't sure which apartment (Y/N) lived in, she never gave him a number, but luckily he didn't have to go knocking door to find it as she spotted (Y/N) climbing down a set of concrete stairs. (Y/N) rushed over to him with a friendly smile, wearing a baggy, muted pink sweater and a black skirt. 

        "Andrew!" (Y/N) greeted, rushing over to his side, smelling of lemon and cleaning bleach. "I'm sorry for being so inconsiderate, I should've helped you get out of the car. Your legs are still injured and need to heal up." 

        "Hey, it's fine..." Andrew spoke through gritted teeth, forcing a smile. 

        Her hair was down just as it was when she was a patient in the hospital, except she looked so beautiful now without that damn paper gown—those gowns didn't do her any justice. Her hair looked brighter, even looking softer in the sunlight—or maybe that's because she had access to a shower. Her smile looked as bright as the burning star in the sky shining its UV rays down onto them, if not brighter. Her skin was a more healthy color in contrast to how pale it looked in the hospital's lighting—perhaps her skin was softer too. He wondered how her hands would feel now that she was free from the hospital's gloomy and depressing atmosphere, how it would feel under his own hands, before he forced those thoughts away for now.

        "My apartment is B04." (Y/N) informed, waving bye to the uber before guiding Andrew to her apartment. "I'm sorry for the stairs. Hopefully in a few months you can walk up and down them without any issue." 

        She guided him to a set of stairs, walking behind him so she could catch him in case he fell. When they made it to the top, she walked ahead and opened a white door with very little dirt on it and only minimum paint peeling near the bottom of it. She twisted open the gold doorknob, pushing open the door and holding it for him, watching as he limped into the apartment. 

        Andrew took a moment to observe the clean wooden floors, now understanding why he caught the whiff of lemon and cleaning product on her. She had a small table near the entrance with a small white and blue vase (similar to the one she broke in her room earlier). The vase had forget-me-nots, a classic flower representing depression despite how tragically beautiful they are. How cliché.

        The walls had no paintings or pictures, her walls painted a bright white that gave the apartment a modern and bright feeling. The living room had grey carpeting, a comfortable looking couch with some blankets and pillows to sleep or relax on, a table in front of the couch and a TV hanging on the wall. 

        "Here, here. Rest your legs." (Y/N) spoke, pressing her hand against Andrew's back, creating a sudden zap of lightning that spread throughout his body as she sat him down on her couch.

        "You don't have to worry about me." Andrew chuckled, a small smile resting on his lips.

        He looked far more comfortable here than he was at the hospital, seeming to smile easier. His skin even looked a bit healthier, though that could've just been the hospital lighting and blood loss. His charcoal hair looked shiny, but not because it looked healthy, more so it was greasy. Who knew the last time he showered. 

        "Do you want to go shower?" (Y/N) questioned, before mentally hitting herself at how weird that sounded. 

        Judging by the look on his face, he thought it was a little random too. 

        "Sorry, I didn't mean for that to come out so weird..." she laughed, flustered. "I meant, would you like to shower? Not to be mean, but your hair looks a little greasy, and I don't know when you last showered. It'd be bad to have your wounds dirty and get infected."

        "Oh." Andrew audibly voiced, resisting the urge to cover his hair at the realization. 

        The last time he showered must've been back at his old apartment complex, at least almost a week ago. He hasn't been worrying much about his appearance since the discovery of cultists, demons, and hitmen chasing after him has appeared. 

        "Right, that's a good idea..." He smiled bashfully, almost embarrassed to be seen this way.

        He knew he was at least decently attractive, never putting too much thought in his clothes or appearance so long as he was clean (which he wasn't at the moment).

        "Yeah, no worries..." She smiled, placing her hands on his waist as she helped him up from the couch, guiding him to her bathroom. 

        She opened the door and flipped the light switch, enveloping the room in bright light. The tiles were a shiny white, and the walls were a baby blue, a white tub with a silver shower head hanging from the wall. Her bathroom counter was clean, nothing cluttered on other than some hairdressing machines such as a hairdryer, straightener, curling iron, hair products, etc. She had some cabinets and drawers he'll peek into later, and an empty trashcan by the toilet. There was a laundry basket pushed up to the wall, and hooks to hang towels on the door. 

        "I'm sorry, I don't have any men shampoo or body wash..." (Y/N) apologized, picking up one of her soap bottles that sat on the bathtub's edge. "I hope you don't mind smelling like... Niacinamide and apple extract." She spoke, reading the front label. 

        "Better than nothing." He smiled. 

        "That's the spirit." She smiled, patting his shoulder. "Here, I'll rundown the process with you."

        She sat down inside the tub, her feet hanging off the side in a semi-uncomfortable looking position. "I don't want you standing on your feet, so please sit down like this. It'll also help you from getting your stitches wet. Remember, don't get your stitches wet." 

        He would've paid more attention to what she was saying, but he was a bit distracted, his hearing a little muffled as he took in the sight of her. It's not very lady-like to sit in a tub (fully clothed, he hated) with your legs hanging off the side in a way that made your skirt ride up your thighs. He tried his best to keep his attention on her face, but it was hard to as his eyes kept subconsciously drifting down.

        "So, the staples on your head is fine to get wet, just please be careful when you scrub so you don't tug on them, and make sure to rinse your hair really good. Be really careful when you brush your hair too so you don't tug on the staples. For your legs, you're going to need to wash them using a rag so you don't wet your stitches. Make sure not to get any soap in them either." She explained to him in depth, unaware how her words were going in one eat and out the other. "When you're done, pat your hair and body dry so the towel doesn't pull any stitches or staples."

        (Y/N) stood up from the tub (with a little struggle due to her position), breaking Andrew from his thoughts.

        "Do you got all that?" she questioned, smoothing down her skirt. 

        "Y-yeah." He muttered, avoiding her eyes in shame. 

        "Good." She smiled innocently. "Do you need any clothes?" she questioned, bending down to her cabinets and grabbing a clean towel and washrag. 

        "No. These clothes are fine... The nurses washed them before giving them to me." He explained, watching as she bend down, rising up and handing him the two items. 

        "You can put your towel on the hook, and put the washrag in my laundry basket." She directed. "Anything else?" 

        "No, thank you." He spoke, sparing her a small thankful smile. 

        "You don't have allergies or anything, right?" (Y/N) questioned, leaning on the door frame. 

        "No, I don't." He answered. 

        "So, anything you want for dinner? Do you have any dislikes?" she questioned. 

        "Anything's better than hospital food." He chuckled, leaning back on the toilet tank. 

        "Ha, you can say that again." She smiled. "I feel sorry for the patients that have to eat it, it's heated up in the back. I've had to eat it a few times because I've forgotten lunch and I didn't want to drive to some fast food joint." She hummed, moving off the door frame.

        Yeah, he could definitely see that. He wouldn't want to go driving in the middle of the night around this crappy city, especially to some burger joint. It already sucks driving at night, but having to drive at night in a city is just worse thanks to people ignoring the crosswalks and jaywalking, or the random drunks popping out of nowhere on the road after a night with their friends in the club. You honk your horn at them to get off the road and they think it's a fun game to scream louder than your car horn and zigzag the streets in a game of chicken. 

        "But, I'll let you get to bathing. I just wanted your input for dinner." (Y/N) smiled. "Oh, also I'm on a soft food diet for a few weeks, but I won't have you suffering with me for it. I'll make sure to hook you up."

        "Thank you." He chuckled, leaning his crutches on the wall next to the bathtub, placing his towel on the bathroom counter and the washrag on the bathtub's edge. 

        "Call me if you need anything." (Y/N) spoke, sending him a smile, before walking out of the room and shutting the door behind her, leaving Andrew to his own devices. 

        Andrew let out a sigh he didn't even know he was holding. It was hard to look at her and pay attention to what she was saying after that eye candy, but somehow he managed. Luckily, he retained enough of what she said to where he can properly wash himself without damaging his stitches. He took off his black sweater and ripped jeans, observing his ankles.

        He didn't need to wear casting anymore, but he still wore tight bandages to protect the stitch work and give a bit of support for the bone to heal itself. They had wired the small fractured bones together so the bones would stay in place. The thought of metal inside him made him a little squirmish, so he tried not to think much about it. 

        Andrew folded up his clothes, placing them down on the bathroom counter next to his towel. He glanced at the wooden laundry basket manufactured to look like a wicker basket in the corner, the cute little lid hiding her worn clothes that probably still smelled like her too. 

        He wondered if they'd share a laundry basket once he starts getting more situated around here. He wondered if they'd do their laundry together. If they'd cook meals together. If they'd decorate the house for the holidays together. If they'd wake up together in the same bed. Mundane and domestic little things like that he's unconsciously longed after for who knows how long. 

        He'll investigate her laundry along with her bathroom cabinets later. Right now, he doesn't want to take too long with this bath. 

        While Andrew cleaned himself up, (Y/N) browsed through her fridge, contemplating what to have for dinner. If she actually went to the grocery store, she’d have more food; however feeding herself hasn’t been much of a priority nowadays. Now that Andrew’s around, she’ll have to cook more to make sure he’s healthy and being cared for. 

        (Y/N) grabbed a package of Italian sausage that’s been in her fridge for a few days now. She unwrapped it, placing it on a frying pan over medium, before grabbing a pot and turning on the heat to low. 

        She grabbed some canned crushed tomatoes, tomato sauce, and Italian stewed tomatoes, throwing a can of each into the pot. Italian seasoning, basil, pepper, salt, oregano, minced garlic, and bay leaves all thrown into the pot. She would start a cooking stream if she wasn’t so insecure of herself. 

        She figured she’d just do an easy Italian goulash, it’s basically just spaghetti sauce with elbow noodles instead of angel hair. 

        After the meat finished cooking, she drained the grease and mixed the meat into the sauce. She grabbed another pot and filled it with water and some dashes of salt, waiting for it to boil. While she waited for that to boil, she started washing the dishes she dirtied and no longer needed. 

        (Y/N) absentmindedly spaced out while she washed the dishes. It’s weird how every time you wash the dishes, you’re either thinking of everything or nothing, nowhere in between. Perhaps you just disassociate to avoid the feeling of responsibility, or perhaps just to hurry up this annoying daily routine you have to do. It’s better to do the dishes than be featured in a before and after comparison picture for a housecleaning service on the newspaper (if anyone still reads those). 

        (Y/N) subconsciously peeked at the window, turning her attention to it. Normally she’d keep her curtains closed, but she wanted the room to be a bit brighter so she opened the curtains while cleaning. 

        A feeling of dread formed in her stomach like a whirlpool the longer she stared at the exposed window, causing (Y/N) turned off the faucet, drying off her hands. She quickly added some elbow noodles into the now boiling pot, then walked to the window in the dining room.

        She closely observed the window’s lock, giving the window a tug to make sure the lock stayed in place. She grabbed a screwdriver from a small basket she kept on her kitchen counter, making sure to tighten up all the screws till they wouldn’t budge. She closely observed the screen protector, looking for any mild holes, cuts in the screen, or any fingertip smudges on the glass, before deeming it safe. You can never be too safe in the city—or anywhere for that matter.

        She closed the curtains and pushed a small table back to the window wall, showcasing the innocent vase and flowers that rested in front of the window. The table was there in case any intruders broke in, that way there’d at least be a noise that would alert her if someone knocked down the table or vase. 

        (Y/N) went around the living room, observing the condition of every window and making minor adjustments to anything that needed to be done to ensure her safety was kept.

        Andrew hobbled into the living room, fresh out of the bath as he stared at (Y/N), confused on what the hell she was doing running around the windows like a lunatic. 

        “Are you good?” Andrew questioned, causing (Y/N) to yelp and jump at least five feet in the air.

        “Oh! Andrew!” (Y/N) gasped, holding her chest with her free hand. “You scared me. You’re very quiet.” 

        “Are you alright?” he repeated, hopping over to her side with the assistance of his crutches. 

        “I’m fine.” She smiled. “Just checking up on the windows. "You can never be too safe in the city, you know? Burglaries and murderers and all that!” 

        “Uh… Yeah… Yeah, that makes sense…” Andrew nodded, his thoughts drifting off.

        She’s trying to keep herself safe from murderers like myself, Andrew thought, a bitter taste in his mouth at the idea of her not wanting him around (despite his belief that she doesn't know he's a murderer). 

        “Hungry?” (Y/N) questioned, an innocent smile from her face as she walked back into the kitchen.

        “I might as well be starving.” He chuckled, even though he knew damn well what that felt like; famished and starving are two very distinct things. 

        “Well, dinner’s cooking and it won’t be any longer till it’s ready.” She hummed, watching as he followed her. “You like goulash, right? The Italian version?” she questioned, placing her screwdriver back into her counter’s basket.

        “Basically spaghetti…” he smiled. “Yeah, I don’t mind it.” 

        “Good, good!” (Y/N) smiled, grabbing a spoon and stirring the noodles as they boiled. “I’m glad to hear. I just decided to play it safe tonight and do something easy. We both could use the rest.” 

        “Rest would be amazing.” Andrew spoke, hopping over to one of her kitchen stools and sitting down with a quiet groan. 

        “Speaking of rest... How is your legs?” (Y/N) questioned, turning her body to face Andrew, moving away from the stove, leaning her back on the kitchen counter as she crossed her arms.

        “Oh, you know, they sting.” He hummed. “My ankles feel sore and there’s a dull throb every now and then, but hey, at least I’m still alive.”

        Unfortunately. He thought to himself.

        “Well, after dinner we can settle down and watch a movie.” She suggested. “Unless, you meant ‘rest’ as in you’re actually tired and want to sleep.” 

        “We’ll see after dinner…” He spoke. “I’m up for anything.” 

        “Sounds good.” She smiled. “And now that we mention dinner, it’s done.” 

        She grabbed a strainer and placed it in the sink, pouring the noodles in it to drain out the excess water. Once the noodles were drained, she mixed them in with the sauce, creating goulash. 

        She grabbed two bowls and scooped the pasta into the bowls, stabbing forks into the bowls before handing one to Andrew.

        “There’s parmesan cheese in the fridge if you want some with it.” She spoke, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. “Water?” she questioned, looking at him.

        “Yeah.” He answered with a nod, opening the fridge and scanning the shelves, before picking up the cheese and sprinkling it onto his pasta. “Thank you for cooking.” 

        “No worries.” She hummed, grabbing another glass and pouring water in it for him, handing him the glass. 

        Andrew accepted the water, giving her an appreciative nod as he followed her to the dining table, sitting down with her.

        She had four chairs around her dining table, despite seeming to live alone (as far as he can see). Perhaps the chairs are for guests or just so the table wouldn’t look weird with one chair. 

        Andrew stabbed his fork into the pasta, taking a bite, allowing himself a moment to chew and process the flavors.

        “Not bad.” He spoke, glancing over at her. “It tastes like spaghetti.” 

        “Thanks. It was basically the goal.” She chuckled, smiling.

        “Are you normally a good cook? Or is pasta just all you make?” Andrew questioned, taking another bite as his eyes stayed focused on her.

        “Oh, I just taught myself.” (Y/N) shrugged. "Cookbooks and the trial and errors."

        “You’re good.” He hummed, taking a sip of his water.

        “No, I’m not.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “I’m pretty mediocre. I mean, cooking is a life skill so really I’m not good at it compared to others..."

        He noticed her deflect the compliment and even shut it down, raising his eyes at her suspiciously. If he could kick her without hurting himself, he’d do it.

        “Hey, I’m serious.” Andrew spoke, meeting her eyes. “You’re better than me, at least.” 

        (Y/N) adverted her eyes nervously, looking down at her food. Some butterflies flew around her stomach at the praise, or maybe her food was really just that bad. 

        It felt weird to talk during dinner. When she was a child having dinner at her parents, usually it was spent in either silence or her father usually talking up a storm while her mother ignored him. On the very rare occasion—when her mother did decide to acknowledge her—it was her sending passive-aggressive comments (Y/N)’s way and questioning her life goals and motives.

        “So… clothes.” (Y/N) spoke up, picking up some goulash with her fork. “Unless you’re hiding a suitcase somewhere around here with clothes in it, we need to get you some clothes and other essentials. We can go shopping tomorrow.” 

        “Are you sure?” Andrew questioned, looking over at her surprised. “I mean, I can just keep wearing this until I get a job or something.”

        “Gross.” (Y/N) spoke, making a face at the thought of him wearing the same attire for weeks to months on end.

        “Hey, laundry exists, you know.” Andrew smiled, playfully pointing his fork at (Y/N).

        “Yeah, no. You need more outfits, otherwise you’ll start looking boring.” She chuckled.

        “Oh? Is my face not interesting enough?” Andrew questioned, teasing her as he sent her a wink.

        “Oh please.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes as she felt her face heat up against her better wishes.

        Oh god, I’m flirting with a murderer right now. (Y/N) thought, an almost nauseous feeling taking ahold of the butterflies in her stomach, causing them to burn in acid. 

        She wasn’t sure if being a murderer herself eased that nausea or worsened it.

        Her doorbell rang, causing them both to shoot their heads up at the door.

        Oh God, please don’t let it be him. (Y/N) thought, nervous. How did he even find me?

        Ashley? Andrew thought, staring at the door. Please, don’t cause a scene. Please don’t scare (Y/N) off.

        “I’ll get it.” (Y/N) spoke, forcing a smile as she stood up, her shoes tapping softly against the wooden planks. 

        (Y/N) walked to the front door, taking a deep breath before she opened the door, looking at who was in front of her abode. 

        Immediately, she slammed it back shut, panic creeping into her as a new wave of nausea hit her. She quickly rushed back to Andrew, ignoring the sting of her injured leg protesting at the rough movement, slamming her hands on the dining table.

        “You and me are dating now.” (Y/N) spoke, seemingly breathless. 

        “W-wait, what?” Andrew blurted out, his eyes as wide as saucers and he looked at her, shocked.

        “Just leave the talking to me.” (Y/N) spoke, before quickly rushing back to the front door, taking a second to smooth down her skirt and brush down her hair with her fingers.

        She took a second to take a breath, then opened the door.

        “Hi Papa! Hi Mama!” (Y/N) forced a smile, moving out of the doorway to let them in.

        “Hey there, sport!” (Y/N)’s father spoke, ruffling her hair with his hand as he stepped into the hallway.

        “About time you opened the door.” (Y/N)’s mother sighed, following her husband as she walked into the hallway, looking around at the empty walls. “You still haven’t hung anything up? It looks so gloomy in here.” 

        “I just haven’t found any decoration I like.” (Y/N) sighed, shutting the door behind her.

        Mama? Papa? Andrew thought, shocked as he stared at the family. 

        He’s meeting her parents already? They just started dating a few seconds ago! 

        “Something’s smelling good! Are you cooking dinner?” her father questioned, shoving his hands in his pockets as he looked around at her simple apartment, before his eyes met Andrew. 

        Andrew and (Y/N)’s father shared a silent staring contest, before her father rushed over to where Andrew was sitting, slamming his hands on the table. 

        “Who the hell do you think you are in my daughter’s home?!” he shouted, the table shaking from the impact of his hands.

        “Was he a one night stand?” her mother questioned, gliding over to the dining table, staring down at Andrew judgmentally.

        “Hey, it’s okay!” (Y/N) spoke, rushing to her father’s side and doing her best to pull him back from Andrew. “He’s good!”

        “Who is he?” her father questioned, his hands scrunching up table cloth with white knuckles. 

        “This is… my boyfriend, Andrew.” (Y/N) spoke, a embarrassed blush creeping up on her cheeks at her words as she managed to make some space between her father and Andrew.

        “Boyfriend?” her mother questioned, a hint of surprise in her tone. “Shocking.” 

        “Boyfriend, huh?” her father questioned, before laughing. “Sorry about that son, I didn’t mean to scare you. My daughter just got some bad experiences with boys. But you’re a man, right? You wouldn’t hurt her?” he questioned, forcing Andrew’s hand in his own and squeezing the life out of Andrew’s hand.

“N-nice to meet you, sir…” Andrew spoke through gritted teeth, a forced smile on his face. “And no, sir... I don’t wish to hurt your daughter.” 

        “I’m Frank.” (Y/N)’s father, Frank, introduced himself as he shook Andrew’s hand, dropping the hand back to Andrew’s side.

        “And I’m Rose.” (Y/N)’s mother spoke up.

        Andrew offered a handshake to her, but she just looked at his hands with disgust. “I don’t do handshakes.” 

        “Right…” Andrew spoke awkwardly, dropping his hand back to his side.

        “So… Ma, Pa, what brings your sudden visit?” (Y/N) questioned, holding her hands together in a service-like gesture.

        “We had a call from the hospital saying you were in the ER getting surgery, so your mother and I hopped in the car and drove across the country.” Frank explained.

        “Oh… that’s nice…” (Y/N) smiled, unsure what to say. “Um… thank you for checking up on me, Papa.” 

        “Don’t worry about it.” He smiled, roughing up her hair once more. “I’m sorry I wasn’t answering your calls, we drove through a lot of dead spots.” 

        Well, that at least explains why she couldn’t reach her father while she was in the hospital. She felt pretty lonely not hearing there voices during her time of need, but at least Andrew was there looking out for her.

        Pathetic really, having to rely on a man she barely knows, let alone a killer. 

        “You look fine.” Rose spoke up. “Are you sure you weren’t just overreacting?” she questioned, her tone accusing as she look in (Y/N)’s appearance. 

        “Thanks for your concern, Ma.” (Y/N) forced a smile, unsurprised of her mother’s words while Andrew had to fight to keep his mouth closed. 

        “So what happened?” Rose questioned, taking a seat at the dining table. 

        “Well, I took a walk after one of my shifts, and I got attacked by some man.” (Y/N) explained, by now she was well-rehearsed in saying the same lie over and over. “And they kept stabbing me, but I was able to fight them off and run away. I drove myself to the hospital after the attack.” 

        “Whose boyfriend did you sleep with?” Rose questioned with a blank face. 

        “Rose!” Frank snapped, sending a glare at Rose. 

        “What?” she questioned. “Well, obviously she must’ve did something to get targeted. Things like that don’t happen just because.” 

        “I didn’t do anything…” (Y/N) spoke, a bit annoyed.

        How dare she even accuse her daughter of sleeping around? Does she really think she got attacked by a vengeful girlfriend? Does she really think (Y/N) would stoop down that low? To sleep with a taken man? 

        (Y/N) doesn’t accept leftovers—so to hear her mother accuse her of being the catalyst of someone’s adultery really upset her. She had to bite back her tongue to the point she tasted some blood.

        I mean, yeah, she got attacked by a jealous and vengeful sister if that counts? But those are two completely different things! (Y/N) didn’t mean to steal Andrew away from Ashley, nor did she mean to kill her! And she didn’t even sleep with Andrew to begin with! 

        Andrew looked shocked, doing his best to keep his face neutral and not stare at Rose with disgust. I mean, who the hell tries to justify their daughter’s attempted murderer? 

        Andrew wasn’t sure if he should continue eating, watch the interaction, or pretend like he’s hearing nothing. 

        “Well, what were you wearing? Did you provoke him?” Rose questioned, tapping her fingers impatiently.

        (Y/N) walked to the kitchen, holding up her middle finger her mother’s way as she grabbed two bowls from her cupboard, putting pasta in them.

        “I just wore my nurse uniform.” She explained. “I stopped by my apartment, dropped off my phone to charge and left purse home. Then I went on a short walk around the park.” 

        “Perhaps it was a hate crime if you weren’t screwing someone’s boyfriend.” Rose hummed, accepting the bowl of goulash her daughter gave her. “You know how rowdy people are getting nowadays. Absolutely disgraceful some of them are. I mean, we nurses save their lives and they hate us for not being able to save anyone. What am I? God?”

        Fuck, I hope not. (Y/N) and Andrew thought at the same time. 

        “Well, sometimes people just have bad medical experience. Things happen.” (Y/N) spoke. “For all I know, he could’ve been experiencing a mental breakdown or perhaps an episode.”

        “You should stop involving yourself with men in general. Remember that last one?” Rose questioned. “Or, are you finally admitting that he was innocent and you’re a liar? Do you know how much we went through even after you left? All that money lost and—” 

        “Rose. That’s enough.” Frank spoke sternly, pointing his fork at Rose as (Y/N) placed his bowl down in front of him. “We talked about this on the way here. You need to be nicer to (Y/N). She doesn’t need your bitching after what just happened to her. We should be grateful she’s even alive.” 

        Rose looked at her husband agitated, her expression saying she was anything but grateful, but she decided to keep her mouth shut for now. 

        “I’m sorry, (Y/N). I guess the roadtrip has been a bit tiring for Rose. She’s a bit cranky, menopause and all.” Frank chuckled, doing his best to make light of the situation. 

        Rose shot him a nasty glare for that comment, one Frank ignored as he continued speaking.

        “So, Andrew, was it? How did you and (Y/N) meet?” Frank questioned, taking a bite of his food. “You didn’t meet her along the road and needed to stalk her home for her number or something, right?” 

        “Papa…” (Y/N) groaned, not appreciating the hostile vibes he was shooting Andrew’s way.

        “Right… um… How I met your daughter.” Andrew chuckled nervously, his eyes trailing over to (Y/N) in a ‘get me the fuck out of this conversation’ stare. 

        Oh God, the question (Y/N) was dreading. She can’t tell her parents that Andrew is her former patient! That’s so unprofessional of her to take him in and house him! Especially after she lied about them dating too! Not only that, but her mother would never let her live it down. Rose would judge her for the rest of her life! 

        “I approached him.” (Y/N) spoke up. “At the library when I transferred colleges. I thought he was cute, so I asked for his number.” 

        “Did you ask if he was single at the time?” Rose questioned, earning an annoyed stare from Frank and Andrew too.

        Does this lady ever shut up? Andrew thought to himself.

        “Yeah. She was studying… college things. There were some books on her table, and she was reading one about nursing.” Andrew spoke, forcing himself to make eye contact with Frank to try and be sincere despite the utter bullshit and lies he was spewing out his mouth.

        “What did you think of first about my daughter?” Frank questioned.

        What the hell was Andrew supposed to say to that? That’s a death trap for any man. He might as well be a fly sitting on a Venus flytrap, any wrong move (answer) and he’s dead! 

        His first thoughts of her while sitting on that hospital bed? ‘Fuck, a girl. Hopefully Ashley won’t bitch too much.’ Followed by ‘She’s pretty. Prettier than the girl in the apartment I murdered.’ 

        But he can’t just tell Frank that.

        “I was attracted to your daughter’s eyes.” Andrew spoke, mentally slapping himself in the head.

        Stupid! Every guy says that corny shit! 

        “Really now?” Frank questioned, looking at Andrew’s suspiciously. 

        Just accept it, Papa. (Y/N) thought to herself, practically sweating bullets on her side of the table. It’s better than saying he liked my chest! Just roll with it!

        “Good. Good answer…” Frank spoke, slowly nodding his head as if Andrew passed a test. “That’s a real good answer, boy. I mean, your looks will change all the time as you grow old, but your eyes stay the same for the most part. Unless you carve them out or something. Carve them out like pumpkin guts.” He spoke morbidly, a chuckle spreading throughout his lips. “But good answer.”

        “Don’t talk about eyeballs like it’s pumpkin seeds, Pa.” (Y/N) groaned.

        Stop trying to scare Andrew away from me. (Y/N) mentally pleaded, begging for who knows why. I’m craving pumpkin pie now though… 

        “Aha… yeah. Pumpkin guts.” Andrew laughed awkwardly, unsure if Frank was even speaking of a joke right now.

        “You know, speaking of good. This is some good food! Gourmet stuff right here! You should’ve been America’s master chef instead.” Frank complimented as he looked over at his daughter, pointing his fork to the bowl.

        “Thank you.” (Y/N) forced a smile, not wanting to accept the compliment. “But it could be better…” 

        “You’re right.” Rose nodded, taking a bite of her food and chewing it. “It’s too bland for my taste.”

        It wasn’t made for you. (Y/N) quickly retorted, looking at Rose blankly as she imagined lasers shooting out of her eyes.

        “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I make this…” (Y/N) spoke, her plastered smile wavering.

        The heavy tension between these two ladies is enough to break a knife cutting through, Andrew has decided.

        “I think it’s just perfect.” Andrew spoke up, avoiding Rose’s glare.

        That’s two against one; (Y/N) food wins against Rose’s tastebuds.

        “So, Andrew. How long have you known (Y/N) for?” Frank intervened, sending a wary glance Rose’s way. 

        Andrew looked at (Y/N) nervously, unsure what to say to that. 

        “A year now.” (Y/N) spoke up. “I met him not long after I moved here.”

        “Really? And we’re just now knowing about him?” Frank questioned, surprised.

        “I didn’t want to worry you.” (Y/N) shrugged, finishing her food. “Besides… I wanted to get to know him better before introducing you to him.”

        “I’m surprised you didn’t bring this one into court for stalking you.” Rose spoke, crossing her arms as she glanced at (Y/N). 

        “Mama…” (Y/N) hissed through her teeth, finally breaking down as she sent Rose a hateful glare back. “I don’t want to talk about this.” 

        “Then don’t.” Rose shrugged. “I want to. Andes or Drew or something like that. Did you know—“ 

        (Y/N) stood up from her seat, tightly holding her fork in one hand as if it was a weapon. “I said no, Ma.” 

        Rose looked up and down at (Y/N), unamused with (Y/N)’s act. 

        “Rose, stop.” Frank spoke, reaching to his side and holding his wife’s forearm. “Let’s not trigger her.” 

        “When you’re done eating, bring your dishes to me. I’ll clean them.” (Y/N) stated, before walking out of the dining table to the kitchen in almost a robotic fashion.

        Andrew was pretty curious of what (Y/N) didn't want him to know about, but he didn't want to ask Rose and risk talking to her more, and Frank might just kill him for even wondering.

        There was a pause in the dining room, nobody wanting to eat despite how good the food was, their appetites ruined by the tension. Andrew still ate every bite though, forcing it down despite feeling ill from Rose’s attitude.

        Andrew grabbed his crutches resting on the wall, standing up and taking his bowl and fork with him. Rose’s eyes sparkled, seeming to make a connection.

        “That’s why she’s with you!” Rose gasped. “She can’t settle for anyone else but a cripple!”

        “Rose!” Frank hissed, his grip tightening on Rose’s forearm.

        “Oh please, you know I’m right.” Rose huffed, before looking back at Andrew. “You had to settle for her.” 

        “What’s your deal?” Andrew questioned, his voice low so (Y/N) couldn’t hear their conversation. “Why are you such a bitch?” 

        Rose’s eyes sharpened, but her lack of reaction could only assume she’s heard that insult before. “You don’t know how much money we lost because of that attention-whore. She should’ve died that night…” Rose muttered lowly, her voice unwavering as she meant every word she said. 

        Frank shook his head, but his expression said he was anything but happy. “Stop it. You’re going too far.” Frank hissed. 

        Rose sent him a smug smirk, seemingly proud of what she just said. 

        “Hag…” Andrew spat her way, his hands balled up into fists as he tried not to do anything too drastic to turn this family reunion into a murder.

        Andrew hopped out of the kitchen, ignoring the small whispers Frank and Rose spoke as they bickered with one another. 

        (Y/N) stood at the sink with the faucet running, her hands scrubbing her clean bowl with a lost gaze. Who knows how long she’s been scrubbing that singular dish. 

        “(Y/N)…” Andrew whispered, his hand reaching out and touching her shoulder.

        “Huh?” (Y/N) jolted, almost dropping the bowl as she turned her head to him. “Andrew? Did you need something?”

        “Just wanted to give you this like you told me to.” Andrew spoke, placing his dishes in the sink.

        His hands snaked around her waist, a shiver wracking through (Y/N)’s body, reacting to the intimate touch. 

        “What are you doing?” she questioned lowly, a nervous feeling appearing in her chest. 

        “I’m just playing the part.” He muttered. “We’re dating now, yeah?” he smiled, almost cocky to throw her words back at her.

        “Uh… yeah…” she muttered, doing her best to relax her body, her back pressed against his chest as her body leaned into him without her consent.

        God, this is so wrong for me to be doing with my patient. Former patient? Roommate? Fuck, who knows at this point! (Y/N) thought, nervous as she avoided his eyes.

        Andrew leaned against her, whether it was to get closer or to support himself without his crutches, who knows. He rested his head on her shoulder, watching her shaky hands tend to the dirty dishes.

        “You know, I’m really not liking your mother.” Andrew admitted, letting out a sigh.

        His breath hit her ear, making her shiver at the reminder that he’s so close to her.

        “Well… it’s not like I chose her.” (Y/N) sighed.

        “Heh, wouldn’t that be great?” Andrew chuckled. “Choosing your own parents. That would be awesome…” 

        “Sorry for her behavior…” (Y/N) muttered. “She’s just… not really empathetic. Or sympathetic. Really, she doesn’t do well in the emotions department in general.” 

        “And I thought my parents were bad…” Andrew commented, shaking his head as he smiled.

        The movement just made her more aware of how close he was to her, pressing his body against her. She didn’t know if she wanted to hit him with a dish and run, or freeze and accept the once-in-a-lifetime affection she’ll probably ever have. 

        He smelt just like her shampoo, making her understand that this might just be a norm. That he might actually live with her longer than she expected. They’ll share the same roof, food, shower, and who knows what else.

        A wave of confidence washed over him, giving him the boldness of a drunk frat holding a pool cue. His hands moved from her waist to her sweater, fiddling with the muted pink cotton, far too close to her bare skin for her comfort as her bandages peeked out from underneath.

        “Watch your hands.” (Y/N) gritted under her teeth, shooting Andrew a warning glare.

        “Yes, ma’am…” he chuckled, his hands retreating, deciding to rest them on her hips. 

        He watched over her shoulder as she hurriedly finished the rest of the dishes, before stepping away from Andrew, no longer supporting his weight. Luckily, he had his crutches to catch him when she abandoned his side, creating a cushion of space between the two. 

        Frank and Rose both entered the kitchen, Frank’s bowl licked clean and Rose’s bowl half-eaten. (Y/N) took care of the dishes, her hands scrubbing them before she spoke up.

        “So how long are you guys going to be staying in town?” (Y/N) questioned, finishing a dish. 

        “We only planned to make sure you’re okay.” Frank spoke. “Are you doin' anythin' tomorrow?” 

        Great, the question every child dreads when their parents are in town. It’s not that she doesn’t want to hang with her father, but she doesn’t want to hang with her mother. 

        “I’ll be busy.” (Y/N) hummed. “Me and Andrew wanna go shopping together. We’ll probably go get lunch too.”

        “A lunch date, I see.” Frank nodded, his eyes trailing to Rose. “Well then, we’ll head out tomorrow mornin' and be out of your hair.” 

        “Do you have a place to stay tonight?” (Y/N) questioned, turning off the tap as she finished the dishes, drying her hands with a towel.

        “Hotels in the city are so expensive.” Rose grimaced, crossing her arms. “We figured we’d just stay the night here.” 

        “I’ll set up the sleeper sofa for you.” (Y/N) smiled.

        If my parents get the couch, then that means Andrew will have no place to sleep tonight. (Y/N) thought.

        (Y/N) looked at Andrew from across the room, not all that surprised to see him staring back. Their eyes came to the silent conclusion and agreement.

        They were sleeping together tonight.

        “I’ll go get some blankets and pillows for you both.” (Y/N) spoke.

        She walked past her parents and Andrew, placing her hand on his shoulder in a silent command for him to follow her. He did so without question.

        He hopped down the hallway, following her to her bedroom. 

        (Y/N) opened the door for him, before softly closing the door behind her. 

        “Okay… so, my parents are taking the sleeper, which is originally where I planned on having you sleep.” (Y/N) explained. “So… this means we’re going to be sharing a bed tonight.”

        “Yeah, I figured that much…” Andrew sighed, resting his crutches against the wall as he sat down on the bed, crossing his arms. 

        “That… that’s it?” she questioned, a bit perplexed. “No protests or complaints?” 

        “No, why?” he questioned, looking up at her. “You nervous?”

        “No, I’m not.” She scoffed, a smile appearing on her lips, almost laughing at the idea of herself being nervous to sleep with him for one night.

        Because in truth, she was. 

        “I’ll go get them their blankets. You can stay here.” (Y/N) spoke. “I don’t know about you, but I’m a bit tired. I’d rather not sit in the living room and talk with them… would you?” 

        “No.” Andrew spoke all too quickly.

        Her mother was a bitch, plain and simple. And her father was a bit intimidating, despite his attempts to get to know Andrew, Andrew couldn’t help but feel her father is waiting for just one word he doesn’t like slip out of his mouth before all hell could break loose. 

        “Good…” (Y/N) chuckled, smiling. “So, I’ll give them their stuff… then you and me camp out in here and watch some movies together?” 

        “Sounds like a plan.” Andrew nodded, kicking off his shoes and leaning back on her bed, his arms resting on her pillows lazily.  

        "Hey, elevate your legs." (Y/N) ordered, throwing two pillows his way.

        Andrew groaned in a small protest, but listened as he placed the pillows underneath his calves.

        (Y/N) left the room, walking into her supply closet and grabbing some blankets and pillows; she always kept extras so she can rotate her bedding while doing laundry. 

        “I’m sorry I couldn’t spend more time with you guys, and I’m sorry for worrying you two to where you had to come out here…” (Y/N) apologized, handing her parents their bedding for the night.

        “Hey, it’s no trouble.” Frank smiled. “Really, we wanted to make sure you were doing okay."

        “Thank you.” (Y/N) nodded, going to the couch and taking off the cushions, grabbing a handle that tugged the mattress out from underneath. “I appreciate your concern. I’m feeling just dandy; it doesn’t even hurt much.”

        Despite her words, there was indeed a hiss of pain that shot through her stomach when she bent over to grab the mattress, but she just ignored it. 

        (Y/N) made the bed for her parents, tucking in the blankets and fluffing the pillows. 

        “I’m sorry, I’m still pretty tired. I just got out of the hospital this morning so I think I’ll be going to bed early tonight. Is there anything I can get you guys beforehand?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “We’re fine.” Rose sighed. “We’ll be leaving tomorrow mornin', so don’t be surprised if you see us gone when you wake up.” 

        “Are you going to be fine with that man?” Frank questioned.

        “That man is my boyfriend, Papa.” (Y/N) chuckled, albeit faked. “I’ll be just fine.” 

        “If you say so.” Frank sighed. “But just holler if he causes any trouble to you.”

        “Got it.” (Y/N) nodded. “I’m going to go hit the hay. Goodnight, Papa. Goodnight, Mama.” 

        (Y/N) exited the living room, quickly rushing to her kitchen and retrieving some chips, packaged popcorn, and Hawaiian sweet bread she found lying around in her pantry. She grabbed a few water bottles before rushing to her bedroom so her parents couldn’t see the snacks. 

        (Y/N) quickly shut the door behind her, locking eyes with Andrew as he stayed in the same spot she left him in.

        “Here. I couldn’t grab much since they’re camping out in the living room.” (Y/N) spoke, placing the food on the bed. “Just try not to get any crumbs on the bed.” 

        Andrew nodded, his eyes trailing around the room, making a few notes of the minimal decorations and how bare it really looked. He knows now that she moved here about a year ago, but damn does she not have any personality? 

        “I’m going to go change into some pajamas…” (Y/N) spoke up. “I’ll find something for you too.” 

        “Thanks.” Andrew smiled.

        “Here. You can choose a movie while I search. I’m a fan of all genres.” (Y/N) spoke, grabbing her TV remote from her bedside and hanging it to Andrew. 

        She walked to a door that led to her closet, opening it and moving stuff around, before finding herself a simple long-sleeved nightgown to wear. She tossed that onto her shoulder, then looked around for something Andrew could wear.

        Luckily, she was a fan of baggy clothes, whether it was because she was feeling like wearing something oversized and comfortable, or she would wear it on cleaning days. She grabbed a shirt and sweatpants for Andrew, handing it over to him before retreating to her bathroom to change. 

        She changed into her nightgown, deciding to save Andrew some extra time to change. She took her day clothes and threw it in her laundry basket, hiding the dirty and tacky state merchandise clothes she wore earlier while burying Ashley. She also removed the bloody bandages off her arm, revealing the fresh cuts she made this morning using the broken shards from the vase earlier.

        The cuts burned at the exposure to oxygen, a throbbing sensation going up her arm. She grabbed rubbing alcohol from under her sink and some toilet paper, pouring the disinfectant onto the cloth and dabbing it on her cuts to prevent any infections. She wrapped her arm with new bandages, calling it a day as she shoved the supplies back under her sink cabinet. 

        She brushed her hair in her mirror, washing her face with water and drying it off, before deciding she’s given Andrew enough time to change into his sleepwear. She unlocked her bathroom door, opening it and walking out, closing the door behind her.

        Andrew was back to laying in her bed, but at least he was dressed appropriately for sleep. The remote was in his hand as he scrolled through the movies, uninterested in it all.

        “Do you have a favorite genre?” (Y/N) inquired, crawling into bed.

        She kept her distance from him, cresting a invisible barrier between the two. He was still a man after all, two broken ankles or not.

        “Uh… not really…” Andrew shrugged.

        It’s not like he could remember much anyways, just what happened at his old apartment complex. He was just glued to the couch watching the news all the time, waiting for an update on when the damn quarantine will be done so he can get some food.

        “Well, are you in a laughing mood? Crying mood? Family-friendly mood?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “Yeah, I’m not one to get emotional over movies…” Andrew sighed. “Why? Is that something you do?”

        “Hey, dogs and kids dying in movies are really sad.” (Y/N) huffed playfully, taking the remote from his hand.

        (Y/N) scrolled through the movies, both sharing bored and disinterested look on their face as they scrolled through the channels together. She threw a bag of chips his way, watching from the corner of her eye as she caught it.

        He opened the bag, shoving some in his mouth before holding a chip in his hand, bringing it to (Y/N)’s mouth. She accepted the  chip, opening her mouth as he placed it on her tongue, watching as she closed her mouth and chewed. 

        Andrew glanced back at the TV, watching as (Y/N) scrolled through the movies, before his eye caught something.

        “Wait, stop.” Andrew spoke, causing her to stop her aimless scrolling and look over at him. “Scroll back up.”

        She listened, slowly scrolling up, before he made her stop on one movie.

        “Seriously?” (Y/N) groaned, looking at Andrew with a half-hearted glare.

        “Yeah.” He smirked, looking at her with a smug expression. “Why? You scared?”

        “Ugh, please.” She scoffed, selecting the movie, pressing play. “Like I’d be scared of this. It’s just some ghosts haunting a house.” 

        “Hey, shush! Don’t spoil it!” Andrew hushed, shoving some more chips into her mouth. 

        She playfully rolled her eyes, yet smiled as she relaxed back into her pillows. 

        Andrew chose The Conjuring to watch, which means (Y/N) won’t be walking down any basement stairs or looking in any mirrors tonight (or for the next few days, possibly weeks). If the bed starts rattling from a ghost or demon, may any God have mercy on that poor undead fellow because she won’t. 

        Maybe Andrew was a fan of horror movies before losing his memory? Perhaps he remembers liking horror movies? Or perhaps it was just the only semi-interesting thing to watch.

        It wasn’t long before the two actually got intrigued with the movie, focusing their attention on the dark screen—(Y/N) had even turned off the lights for this. 

        It’s unknown who moved closer (most likely Andrew), but by the time she registered their close proximity, he had placed his arm behind her shoulders, pulling her closer to him to where she rested in his side. 

        She opened her mouth to speak, before inevitably staying quiet. Maybe it was because she was focusing on the movie, or maybe it was because she kind of liked the affection. Whatever it was, she decided it wasn’t worth mentioning. Maybe if they both just stayed quiet about it, it wouldn’t ever be brought up or thought about again. 

        The warmth of his body was a foreign sensation she’s never felt. Her chest almost hurt at this newfound intimacy, and she wondered if she was expecting heart palpitations for a second. She’s never held or cuddled someone, and there was absolutely no desire to after what’s happened in the past, but maybe she’ll enjoy it for once and hopefully it won’t backfire in her face like everything else has in life. 

        Andrew lazily fed himself chips with one hand, his arm wrapped around (Y/N)’s shoulders as he subconsciously rubbed her shoulder relaxingly with his free hand. The position felt almost natural to him, something that didn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable or forced. 

        (Y/N) stared at the TV in a daze, a wave of tiredness hitting her. Her whole body felt warm and in a trance as she leaned more into Andrew’s side, before finally resting her head onto his chest. 

        Andrew glanced down at her, a soft smile spreading on his lips as his eyes drooped in fondness and adoration, one he wouldn’t let her see so soon of knowing her. His hand that was originally rubbing her shoulder instead moved and started playing with her hair, gently scratching her scalp and weaving his fingers through her hair.

        (Y/N) let the last bit of her restraint go, closing her eyes as her ears ignored the TV’s spooky music playing. She let out a small appreciative sigh as Andrew pulled the blankets higher up to cover her better. It felt so damn good being taken care of for once, that if she wasn’t so tired, she’d be bawling her eyes out right now.

        But he was a murderer; and so was she. Why are they capable of such gentleness and hospitality despite committing such horrendous things? 

        Maybe it’s because murderers are humans too. They were just like us before they were labeled murderers. If there’s a way (Y/N) can redeem herself of such a negative title, she’d take it. Maybe even Andrew could redeem too. 

        But if bad things happen to good people, then does good things happen to bad people? It makes her wonder how long this good thing will last, after all, nothing good ever happens to (Y/N), or at least it doesn’t stay long.

        Ah, who gives a damn… (Y/N) thought, her arms wrapping around Andrew’s waist as she relaxed in his arms, enjoying the feeling of his hands running through her hair. 

        Hopefully, now she’s done a bad thing and is arguably a bad person depending on who you ask, maybe she’ll finally start getting good things. 

        She knows one thing now. If Andrew could make her feel this damn good despite not even being here for 24 hours, then she can’t let him leave her. She’ll keep this affection and warmth all to herself.

        It’s time for (Y/N) to take what she wants now. 

Chapter 6 is done! I actually have chapter 7 all pieced out and what I want to do for that chapter, so the next chapter we're having tons more drama, a new and important character introduction (just a little spoiler for you, they're a yandere). Patience is always appreciated.

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

Inbox is OPEN for questions about the story and new plotlines/ideas, not for requests!

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, current chapter, Chapter 7, chapter 8, final chapter.

Want to listen to music while reading? Check out the Star Patient's Official Playlists! Multiple different playlists and genres!

[stellar-constellations]

Star Patient: Chapter 9 (FINISHED SERIES, final chapter)

        

WARNING: This series will include; possible inaccurate medical procedures and medical setting, gore, toxic relationships that should NOT be replicated in real life, murder, yanderes, cursing, suicide mentions, implications of misandry (male misogyny), descriptions of self-harming, accusations of cheating, child death, death of major and minor characters, OC's are used throughout the story for plot and depth, reader is in denial and paranoid, toxic family dynamics, perversive thoughts, reader is bipolar (not saying that in a quirky way, like literally bipolar), religious comparisons, light mention of demons, stalkers, nonconsensual drugging, minor implication of necrophilia, possibly more to add.

Inaccurate canon-timeline and setting (this is before Ashley and Andrew murdered their parents). They also live in America (because I wasn't aware they lived in Europe prior to this series).

Reader has a small fear of adult men/rape and has a history of suicide attempts.

Incest is not Wincest.

Amnesiac! Obsessive! Patient! Andrew Graves x Yandere! Nurse! Reader:

Wordcount: 14,100+ words

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, final chapter (current).

Want to listen to music while reading? Check out the Star Patient's Official Playlists! Multiple different playlists and genres!

        (Y/N) arrived at the hospital feeling refreshed for the first time in a long while. She’s had a couple weeks to heal from her accident, and she was paid the whole time too! 

        Now she’s back at work and ready to get back to it. She fixed the star patterned lanyard around her neck and fixed her undershirt’s long sleeves. 

        She exited her car and locked the door, walking into the hospital lobby. She walked to the elevators and pressed the button for pediatrics. When the doors opened, she left the elevator and walked into the staff room, checking in. 

        She made her way to Doctor Ryan’s office and waited a moment to make sure there was no patient in the room before knocking. The door opened as Doctor Ryan’s head peeked out, a confused expression on his face before his eyes widened.

        “Oh my god! Hey!” he smiled, quickly opening the door all the way. “Come on in!”

        “Hi, sir.” (Y/N) smiled. “I’m back and ready to work!”

        “That’s great! These weeks felt so strange without you.” Doctor Ryan spoke. “Do you understand how hard it is to try and talk with Ruby? God, she bores me.” He groaned, causing (Y/N) to laugh.

        “Yeah. Ruby’s just Ruby.” (Y/N) smiled.

        “So, how are you feeling?” he questioned. “You’ve had enough time to heal up, right?”

        “Yep.” (Y/N) nodded, smiling. “I’m perfectly fine! I’ll be having my staples and stitches removed after work today.”

        “That’s great to hear!” Doctor Ryan beamed. “Just take it easy, okay? Don’t go lifting any heavy things like chairs or stuff; I can do that. And take some sitting breaks.”

        “I’m fine, it wasn’t that bad.” (Y/N) reassured, albeit she did feel warm inside knowing her superior was worried about her. “It stopped hurting after a few days, so it was just letting the wounds heal over.” She lied.

        “Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better.” Doctor Ryan smiled. “Oh, before I forget!”

        He moved over to his counter, bending down and unlocking the lock on the cabinet before opening it, pulling out a basket. The small basket had some packets and wrapped candy bars, along with fake orchids.

        "I got you some chocolates and flowers! If you're allergic to coco or milk, I have this replica of hot chocolate powder that tastes like hot chocolate, but doesn't have any milk or coco! People are so smart nowadays!” Doctor Ryan explained. “Oh, and don't worry, I checked with the missus first, so she won't be mad at me!" Doctor Ryan cooed over his wife.

        “Tell her I said thank you. And thank you to you too.” (Y/N) smiled, accepting the basket and placing it on the counter. “But you didn’t have to do this. I was only gone for about two or three weeks.”

        “I never realized how much I enjoyed your company around this place.” Doctor Ryan sighed. “I mean, seriously. Ruby could never.” 

        “What about Agatha?” (Y/N) questioned. “Wasn’t she here?”

        “Taking vacation. She just divorced her husband, so she’s sunbathing in the Bahamas.” Doctor Ryan explained.

        “About time.” (Y/N) scoffed. “Her husband was a dick and all he knew was how to use it.”

        “Careful, don’t let our boss hear that.” Doctor Ryan chuckled. “That’s potty language.” 

        “Oops.” (Y/N) hummed, though she wasn’t sorry in the slightest.

        “Ready for today? We have six scheduled, and walk-in’s from there.” Doctor Ryan explained, picking up his computer. “First one comes in 20 minutes for an annual check-up and flu shot. Let’s get everything situated.”

        “Yes, sir.” She smiled.

She picked up antiseptic spray and wiped down the examination table, replacing a new paper sheet on it so no accidental snot or blood spills could infect the cushions, before looking at Doctor Ryan.

        “Excuse me, sir?” (Y/N) spoke.

        “Yes?” he hummed, arranging the pan with a antibacterial wipe, a lidded-syringe vaccine, a cotton ball and a bandaid. 

        “Do you think it’s possible for me to continue my education online? Or transfer to another Treegrowth hospital program somewhere else?” she questioned.

        “What? Why?” Doctor Ryan questioned, stopping what he was doing as he looked over to her.

        “I’ve been wanting to move out of the city lately, but I’m worried about my education.” (Y/N) lied. “I still want my degree after all.” 

        In truth, she wanted to leave the city. Even though she hid Penelope’s body, once it’s found a search will be conducted. After that, they’ll see Andrew on the cameras, and it’ll be game over for him. 

        (Y/N)’s not safe either. Considering she led Penelope out of the store to the alley with no cameras, and came back without her jacket alongside Penelope not following her; it’s safe to say she’s a prime suspect. 

        So I got rid of that jacket for nothing… (Y/N) mentally sighed. 

        Well, it wasn’t entirely for nothing. At least it kept people from getting suspicious so far. She would’ve had the police called on her if she walked into the store wearing blood (whether she entered wearing the blood or not, and she’s unsure if she could’ve used a fashion excuse). 

        It’s at least given her some time to plan other than immediately going to jail.

        It doesn’t help that not only was (Y/N) seen on the cameras last with Penelope and Andrew was in the store too, but it’s safe to say that seeing the two enter and leave together is more than enough evidence that the two are “working together” (the police will say).

        She highly doubts she can place the blame on Andrew for “blackmailing” or “threatening her life” her to where she had to kill Penelope. It just wouldn’t be believable with Andrew in a wheelchair and (Y/N) willingly buying clothes and food for him.

        As shitty as it’ll be, she’ll have to move. She can’t move back to her hometown considering: one, her parents are dead; two, Ren might still be living there and she’s not risking it.

        However, the family farm is back at home and if Rose wasn’t lying, then it’s now in (Y/N)’s name. She’ll receive a letter in the mail in a few weeks regarding her parents wills’, but for now she’ll have to brainstorm somewhere else to stay.

        It shouldn’t be hard to find another apartment on the other side of the city considering how shitty this place is, rent would probably be low or at least decent too. 

        She could almost laugh at her luck. Maybe there is a God who favors her—it’s about damn time considering how much she’s suffered for this. 

        “Move out of the city?” Doctor Ryan questioned, sighing. “So I take it you’re not taking over my night shifts…?”

        “Sorry…” she smiled sheepishly. “My boyfriend and I want to move someplace bigger, so we’re looking outside of the city.”

        “Wait? You have a boyfriend?!” he gasped, almost dropping the pan of needed medical supplies.

        “Yeah… we've been together a year now. Met him in a library at the beginning of college.” She smiled.

        “Oh, that’s great! I didn’t know this but that’s great!” he laughed. “Whats his name?”

        “And—... A-Andes.” (Y/N) hummed, smiling as she lied.

        “Whats he look like?” he questioned.

        Oh, his hair as luxurious as a raven. His eyes are as green as lush bushes from Iceland. His skin is as pale as winter’s first snow. His smile might as well be Cupid’s bow striking an arrow through my heart. She thought.

        “Honeypot brown hair and eyes like roasted chestnuts during Christmas.” (Y/N) cooed, almost cringing at the thought of speaking about another man (even if they were just imaginary).

        “Sounds like a dreamboat.” Doctor Ryan teased. “Reminds me of me in my young years.”

        “You’re only 10 years older…” (Y/N) pointed out.

        Even if he was older, sometimes it felt like she was more mature between the two, but it’s probably a persona for work considering they work with children. (Y/N) doesn’t hang out with Doctor Ryan outside of work since he’s her professor, so she's not aware of his home persona; however, she doesn't really care on finding out. She likes this Doctor Ryan the way he is, and she'd feel terrible if her superior knew the kind of person she actually was outside of these pastel nursing scrubs. 

        “Well, you still have a year left for your degree…” Doctor Ryan explained. “I can talk with our educational board later, but I don’t see why it’d be a problem. You do your research and send in your homework on time, and you do good during manual instruction too… so you’ll just have to go to another Treegrowth hospital and work with one of the pediatricians there.”

        “Thank you.” (Y/N) smiled, letting out a relieved sigh. 

        “Speaking of school, you don’t have to worry about those research papers assigned over your resting period. I’ll extend the deadlines.” Doctor Ryan explained.

        “Oh… thank you, sir.” (Y/N) smiled, surprised.

        She had completely forgotten about those papers, she was busy doing other things during her break, such as spending days planning her next move and while keeping a low profile (and thinking of dinner plans to make sure Andrew was eating too).

        Over her break, she had removed Andrew’s staples on his ankles and started helping him with physical therapy for his legs. It might be a few months before he can run, but he’s been shown to stand and walk for short periods at a time, so she’s not too concerned in something going wrong during his recovery. 

        She also got rid of her own stitches and staples, avoiding the emergency unit of the hospital too so no doctor can try and schedule a check-up with her. 

        She made sure to visit Ashley and place some flowers in her memoir. Now, she couldn’t place them exactly where the grave was in risk of someone potentially finding the suspicious sight and reporting it to the police, so she settled for placing them on the trail’s entrance. 

        She visited Ashley’s grave and apologized for her harsh words nights ago, remorseful for blaming Ashley for her struggles. It wasn’t her fault, and it probably wasn’t her demon’s fault either; it was something (Y/N) did to herself and she had to take responsibility.

        Worrying so much about Andrew, Ashley, and what to do after Penelope death, she’s completely forgotten about her college papers.

        “I’ll go get the patient and get his growth developments.” (Y/N) smiled, walking out of the room. 

        (Y/N) left the room and let out a sigh.

        Maybe killing Penelope was a terrible idea; unlike Ashley, Penelope’s home was here! While Penelope didn’t have any family, she did have co-workers. Soon enough they’d grow suspicious and call the police for a wellness check eventually (it’s not like they’d be investigating the hospital and its illegal methods, so that’s not a concern). 

        Penelope could be reported missing tomorrow and it wouldn’t take long for a missing person paper to come out. 

        It was almost frustrating really for her to have gotten caught up in her emotions. She used to be so good at bottling them up, but recently it seems like there's a hole in her bottle at the bottom that causing all her emotions to pour out quickly. 

        It made her want to scream and shout, but she couldn't do that at her job, so she resorted to kicking the floor's baseboards lightly and silently screaming as she pulled her lanyard around her neck, strangling her. 

        Well, it's better Penelope is dead. She won't be a threat to Andrew anymore.

        That thought made her feel a bit better, causing her to stop her silent tantrum and readjust her lanyard.

        She had a patient to meet and make sure nothing was wrong with the kid. She met with the receptionist, taking a patient's clipboard of information they filled out in the waiting room for Doctor Ryan. She opened the waiting room door and smiled, reading the patient's name. 

        "Zoe Hoops?" she read. "Follow me, please." 

        .

        .

        For the first time in who knows how long, (Y/N) felt excited leaving work. 

        Work for (Y/N) was an escape. Instead of worrying about her problems, she’d worry about someone else’s. Even if she still has problems, it felt good being able to leave work with a smile on her face.

        Nothing went wrong during her shift. Nobody died. Zoe didn’t cry during her flu shot, she’s getting very big now. George sprained his ankle but he was walking like a champ. Nelly got discharged after her fight with a RSV. Tom and Jerry played trains in the hallways and are said to be discharged soon. 

        It felt nice being bit by the harsh autumn air, knowing that winter was coming up.

        It felt nice walking out of the hospital doors, even if her feet ached and there was a sore spot in her back.

        It felt nice seeing the sun rising, brightening up the city and her mind with a new light.

        It felt nice driving home, knowing for the first time that someone was actually waiting for her to come home.

        It felt nice feeling the heated air from the apartment as she opened the door. All the locks were undid; Andrew must’ve kept them unlocked for her.

        There’s a chance he went back to bed since all the lights are off. She quietly closed the door and locked all five locks on the door. She didn’t bother turning on a light as she planned on going right back to bed after her 12 hour shift, placing her purse down on the hallway table in the dark.

        She walked into the living room, opening the curtain and checking the locks on the window to make sure none were loose or unlocked. She finished that window and walked to the knife one, only to feel a rough push. 

        She was knocked to the ground with a thud, landing on her back and quickly on alert. A short yelp leaving her as she got pinned to her carpeted living room floor. Her eyes adjusted to the dark as she squirmed and kicked, trying to kick off her assaulter as she hit and scratched. 

        It was Andrew.

        .

        .

        Bored would be an understatement. Andrew was practically dead as he looked through the category of movies he was illegally pirating. 

        What? Don't judge. Nobody wants to spend $10 on a movie they're only going to watch once or twice. If you bought a new movie every day to watch in a 30 day month, you'd have spent $300 on movies alone in a single month. He'll take the money saving option and $10 a month for VPN. Besides, (Y/N) was the one that showed him this site on her TV.

        He browsed through the movies mindlessly before picking a Ryan Reynold's movie called Waiting...

        He watched the movie with a neutral expression. The jokes really weren't really that funny when he couldn't hear (Y/N) laughing in his ear at them. He wished she was here with him right now. He wondered if she'd laugh at the inappropriate jokes, disgusted at the cook's handling rude customer's food, or sympathize for Calvin's fear of peeing outside of his home's bathroom. 

        Maybe he'll watch the movie with her when she gets home from work. He really couldn't be bothered to focus on this right now. 

        A thought crossed his mind as he thought: damn, was it really this hard to watch a movie alone before? He doesn't remember needing Ashley's commentary on every piece of media he's consumed, yet with (Y/N) it feels like he needs her approval or disproval before he can decide if he likes something or not.

        He groaned, throwing his head back on the couch cushion, before noticing the open front door at the corner of his eye. He immediately stood up, alarmed as he carefully walked over to the door, peeking outside to see if anything (or anyone) was there.

        Nobody.

        He closed the door, leaning his weight on it. He couldn't walk far or stand long, his ankles having a small ache to them still. 

        (Y/N) didn't leave the door unlocked, he remembered watching her leave for work and locking the door behind her. She had cooked him breakfast as he complained about wanting to sleep in with her longer, clinging onto her waist from behind as she cooked him waffles. It was 2 AM, at least six hours until (Y/N) would return home, he remembered her telling him. She had left her phone number on the refrigerator for him to call if he needs her (he's been pondering if he should.

        Andrew knows she takes security very seriously. He's seen her check her window and door locks every morning when she wakes up and every night before bed. A paranoid little thing she is, but he thinks that's good considering this city isn't a very good place to live in. He would rather she be overly paranoid than overly careless. 

        He re-locked the five door locks on her door; a bullock, a chain-lock, a sliding lock, a deadbolt, and a classic handle lock. He hopped into his wheelchair and spent the time re-checking all her window locks (three in total on each window).

        She must've spent hundreds to maybe even a thousand on all her security, it's a miracle she doesn't have cameras in her apartment too. Maybe she's cautious of digital security. He noticed she uses VPN's, fake emails and usernames that's not her name, uses no social media, and weekly changes her passwords. 

        He's not sure why she's so paranoid, but he'd rather wait until she's ready to speak. She's already done so much for him, housing him, feeding him, buying him clothes, taking over his hospital bills, and even letting him sleep in her own bed—he'd do anything other than make her mad at him, not when he's living life so good.

        He has to start looking for a job. There's no way he can work in person, maybe he can be a teleprompter for an insurance company or something... The both of them did agree that he'd live with her so long as he pays her back eventually; and he's not too sure he can repay her with chores and homemade food like a househusband...

        He heard a drawer shut somewhere in the apartment, immediately alerting him. He got in his wheelchair and rolled over to the kitchen, grabbing a large cleaver.

        Ah, memories.

        He quietly strolled down the hallway, cautiously looking around before noticing the bedroom door was open. He remembered (Y/N) closing it before work, so Andrew just spent his time on the living room couch waiting for her to return to him.

        It'd be nice if he had a gun in case it was another hitman who his parents hired to finish the job, but he doubts (Y/N) casually has one lying around. 

        The door was cracked open, so he took a breath before opening it all the way. The door was loud and creaky, something (Y/N) intentionally made sure of.

        There was a man rummaging through her drawers, hunched over as he looked through her bedside drawer, snatching something before putting it in his pocket. He had blond hair, a black button down shirt and blue jeans, classy and uncovered for someone who breaks into an apartment. 

        A robber?

        "What do you think you're doing?" Andrew questioned, already annoyed. He really didn't want to go through anymore drama in his life. 

        The man looked over his shoulder, though his expression didn't seem surprised, but excited as he smiled. His hand moved from the drawer and pulled a gun, aiming it at Andrew.

        Fuck.

        "Bang!" the man exclaimed, pulling the gun's trigger.

        Nothing.

        "No bullets." He smiled, chuckling as Andrew clutched his chest, practically half-dead from a damn near heart attack.

        "Jesus, fuck..." Andrew hissed, holding his chest where his erratic heart was beating. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

        "Ren. It's nice to finally meet (Y/N)'s pet. Andrew, right?" The man, Ren, smiled as he placed the gun down into her drawer, closing it up. 

        "How do you know our names? Have you been watching us?" Andrew questioned, ignoring the man's mocking words. 

        There's no point in being hostile. He's not so sure he can win in a fight without his legs, and the confidence this man is oozing is really making Andrew second-guess himself, almost like he was the one in the wrong instead. 

        "Right. Let's get to the point." Ren hummed, plopping down on (Y/N)'s side of the bed, picking up the pillow and sniffing it.

        Andrew felt his eye twitch, enraged and disgusted at the scene in front of him.

        "I'm Ren. I'm (Y/N)'s childhood friend from church and I'm her husband." Ren smiled.

        "Husband?!" Andrew exclaimed.

        "Oh, right. Soon-to-be-husband. I just gotta propose and take her back home and yada-yada, you don't wanna hear our sappy love story." He laughed, waving his hand in the air. 

        "Stop the bullshit. What the hell are you doing here?" Andrew snapped, watching as Ren squeezed (Y/N)'s pillow to his chest.

        "Oh, just checking in." He smiled. "Yeah. I have a hotel around here. Only for a week though!"

        "What do you mean 'checking in?'" Andrew hissed, making quotations with his fingers.

        "Checking in!" Ren smiled, gesturing to a poster in the room.

        The poster was of one of her favorite bands. Upon closure inspection, Andrew noticed a small hole, a black reflection peeking right back at him. A camera.

        "Hey, what the fuck?!" Andrew exclaimed, swirling his head to face Ren. "Why the fuck is there a camera?!" 

        "Oh, I just installed that! It's even smaller with audio too! Oh, has technology grown over the years! It makes my job so easy." Ren gushed, acting as if nothing was wrong.

        "What job? Stop ignoring my damn questions!" Andrew hissed, strolling closer to Ren. 

        He grabbed Ren's collar, forcing Ren off the bed and holding him down to Andrew's eyesight as Andrew gritted his teeth. A dark storm as he looked at this strange man who decides to waltz in his home, sit on his girlfriend's bed, hug hisgirlfriend's pillow, place a camera in his girlfriend's room.        

        "I'm going to fucking kill you if you don't leave my home right now..." Andrew spat out, a harsh glare in his eyes.

        "Your home?" Ren laughed. "It's not your home, silly! It's under (Y/N)'s name!"

        "Do you wanna die?" Andrew snipped back.

        "Oh please, you're wheel-bound." Ren chuckled, his brown eyes challenging Andrew's green eyes. "Besides, you're very lucky I haven't killed you yet; especially when you've been sleeping with my girl." 

        "Your girl?!" Andrew exclaimed, his head butting into Ren's, ignoring the sting as his hands shook, itching to punch Ren's teeth in. "She's mine! You stay the hell away before I fucking gut you!" 

        "I love your enthusiasm, but you don't love her." Ren laughed, patting Andrew's shoulder as if consoling a child.

        Andrew quickly wound his fist, gathering momentum before punching Ren's face.

        Ren's head knocked back, hitting the mattress as a trail of blood poured out of one of his nostrils. He quickly sat up, clutching his nose.

        "Ha. Ah... I'll let that slide..." he breathed out through his mouth, his eye twitching in a sign of annoyance. "See... I'm not here to hurt anyone. That's already over." He spoke, grabbing a tissue from tissue box next to (Y/N)'s bedside for sick days. 

        "What do you mean 'it's already over?'" Andrew questioned.

        "Her parents?" Ren smiled, tilting his head to the side as he plugged his bleeding nose with the tissue he grabbed. "The (L/N)s?"

        "What did you do?" Andrew demanded, grabbing Ren's collar once more. 

        "Haven't you heard? They're dead!" Ren smiled.

        "I know that! I mean, what did you do?" Andrew groaned, impatient with Ren's childish demeanor. 

        "Well, I killed them!" Ren chirped. "Well, I didn't directly kill them, but I played a part in it." 

        "Spill it out! How?" Andrew snapped, annoyed as he shook Ren's collar.

        "I hired a hitman. Quite pricey too! He just crashed an auto-driving car into a gas tank and blew the couple up!" Ren explained.

        "W-what?" Andrew questioned, shocked. "Why the hell did you do that?!"

        "Well, they were no use to me anymore!" Ren laughed. "When they finally left that farm to go visit (Y/N) in years, I knew it was finally time! I had been following them for years, so when I saw their car drive out of town I knew they were going to see her! My AirTag told me where they were."

        Andrew's heart dropped, surprised and disgusted at the man in front of him. How dare he lay his eyes on (Y/N)? How dare he stalk her?

        "So when they led me here, I had (Y/N)'s address and knew where she was, so they were of no use!" Ren smiled. "Oh, tricky little thing! I'll give her credit, she escaped my radar—but she's back now~" Ren laughed, his bloody tissue started to overfill with blood as it traveled lower and lower into the tissue white cotton, tainting it with crimson. 

        "So... you've been after her this whole time?" Andrew questioned. "Why? Is it the farm's money? What do you want from her?" 

        "Her." Ren smiled. "I want her. Such beauty shouldn't be for just anyone to see."

        "What makes you think only you can have her?" Andrew snapped.

        "What makes you think you can have her?" Ren retorted. "She was mine first! I had her before you did!"

        "Well she's mine now!" Andrew hissed. "Besides, she likes me better than you. She chose me after all."

        That earned him an uppercut, biting his tongue as he rolled back in his chair away from Ren, grabbing the cleaver in his lap and holding it as he gritted his teeth.

        "Oops. You seemed to have upset me for a second..." Ren chuckled. "I will not apologize; however, I have a deal."

        "Shove it up your ass!" Andrew exclaimed.

        "It involves Ashley." Ren hummed.

        Andrew's grip on his weapon immediately loosened, hesitantly lowering down onto his lap.

        "A-Ashley...?" he questioned. "My sister? You know her?" 

        "Knew her." Ren scoffed. "She's dead." 

        Andrew's heart dropped for what seemed like the umpteenth time. He stood up his full height, towering Ren's 5'9" body with his 5'11" self. He grabbed Ren's collar and knocked him back onto the mattress, seething as he glared at Ren.

        "What the fuck did you do to her?! I'll fucking kill you!" Andrew shouted.

        "Wait! I didn't do it this time!" Ren gasped as Andrew started choking him. 

        "Then who else?!" Andrew hissed. 

        "(Y/N)!" Ren exclaimed. 

        "(Y/N)?" Andrew questioned, his grip loosening on Ren's neck. "Explain."

        "Look in her bedside drawer." Ren hummed, tilting his head to the cabinets he was rummaging through earlier.

        Andrew hesitated, before letting go of Ren's neck. He fell back into his wheelchair, before reaching over and opening the cabinet, surprised as he held his breath.

        In the drawer, there was a small box and a snack-sized bag labelled Rophynol. There was a pocketknife with a rose on it, and a gun that Ren pulled out earlier. It looked awfully familiar, and it had no bullets too... And finally, there was a black and red occult charm, one Andrew immediately recognized as Ashley's.

        "Jesus... no..." Andrew gasped, gently picking up and cradling the charm, the only thing remaining of Ashley. "No, please..." 

        "Oh, how cute! My little angel is into the occult now! Isn't she so pure?" Ren cooed. "Is what I'd say if I didn't know that was Ashley's... My angel is far too pure to be involved with that demon crap." 

        "How do you know Ashley's name...?" Andrew grumbled. "How do I know you didn't plant this?" Andrew hissed, protectively cradling the charm in his hand.

        "Because I have no reason to kill Ashley." Ren hummed. "Well, scratch that. I would've. She got what she got for what she tried to do." Ren smiled. "The only reason I know of Ashley is because I followed (Y/N) to her grave!"

        "A-a grave?" Andrew spluttered. 

        "Duh. I told you she was dead." Ren rolled his eyes. "You really don't listen. My angel is so patient and kind, accepting strays like you into her home..."

        "But... this isn't proof that you didn't kill her..." Andrew muttered. "(Y/N)... she wouldn't kill anyone. She's just perfect. A darling... She wouldn't do it—you would!"

        "I would—and have." Ren smirked. "But that's not what we're discussing right now. Here." Ren hummed rummaging in his back pocket before pulling out some small folded squares. "Look."

        Andrew accepted the pictures, opening them. He unfolded the squares and saw five pictures. One of Penelope, (Y/N)'s co-worker Andrew remembers, and (Y/N) out in the rain in an alleyway. Another photo showed a knife in (Y/N)'s hand, along with one in Penelope's. The third had a photo of (Y/N) on top of Penelope, straddling her waist with a pocketknife in the air. The fourth had the knife stabbed into Penelope's chest, along with multiple other wounds on her chest too. Finally, the last photo showed (Y/N) throwing the body in a public clothing donation center. 

        "Right in the act!" Ren laughed, gasping for air as if it was there funniest thing ever. "I followed you guys later that day while the hitman did his job! I can't believe I actually caught that! Turns out my angel is such a little vixen!"

        "This can't be real..." Andrew rasped.

        "Oh! It is! And look, best one for last!" Ren smirked, grabbing final photo in another pocket, pulling it out and unfolding it for Andrew. "H-ha! Ha! Here! Lookie!" Ren laughed, waving a photo of (Y/N) in the rain with a set of flowers, placing them down on a trail entrance. "Giving her condolences to her victim! Oh, she's so pure! I haven't even bothered visiting Ben's grave!" he cackled. 

        “You think this is something to laugh about?! People are dead!” Andrew shouted, shoving the occult charm into his pocket before glaring at Ren.

        “So sensitive… it’s just a blood relative…” Ben sighed.

        “That’s my sister!” Andrew snapped. 

        “It’s not like you haven’t killed anyone before.” Ben hummed, crossing his arms.

        “You son of a— w-wait…” Andrew’s threat fell short, taking in Ren’s words. “How… do you know?”

        “My father owns our town jail, so we have access to arrest records to check for felonies and such—we look up people and decide if they should be held in jail or be sent to prison.” Ren explained. “You showed up on my records, lucky you!” 

        “Damn it…” Andrew hissed, gritting his teeth.

        Of course, (Y/N)’s stalker has to be involved with the police. Why wouldn’t he?

        “If I recall… you have three accounts of second-degree murder. Cannibalism. Escaping house arrest. Invading officers—“ Ren listed.

        “Hey! Hey! That’s not what happened! That’s bullshit!” Andrew snapped.

        “It’s what the system says. You really think the justice system is gonna believe a murderer?” Ren chuckled.

        “It was self-defense and necessity. I had to do it.” Andrew hissed.

        “Right. And the girl that went missing in your hometown? I'm fairly certain you caused it—same with the man shot in the park a city nearby a month ago. That's two more accounts of second-degree murder, but anyways…” Ren hummed, playfully rolling his eyes in a teasing motion. “You asked why I was here earlier…”

        “To check in, you said…” Andrew muttered.

        “That’s not all!” Ren chirped. “I told you I’ll only be here for a week, so we only have a week for this. I want you to help me.” 

        “Help? Help you? As if!” Andrew scoffed, grabbing his cleaver.

        “Oh… well, I guess the police can be more helpful then…” Ren hummed.

        Damn it.

        “What is it?” Andrew gritted through his teeth. “What do you want?”

        “(Y/N).” Ren smiled.

        “I already told you. She’s mine!” Andrew hissed.

        “No, she’s not!” Ren hissed, clenching his fist. “You don’t love her! How can you when she killed your sister?”

        Andrew opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out.

        Because how could he love someone that killed his sister?

        Ren smiled, pleased to see Andrew couldn’t come up with anything.

        “See? How can you love a murderer? She’s killed innocent people, and you love that?” Ren chuckled, smiling. “(Y/N)’s not that innocent little nurse who just helps from the kindness of her heart. She does it to feel better about herself, an ego to fulfill. If you can’t love that side of her, you don’t deserve her. Do you really love that side of her? I mean, how do you know you're not next? Not even her own co-worker was off-limits!"

        “Do you really ever shut up…?” Andrew grumbled, adverting Ren’s eyes.

        “Let’s make this easy.” Ren hummed. “You help me get (Y/N), and this whole apartment is yours! I’ll send you rent money, and grocery money, and whatever money you want that will keep you satisfied in this apartment—so long as you don’t leave it! Or, ya know, you can and just go to jail. That works for me, but I’m trying to give you a chance here.” 

        “Why not just kill me?” Andrew questioned.

        “It’ll upset my angel too much, dummy!” Ren chuckled, patting Andrew’s shoulder like he was swatting away a toddler’s joke. “In order to prevent anymore… accidents from her… it’d be better to make it seem like you betrayed her! Which you will if you wanna live!”

        Andrew slapped away Ren’s hand, annoyed as he sighed. “And how are we gonna do that?”

        “You are gonna drug her!” Ren smiled.

        ”Excuse me?” Andrew snapped. 

        “It’s easier than you’d think, especially with this!” Ren smiled, opening the bedside drawer and shaking the bag of white powder. “I can only assume this is Rohypnol since there’s a box here of it. This is a date-rape drug, or a sleep medicine gone wrong.” 

        “Really?” Andrew cringed, making a face. “I have to literally put it in her drink?”

        “Yeah, or a liquid food like soup. Doesn’t matter. Just make sure she eats it.” Ren shrugged, placing the bag back into the drawer. “I’ll leave that there. Remember, you have a week.” 

        “And if I don’t, I die or get arrested…” Andrew muttered, watching as Ren moved around, grabbing a small box in his pocket before walking into the bathroom.

        ”Don’t even think about it…” Andrew hissed. “I share that bathroom with her.”

        Ren looked over, before shrugging his shoulders. “Fine. Bathroom cameras are off-limits…” 

        “You’re gross…” Andrew groaned, rolling his eyes. “Why do you need those pictures?”

        Ren ignored him, instead placing a camera in another corner of the room for full coverage.

        “Why do you bother doing this?” Andrew questioned.

        “Why not?” Ren smiled. 

        Ren noticed the answer didn’t satisfy Andrew as he glared at him, so he spoke again.

        “And to make sure she’s doing okay.” Ren hummed.

        “I think more than half of her problems would be gone if it wasn’t for you.” Andrew grumbled.

        “You can say what you want…” Ren spoke. “But just remember, you have only a week left with her. Do you understand.”

        “Yeah. Okay.” Andrew muttered.

        “By the end of this week, you should have her unconscious. You will not mention me or any cameras. Nothing.” Ren ordered. “When you drug her, give me a call.”

        Ren pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket, his number already written down on it. Seems he had this all planned.

        “Be quick about it when you call. The drug shouldn’t take long to kick in. And use the whole bag if you can—the drug is tasteless and odorless so she won’t know any different.” Ren explained.

        “Okay. Okay.” Andrew hissed, upset as he snatched the paper and shoved it in his pocket. 

        “I’ll see you tomorrow. I have some stuff to show you.” Ren hummed.

        Andrew followed Ren as he put cameras in other rooms of (Y/N)’s apartment, before leaving out the front door, driving away in a silver Honda Odyssey.

        Andrew sat around in silence, looking around at the apartment.

        He felt angry. Angry at Ren and his blackmail. Angry at (Y/N) for lying to him and taking away his only family he considered. Angry at himself for letting this all happen and being so easy to control.

        He felt upset. Upset at Ren taking control of his life. Upset at (Y/N) for pushing her way into his life. And upset at himself for allowing his life to be controlled like this.

        “Fuck…” he groaned, covering his eyes with his hands.

        .

        .

        She was knocked to the ground with a thud, landing on her back and quickly on alert. A short yelp leaving her as she got pinned to her carpeted living room floor. Her eyes adjusted to the dark as she squirmed and kicked, trying to kick off her assaulter as she hit and scratched. 

        It was Andrew.

        Andrew had a crazed look in his eyes. An angry expression on his face that matched his panic at the hospital that night he tried to figure out what to do next after discharge.

        He was mad, and there was a cleaver raised in the air just a few inches from her face.

        “Andrew! Andrew, it’s me!” (Y/N) gasped, reaching her hands up and grabbing his wrist.

        Was he mad at her? For what? Does he believe she's an intruder? But that wouldn't explain why he has a cleaver ready in his hand.

        "Andrew!" (Y/N) squirmed, digging her nails down into his wrist to hopefully make him let go.

        It won't work. He's pumped with too much adrenaline to even register the pain, that or he's able to tolerate it. Either way, both situations are bad for her and could result terribly. 

        "You son of a bitch! You killed her!" Andrew hissed, fighting to slam the cleaver down. 

        Oh god fucking damn it. (Y/N) mentally groaned.

        Of course he'd figure it out eventually, but she was hoping to break it to him lightly, if that's even possible. 

        “You don’t understand!” (Y/N) retorted, struggling to hold back Andrew as his free hand tried pinning down her arms. “I had to! I had to!”

        “You didn’t have to do shit!” Andrew snapped, furious as the cleaver came closer to her head.

        “She was gonna kill me first! I had to defend myself!” (Y/N) blurted out.

        “So you killed her?!” Andrew snarled.

        “I panicked! The situation was too far gone to de-escalate.” (Y/N) snapped.

        “That’s no excuse!” Andrew hissed, the sharp blade of her own cleaver getting closer to her head.

        There was a moment where she considered that she might actually not be able to escape this one. With his strength against her, this isn’t a fight she can win. 

        “So what? I just let her kill me?” (Y/N) scoffed,  her voice strained as she was losing, the blade grazing just above her nose and between her eyes.

        “Yes!” Andrew snarled. “It should’ve been you!”

        The sudden shock that jolted through her body shouldn’t have been surprising, it was her versus his sister, of course he’d choose her over his unprofessional nurse—but it still hurt to hear.

        “If you kill me, you’ll pay.” (Y/N) snapped, a new wave of anger taking over her. “Even if it’s not me, you’ll pay. I don’t have to kill you myself for it to happen.” (Y/N) hissed.

        There was a falter in his grip, tears welling up in his eyes as his grip loosened slightly, his hesitancy a mistake as she moved her hands off his wrists. She gripped the blade’s end, ignoring the already stinging sensation as it pressed into her palms in a line.

        Even if the blade comes down, her hands will take the blow. She doesn’t need her hands to live, and she’s ready to make that sacrifice.

        Her anger flared as a wave of adrenaline rushed through her, aiming to survive and escape. She grabbed the cleaver and pulled it back to her, catching Andrew off as he let go.

        She kicked his stomach, before pinning him back on the ground, raising the cleaver.

        “I can’t do it…” Andrew muttered, tears welting up in his eyes, a look of defeat as he made no effort to retrieve the cleaver hovering over him. “I can’t kill you.”

        His hands went to her hips, loosely holding them as he stayed on the ground, (Y/N)’s body hovering over his. 

        (Y/N) glared at him, the cleaver raised up high as she aimed for his neck, gripping the cleaver’s handle tighter.

        “Just who do you think you are…?” she spat out, watching as tears fell down Andrew’s face. “You think you can just kill me after all I’ve done?” she questioned.

        Her twin buns were messy, one of her buns loose as her star hairclip threatened to fall from her hair. Her nurse lanyard dangled down on Andrew, one of her hands resting next to Andrew’s head as the other held her kitchen cleaver.

        She watched the tears fall down his face, before throwing the cleaver across the room, probably creating a mark on her wall she’ll worry about later. She threw the cleaver so they both wouldn't make a drastic mistake they couldn't change. There wasn't any need for more bloodshed, all it did was get them both in trouble numerous times. 

        “Was there really no other way?” Andrew questioned, his hands tracing self-assuring circles on her hips. “You really couldn’t have done anything other than kill her?”

        (Y/N) paused, thinking. Maybe if she hadn’t provoked Ashley to attack by spraying perfume in her eyes, perhaps they could’ve talked it out. She could’ve made a compromise with Ashley, or even go as far as to dropping the whole murder idea all together.

        But Ashley Graves is dead, in an amateur grave (Y/N) dug up and covered with dirt herself, some flowers resting in the forest entrance as an apology and tribute to her. It won't fix anything, not what's happened in the past or future or now, but it's something to ease her mind, help her with the guilt. 

        “I don’t know.” (Y/N) admitted. “I just did what I could; isn’t that what we all do?”

        “It still hurts though.” Andrew sighed.

        “It always will.” (Y/N) spoke. “But it’ll lessen over time.”

        “It’s just… she’s probably the only thing left that would’ve helped me know who I am.” Andrew groaned, tilting his head to the side to look at the wall, avoiding her eyes. 

        “You’re Andrew, dummy.” (Y/N) spoke.

        “Well I don’t feel like Andrew.” Andrew muttered.

        “When do we feel like ourselves these days?” she laughed, as if he made a funny joke. 

        Andrew glanced up at her, unamused. 

        “Come on, you have a whole new path ahead of you. You don’t have anything from the past holding you back, so what’s stopping you?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “I-I don’t know. Maybe I’m worried.” Andrew stammered, unsure really what to say or how to put his feelings into words. 

        “About what?” she pried, getting up off his waist.

        “I don’t think it’ll work out well for me…” He groaned, exhausted.

        “That’s everyone’s fear. You’re not special.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes.

        “I mean being a criminal and all…” Andrew added.

        “Same boat here.” (Y/N) hummed. “C’mon, surely we can help each other? Make a truce and no more murdering?”

        Andrew looked hesitant, staring off to the side as he thought. It was risky, especially after all they've done. (Y/N) lied to Andrew; but so did Andrew. (Y/N) betrayed Andrew; but so will Andrew.

        "Okay, fine. No more murder." Andrew sighed, bringing his hands up and wiping the tears from his eyes. 

        He felt almost embarrassed that he cried in front of (Y/N), but he knew she wouldn't say anything about it. She really doesn't get the right to make fun of him for it after all the times she's cried in front of him. 

        .

        .

        Even if they did a truce, Andrew was distant. He stopped sleeping in her bed, and insisted on sleeping on the sleeper sofa in the living room. It doesn't take a genius to know Andrew was upset about Ashley's death; anyone would be upset really.

        (Y/N)'s believes the reason why Andrew's so upset about it is because Ashley was probably the only key to Andrew knowing who he really was. Ashley's the only person who knew Andrew before he jumped and got amnesia, and there's no guarantee the amnesia will ever go away; in fact it could potentially worsen. 

        But (Y/N) would rather not think of that. She can't change what's been done.

        However, Andrew hasn't been eating much. It doesn't take a genius to know that Andrew's gone into a state of depression, feeling hopeless and lost on who he is and what to do next. 

        They've had their arguments and bumps, (Y/N)'s had to force Andrew eat and make sure he's taking care of himself while she's gone at work. It seems like he's just getting worse by the day, and it's been a full week now. Though Andrew's come around to joking and smiling more, there's still a barrier between the two, one Andrew won't allow to break down no matter how many times (Y/N) bangs on it.

        But he's eating again, in fact he's insisted on making dinner today after (Y/N)'s complaints. It was Andrew's turn to cook dinner—well, it's been his turn for a while now, but (Y/N) didn't want to force him to cook when he wasn't feeling well. Andrew never really cooked a meal that took longer than 30 minutes, but (Y/N)'s been insistent on him learning how to cook proper meals since it was a basic skill needed as an adult, so here he is being forced (guided) to cook beef tips and rice. 

        "You're checking the locks again?" Andrew sighed, watching her pace around the kitchen as he cooked.

        Andrew stirred the beef tips, watching (Y/N) check all the three locks on each window, she was such a worrywart.

        "You're gonna get wrinkles if you keep stressing yourself out like this." Andrew commented with a smirk.

        "I think I'd look pretty hot with wrinkles. Like a MILF." (Y/N) snickered. "Besides, I'm just being cautious! Do you understand how many creeps are out in the world?"

        "Yeah, I'm looking at one right now." Andrew teased. 

        "Oh, ahaha." (Y/N) laughed sarcastically. "You think you're so funny? Only funny thing about you is your face."

        "I prefer the term 'handsome', but thanks." Andrew hummed smartly.

        "Oh, yes, so handsome..." (Y/N) cooed, leaning over the counter and pinching Andrew's cheek, watching his eye close as he accepted the treatment, albeit a hint of hesitancy. "That rice is gonna be done soon. Be a dear and check it."

        "Yes, ma'am..." Andrew commented teasingly, watching her let go of his face so he could check the rice cooker's timer. 

        "What movie do you wanna watch tonight?" (Y/N) questioned.

        "I dunno. You decide." Andrew hummed, keeping his eye on the timer before going back to stirring the beef tips.

        "Ugh, Andrew..." (Y/N) groaned, walking out of the kitchen to go into the living room and check the locks. "You know I can never decide a movie, that's why you always pick!"

        "Let's do a comedy then." Andrew hummed, opening the rice cooker's lid as it beeped.

        "A comedy? Okay, let's do an Adam Sandler then." (Y/N) hummed. 

        "You know there's other comedy actors other than Adam Sandler, right?" Andrew chuckled, a fake one. "Besides, I thought you said you could never decide on a movie?" 

        "Well, now I decided." (Y/N) huffed, checking the blinds and curtains and locks. "Besides, he's funny! He's got a funny voice and funny lines! I mean, c'mon, his performance in Grown Ups was pretty nice, especially the sequel." 

        "Whatever you say." Andrew chuckled.

        Andrew grabbed two bowls and scoops some rice into each, then topped it with beef tips and gravy. On any normal day, (Y/N) would've complained to him that there needed to be a vegetable as a side, but she was just happy that Andrew was out of bed and standing up on his own for longer periods of time. 

        "Dinner's ready!" Andrew called out. 

        "Okay!" 

        (Y/N) chirped, making sure the final window was locked before closing the curtains. 

        She walked into the dining room and sat down as Andrew poured some lemonade into a cup.

        “Thank you for dinner.” She hummed, accepting the cup Andrew handed her, taking a sip before placing it down onto the table.

        “It’s nothing.” Andrew waved off, sitting down next to her.

        “Doctor Ryan gave me a basket of hot chocolate supplies today, we should make them for our movie night.” (Y/N) suggested. 

        “Are you talking about the scrawny guy that’s way too happy?” Andrew questioned.

        “That’s the one.” (Y/N) smiled. 

        “Ugh…” Andrew groaned, already knowing how extravagant that hot coco basket will be. 

        “It’ll be a waste of money if we don’t use it.” (Y/N) reasoned. 

        “Still…” Andrew sighed.

        Just the thought of another male thinking about her made Andrew feel sick. It didn’t matter if Doctor Ryan was married with kids and her instructor, he still felt annoyed knowing the man got to spend more time with her than he could.

        “I can make it after dinner when our stomachs settle.” (Y/N) hummed, taking a bite of her food and washing it down with her drink. “Don’t worry about the dishes either, I’ll wash them since you cooked dinner tonight—which, by the way, is very good.” 

        Andrew nodded, eating his food silently, looking down at his bowl before speaking.

        “Do you think I’m a bad person?” he questioned.

        (Y/N) frowned, looking up from her bowl. “A bad person?” she contemplated. “What makes you think that?” 

        “It’s not what I think; it’s what you think. Do you think I’m a bad person?” he repeated.

        “I think… if bad people existed, we all would be bad people.” (Y/N) spoke. “And if good people existed, we all would be good people.”

        “Which means…?” Andrew questioned, impatient as he looked at her.

        “There no such thing as a bad person, only doing bad things.” (Y/N) huffed. “You know, that famous saying? It was something along those lines at least.”

        “Right…” he sighed. 

        “Anyways…” (Y/N) yawned, covering her mouth, before resting her cheek on her palm. “Why?”

        “What do you mean ‘why?’” Andrew questioned.

        “What are you thinking about that has you wondering if you’re a bad person?” (Y/N) asked.

        “I’m just curious…” Andrew muttered, shrugging his shoulders.

        “About?” she pried.

        “Do you think…” Andrew hesitated, placing his spoon down in his bowl, before looking at (Y/N). “Do you think it’s okay for someone to do bad things if it’s to protect themselves?”

        “Depends on the circumstances…” (Y/N) hums. “I mean, some things can be forgiven and some can’t.”

        “Don’t worry about the circumstances, just think of it as whole. Can you forgive me for doing bad things if it was to protect myself?” Andrew huffed, annoyed at her deflections.

        (Y/N) paused, thinking. Is he… trying to open up about his past? His crimes? 

        “Well… I think you should do whatever it takes for you to survive.” (Y/N) muttered.

        You can kill someone as long as they tried killing you first, that’s how self-defense works—at least, it’s an excuse for her to feel better about herself. 

        “You wake up with yourself, you go to bed with yourself, you feed yourself, you shower with yourself; you live with yourself for as long as you live, so only you should matter.” (Y/N) spoke, leaning on her hand and closing her eyes. “I think, it’s best to lend help to others once you’re stable yourself.”

        “Right…” Andrew muttered. “So, I’m sorry.” He whispered.

        He leaned over the table and moved her bowl and food away from her head, watching her peaceful face as she kept her eyes closed, before she slumped on the table.

        Andrew stood up from the table, picking up (Y/N)’s phone and using her thumb to unlock it. He grabbed a piece of paper out of his pockets, dialing the numbers in before holding it up to his ear.

        “Ren? I did what you wanted, come get her.” 

        .

        .

        “I’m so glad you came to your senses! You did it last minute, I was worried I’d have to find a place to bury you!” Ren chirped, laughing as he entered the apartment.

        “Shut up…” Andrew muttered, annoyed.

        It hurt. It felt like he betrayed himself more than he betrayed (Y/N). His chest ached, sore from lying to her, but it also burned, knowing that (Y/N) was going to be in the hands of this man now.

        “As promised, you’ll live. I’ll give you 4,000 every month for rent, shipping groceries, online shopping, all that stuff. Just money for whatever you need.” Ren explained. “Remember, so long as you don’t leave the apartment! We don’t need the police finding you after I worked so hard to cover both your and my angel’s tracks! It was hard wiping out that camera footage at the mall, you know?” 

        Ren went around the house, removing all the cameras and microphones for Andrew to live in privacy. 

        Ren took a suitcase out of (Y/N)’s closet and unzipped it, picking up (Y/N)’s unconscious body and placing her in a cradle-like position, setting her down in the suitcase and zipping her up.

        Ren noticed Andrew’s hesitant expression, watching him zip her up so he spoke.

        “She’s claustrophobic, but this is just so none of the neighbors see her.” Ren explained. “I’ll make sure to pull off the side of the road and take her out of the suitcase before I get on the interstate.”

        “You better…” Andrew muttered, watching as Ren grabbed the suitcase’s handles.  

        “Well, this is it. Call me if you need anything.” Ren smiled, handing Andrew a phone out of his pocket. 

        It looked new and pricey, but for all Andrew knows, it could have a spyware on it. He’ll sell it and buy a phone that isn’t hacked instead—but he won’t tell Ren that. 

        “Thanks.” Andrew muttered. 

        “I’ll pay you cash the last of every month in the mail. (Y/N)’s rent is due every first of the month, so just place cash in a envelope and drop it off at the landlord’s mailbox in the front. Purchase your groceries online and all that. You probably know everything else now.” Ren explained. 

        Andrew watched as Ren dragged the suitcase out of the front door, a feeling of dread washing over Andrew as he spoke. 

        “Hey.” 

        Ren turned around, an amused smirk on his face, as if he was challenging Andrew to defy him. “Yes?”

        “Please… just take care of (Y/N).” Andrew muttered, her name feeling like poison to his throat.

        “Of course. I’ve always taken care of her.” Ren smiled. 

        Andrew and Ren had different ideas of ‘care’, but it won’t concern Andrew anymore after today.

        “Bye now!” Ren waved, walking down the apartment steps with the suitcase (Y/N) was in.

        Andrew said nothing, watching him walk away, before he finally left his view. Andrew shut the door, shutting them both out of his life.

        .

        .

        “And that’s how you’re here!” Ren smiled, watching as (Y/N) squirmed and tried to kick, her efforts fruitless as she was strapped to an expensive chair. 

        “Shut up! I hate you! I hate you, cunt!” she screamed, trying to bang her head bang onto the chair, but the straps around her forehead didn’t allow that.

        “There’s no point in screaming; we’re in the middle of nowhere! Have you forgotten where our home is already?” Ren chirped.

        “This isn’t my home!” (Y/N) shouted.

        This is no home. This is Hell, pure Hell as she stared down the Devil. 

        There is no home for her, only settlements until she ups and moves to the next location. This should’ve never happened.

        “How… how did you even find me?” (Y/N) muttered.

        “I’ve been keeping a close eye on your parents. I had an AirTag in their car, so when they left town, it notified me and I followed them.” Ren explained. “They led me right to your apartment! So when they stayed the night, I hired a hitman to kill your parents when they leave town, do whatever so they just controlled an AI car to crash into the gas pump, hence the explosion at the gas station that killed your parents!” Ren beamed, as if the story was something to be proud of.

        Fucking Apple. Whoever made AirTags probably made them under the guise to stalk his wife, or husband, no judgment. 

        “You’re terrible.” (Y/N) muttered.

        She looked around the room, trying to find anything to aid her escape, but it was fruitless. She was stuck in Ren’s bedroom, in a pricey chair with fancy restraints that he no doubt planned for her to be strapped in. 

        She’d be watched while Ren is here, and even if Ren led to go work at his father’s prison that he’ll inherit when his father dies, there’s probably a camera and microphone hiding somewhere in the room to supervise (Y/N) while she’s away.

        She had no way of escaping due to these damn rubber straps preventing her movement, she can’t even tilt her head. The chair was screwed into the ground, preventing her from even lifting up the chair or knocking it over.

        “Why can’t you just leave? Leave me alone!” (Y/N) exclaimed, pissed off. 

        “Oh, my angel. You’ll understand one day that this is all because of my love for you.” Ren cooed, reaching out and cradling his hand on her cheek.

        She tried to snap back and bite his finger, but the straps preventing her from tilting her head to bite him, trapped and felt vulnerable to whatever he wants. 

        “I really don’t think you understand the gravity of your situation, pretty. You do know that I can easily turn you into the police?” Ren smiled.

        “You won’t.” (Y/N) challenged. “You’d miss me too much.”

        “I can just visit you in prison everyday and night. Besides, my father owns the place, so I can do whatever I want.” Ren hummed, smirking as he knew the advantages he has to this situation. 

        (Y/N) frowned, annoyed as she looked away from him.

        If only this chair was a normal wooden chair, then she’d just bang the chair legs down on the ground until they cracked and broke the chair. Or at the very least, alert neighbors in the apartment; but Ren lived in the middle of nowhere. Curse this secluded private town and it’s distance from neighbors—the only time she’ll complain about having privacy.

        Either way, she’s trapped. It’s not like anyone in this town is even aware that she’s back, or would they even care considering her reputation here is worse than a sewer rat’s. If anything, they’d probably say she deserves it. 

        Is this to pay for my sins? (Y/N) thought to herself, shutting her eyes.

        There’s nothing to do but accept the situation. Maybe after a few months or years, he’ll let her out of the chair and she’ll be able to escape after building enough rapport (because she seriously doubts she’ll develop Stockholm Syndrome for this bastard). 

        (Y/N) chuckled, laughing to herself at the bizarreness of the situation. 

        Her father’s kindness to see her turned into her ultimate demise. Or perhaps it was her fault for writing her parents contact information as an emergency contact for her hospitalization. 

        Everything just always seems to come and bite her back in the ass.

        “So what happened with Andrew?” (Y/N) questioned, smiling. “Did you kill him too after he drugged me?” 

        “No, he’s alive.” Ren answered.

        “Shocking.” (Y/N) commented.

        “Well, we did make a deal after all. I don’t go against my word.” Ren smiled.

        “Funny, considering you said you’d protect me; yet you’re the only threat.” (Y/N) scoffed. “You didn’t protect me from Ashley or Penelope either. Some protector you are.”

        “Well I could’ve protected you if you just didn’t run away! You and your silly little brain, angel.” Ren chuckled, smiling as he shook his head, like he was laughing at a toddler. “I am sad to have missed your first murder; but I at least saw your second!” Ren smiled, pulling out some photos of (Y/N) killing Penelope from his pocket, waving it in her face.

        (Y/N) frowned. So this was it, the rest of her life with the man in front of her. He has permanent blackmail on her, so even if she did somehow manage to escape, it’d be hard trying to get a whole new identity once a warrant would be out for her arrest, let alone trying to get a damn car to escape. 

        Damn you, Andrew… (Y/N) thought to herself, though she probably deserves this after killing his sister.

        A Grave for a Grave.

        .

        .

        Maddening. That’s how it felt without her. He hasn’t been able to sleep in three days, or was it four? He already can’t remember. It’s been a month, maybe a month and a half? He can barely get more than 3 hours of sleep a night, tossing and turning and tossing and turning in an endless loop. 

        God, he missed hugging her at night. Only a week of sleeping together in the same bed and he was already hooked on her warmth and softness that’s now permanently gone.

        Andrew’s always considered himself as an introverted guy, but it feels like living Hell by not being able to see her.

        He finds himself re-cooking the meals she’s made, scavenging through her drawers and cooking the recipes she left—but it never tasted like her cooking. 

        He finds himself using her bath products, reminiscing in the familiar scent—but it always missed the scent of just her.

        He finds himself sleeping in her bed alone, only the ghost of her cold touch hugging him, but it provided no warmth or comfort like she did. Even her scent was starting to fade from the sheets. He missed her touch. 

        He finds himself waiting by the front door for her, leaning against the wall, sitting on the floor, peeking out the peephole looking for her; but he knows deep down he won’t see her. He just wanted to see her again. 

        It was his fault after all, he was the one that turned her in. He probably didn’t have much of a choice anyways, it was either that or die, but honestly death seems like a much more bearable situation than having to deal with the burden of loneliness and isolation. 

        Her phone was left on the charger. He had retrieved it from her purse and used it to call Ren and take her away, but he regrets the decision now.

        He managed to crack the password on the fourth day of living without her. It was annoying, but he didn’t have her thumb to unlock it, and it was hard trying to come up with a password since she regularly changed her password as she does with other things in the apartment. 

        After meeting Ren, he understands her paranoia of security.

        He unplugged her phone and looked through her pictures. She barely had any, only pictures of her in high school with who he can only assume were old friends. One had blonde hair with pink highlights and the other had strong muscles and short black hair. 

        The picture was taken from an angle. (Y/N) sat on a couch with a computer and notebooks in her lap as she wrote. Meanwhile, black hair was taking up some of the couch as she leaned on the armrest, glaring at the blonde who intruded on the picture with half of her head in the way. 

        The black hair looked like the brawns, the pink hair looked like the beauty (though Andrew thought [Y/N] was just as pretty, if not more), and (Y/N) looked like the brains. 

        Other pictures included her family farm, some good harvests of the year, pictures of old CD’s she listened to in high school, and old church gatherings.

        Andrew found himself staring at her in the pictures, wondering why he never took a picture with her to remember.

        He looked closer at the church pictures and saw one of the whole church members combined. (Y/N) stood in a blue dress with a white bow on it, and standing a few persons away from her was Ren, staring at her at he wore a white button-up and black slacks.

        That damn man… Andrew thought, annoyed.

        Even in their teen years, he was pestering her.

        He swiped through more photos, finding more of her family farm, before noticing a picture that caught his eye.

        It was a picture of a smaller (Y/N), a few years before her pre-teens, standing next to a wagon filled with a berry harvest. She posed in front of a sign that said (L/N) Family Farm: Fresh is Best below the big font, there was an address.

        12920 N Estrella Lane, 39302, Luna, GE

        Wait a second.

        Andrew plugged the address into the phone maps, coming up with an address 34 hours away. 

        There wasn’t a moment’s hesitation the way he shot up from bed, scrambling to find his shoes. He grabbed a trash bag, piling some clothes, phone charger, and snacks into the bag. He put on a jacket (Y/N) bought him and a disposable mask he found in (Y/N)’s drawers. He picked up his wallet, an envelope of money Ren mailed to him, (Y/N)’s car keys, and something helpful from (Y/N)’s drawer. 

        He locked the door behind him, hopping into (Y/N)’s car Ren left considering he couldn’t trust (Y/N) to drive with him (nor would he allow her to drive anywhere and escape him again). 

        Andrew put the keys into the engine and plugged the (L/N) Family Farms into the car’s GPS. 

        It wouldn’t give him an exact location, but it’s at least a start. If Ren followed (Y/N)’s parents from their farm, then they must live in the same town. It at least gives Andrew a place to start searching. 

        Andrew just has to make a quick stop before he confronts Ren. Hopefully, nothing bad has happened to (Y/N) during this past month.

        .

        .

        “Darla Carving got 8 years for poisoning her husband, under the charge of attempted murder.” Ren explained, sitting on his bed, eating some grilled chicken.

        (Y/N) tuned him out, annoyed as she stared at the wall.

        “Remember how we went to school with her? She used to be an artist, but now she’s just an inmate.” Ren smiled. “But hey, maybe she’ll be the next Van Gough in prison, I’d buy a piece—you’re not listening again.” Ren frowned.

        (Y/N) rolled her eyes, annoyed. “Can’t you just shut up and eat?”

        “Speaking of food…” Ren smiled, setting down his plate onto his nightstand. “It’s time for you to eat!”

        (Y/N) frowned, already clamping her mouth shut, biting her teeth together.

        “Now, now, it’ll be easier for the both of us if you just listen.” Ren smiled.

        “No!” (Y/N) snapped, watching as Ren grabbed a bowl of tomato soup from the dresser.

        “Say ah.” Ren smiled, holding a spoon to (Y/N)’s mouth.

        (Y/N) kept her mouth shut. She would turn her head the other way if it wasn’t for the straps holding her head still.

        Ren gave up trying to gently spoon it into her mouth, before grabbing her chin and forcing her mouth open, jabbing the spoon down her throat, before scooping up more soup and repeating the process.

        Ren finished trying after some scoops, making sure she swallowed before placing the spoon down.

        “See? It doesn’t get any harder, only you make it tough.” Ren smiled, setting the bowl down onto the nightstand.

        (Y/N) grimaced, closing her eyes as she gave him the silent treatment.

        “Soon the Rohyopnol will kick in, then we’ll get you your bath!” Ren cheered.

        The tomato soup was laced with Rohyopnol, it just makes it easy for Ren to carry her around, hold her, and bathe her without (Y/N) trying to escape, considering she’ll be dead asleep.  

        “What pajamas today? Black or purple?” Ren hummed, holding up two pairs of pajamas, both with pants and long sleeves since she’s not allowed to sleep with a blanket in case she tries choking herself (as if she can escape the straps). 

        (Y/N) stayed firm with her silent treatment, ignoring him. She had 30 minutes before the Rohypnol kicks in and she’ll lose consciousness—she plans on spending that time being petty and spiteful. 

        (Y/N) kept her eyes closed, ignoring him like a child would.

        If you can’t see it, it’s not real.

        “Look at me.” Ren snapped, grabbing her lower jaw. “Stop being difficult.”

        (Y/N) kept ignoring him. 

        “I wish you’d just accept your situation. It’s been a month now, can’t we just get along?” Ren frowned.

        (Y/N) mentally rolled her eyes, annoyed.

        At this point, she’ll suffer from muscle dystrophy being stuck in this chair all the time with no exercise. Perhaps she can bargain with Ren on that; have time out of the chair and regain her strength until she can escape. 

        “Listen to me!” Ren exclaimed, desperate for control even with the upperhand in this situation. “Why don’t you ever listen, Angel? Is it really so bad? I could do worse such as—“         

        A shot rang out through the room, Ren collapsing to the floor, hunched over.

        “What the f—“ Ren looked up to be met with the barrel of a gun, Andrew’s holding the trigger before quickly pulling it without any hesitation.

        “You know, you’d think a guy like this would have security or even good quality locks.” Andrew commented, sighing before he looked over at (Y/N)

        (Y/N) froze, unsure if he was a threat or not. He had traded her in, and now he has a gun after turning against Ren. Will he turn on her again?

        “(Y/N)…” Andrew spoke, taking in the sight of her, happy to see her before he noticed the straps on the chair.

        He walked over to her, walking behind and undoing the leather straps attached to the chair, releasing her.

        She stood up, stumbling a bit as she grabbed the nearby nightstand for support. 

        “What the fuck is your issue?!” she spat aggressively, her legs shaking before collapsing onto the ground near Ren’s bleeding corpse. 

        It was a pathetic sight, like watching a newborn fawn try and stand up on their nimble legs. 

        “Get away!” she snapped.

        “(Y/N), shh. It’s okay.” Andrew frowned, concerned as he crouched down to her level.

        “Who do you think you are?! Some hero?” she spat out, hitting his chest. “You think you can just show up and everything is suddenly sunshine and rainbows? What’s your intentions?” 

        “(Y/N), I just wanted to help.” Andrew spoke, fighting her hits, placing the gun in his waistband and grabbing her shoulders. “Hey, listen.”

        “I hate you!” she spat.

        “Can’t you shut up?” Andrew hissed, annoyed. “I made a mistake, okay? I wasn’t thinking, it was my life on the line!” 

        “How can you think you can save me when you’re the one that put me in this situation?!” (Y/N) scoffed in disbelief.

        “I had to do what I had to do!” Andrew snapped. “You said it yourself. ‘It’s yourself for life!’”

        “I didn’t mean trade me in though!” (Y/N) hissed.

        “You would’ve done the same in my shoes!” Andrew hissed. “You killed my sister for your life! I turned you in for my life!” 

        (Y/N) paused, annoyed at how she could see the semblance, even if the circumstances were a bit different. 

        “We’re even now, okay?!” Andrew spat.

        Almost. If anything, it felt like (Y/N) owed Andrew more. He killed her stalker and he saved her, meanwhile all she did was kill his sister and lie to him.

        She’ll take what she can get. She’s not stupid to try and push this on more when she doesn’t have any good cards in her hand.

        “Okay… okay, I get it.” (Y/N) sighed, woozy as she sat down on Ren’s bed.

        She ignored the shiver of disgust that crawled up her spine as she sat down on Ren’s slumber spot. While (Y/N) sat in the chair in the dark, she could hear Ren’s peaceful slumbers as he slept under warm blankets.

        “I… just want you to know, he gave me some Rohypnol.” (Y/N) explained. “It’s gonna kick in eventually, so I can’t do much.”

        It was probably a small pill crushed up and distributed throughout the entire soup, so she probably didn’t drink enough to make her pass out, only enough to be drowsy and possibly caused temporary slow mental processing. 

        Andrew nodded, looking around Ren’s room before rummaging through his nightstand.

        He found a tissue box, some Rohypnol pill capsules, a bottle of lotion, and some polaroids of (Y/N).

        “Ick.” Andrew groaned, rolling his eyes, already guessing what this drawer was used for.

        “What?” (Y/N) questioned, trying to peek over his shoulder.

        “Don’t worry about it…” Andrew muttered, closing the drawer.

        “What are you looking for?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “This.” Andrew smirked, holding up Ren’s wallet.

        How alike they are; they kill someone and they rob them. It’s not the like the dead person will need it anyways.

        “Let’s go.” Andrew spoke.

        “If we drop by the bank, I can use an ATM and draw out money from him.” (Y/N) spoke.

        “You know his username and password?” Andrew questioned.

        “Please. His username is his first and last name, and his password is my birthday.” (Y/N) scoffed.

        “How cute.” Andrew commented sarcastically, stepping over Ren’s lifeless corpse.

        “Not!” (Y/N) snapped, glaring at him.

        Andrew led (Y/N) out of the house, glad that Ren lives on acres upon acres, therefore having no nearby neighbors. 

        “You stole my car?” (Y/N) huffed, walking out of the house as she saw her car parked near the gate.

        “How else did I get here? Public transport?” Andrew scoffed, taking the keys out of his pocket. “I’m driving.”

        “Yeah, duh. If I did, I’d fall asleep behind the wheel.” (Y/N) spoke in a ‘duh’ tone, hopping into the passenger seat.

        “Moody…” Andrew muttered under his breath, annoyed.

        “You’re the one that practically sold me for some money!” (Y/N) snapped. “Of course I’m moody!”

        “And it was for my life.” Andrew added. “Besides that, what’s next? Back to your place?” Andrew questioned.

        (Y/N) paused, thinking. 

        She can’t go back. Penelope’s dead, and even though Ren erased the store’s camera footage, there’s probably a backup file on an ICloud somewhere. Even if the evidence was completely removed, she doesn’t feel safe going back to that city.

        Ren might’ve told someone about her old dwelling, probably his dad, current owner of the jailhouse she was living in for some weeks before Ren bailed her out. If Ren is found dead in his home, (Y/N) would be a major suspect.

        Even if she did decide to go back to that apartment, she doesn’t want to live in that shitty city anymore, not with all the crazy shit that’s happened there.

        She needs to move away. 

        “Wanna go on a roadtrip?” (Y/N) smiled.

        “Where to?” Andrew questioned, confused.

        “Go back to our apartment. We’ll pack up our stuff, sell the car, and take a train.” (Y/N) explained.

        “Why the sudden idea? Are your intrusive thoughts winning over?” Andrew raised an eyebrow, putting the keys into the ignition.

        “Okay, look. You’re stuck with me; and I’m stuck with you. We have too much blackmail on each other—both ends. So we might as well stick together to keep each other quiet.” (Y/N) explained. “It’s too dangerous for us to go back and stay. Not with all the murders recently. They’ll think it’s you since your home city is just a few cities over. And when they find evidence showing it’s me, it’s over for me too. You need me for money; I need you to keep quiet.” 

        “Yeah, sounds about right…” Andrew sighed. “So, an official truce now, right?” 

        “Seal the deal with a kiss?” she questioned, smiling.

        Andrew looked over at her, smirking. “Ah, but I thought you were still throwing a temper tantrum?”

        “I’m over it. You were reasonable.” (Y/N) hummed, smiling. “A few pecks could really help me, though.”

        Andrew smiled, placing his elbow on the glovebox and leaning on it, leaning in and quickly pecking her awaiting lips.

        “Hey!” (Y/N) frowned, unsatisfied with the rushed kiss. 

        “You said a peck." Andrew smirked.

        “You know damn well I didn’t mean that! A real kiss!” she huffed, grabbing him by the collar and kissing his lips more firmly, staying there for a few seconds before pulling away. 

        “Women. You give them what they want and they want more.” Andrew playfully sighed, grinning at her.

        “Ahaha. Get going and drive, chauffeur.” (Y/N) hummed.

        “Yes, ma’am.” Andrew teased, driving out of the driveway. “There’s some chips in the back if you want them. Have a real snack.” 

        “I’m gonna take a nap and sleep off the pills…” (Y/N) spoke. “When I wake up, I can take turns driving next.”

        “Sure.” Andrew smiled.

        As if. He thought, mentally scoffing. There’s no way he’s letting her drive, he’s a gentleman after all!

        “You just sit back and get some shuteye…” Andrew hummed, placing his hand on her thigh while driving.

        .

        .

        “All set?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “All set.” Andrew nodded, smiling. “Granola?” he offered, holding out a wrapped bar as he snacked on one himself.

        “Thanks.” (Y/N) smiled, taking the granola bar in her hands, watching as Andrew swiftly picked up her bags. “Hey! You did that to distract me.”

        “You’re just too slow is all.” Andrew smirked, carrying the luggage to the car.

        “Mm… right.” She smiled, shutting the door and locking it. 

        Andrew prepared the car while (Y/N) turned the apartment keys to the complex owner. She exited, finding Andrew waiting for her in the driver’s seat.

        “Hey, I should be driving. That’s my car.” (Y/N) frowned.

        “Not in 30 minutes. It’ll be someone else’s from Craigslist.” Andrew smiled. “Now hop in before we’re late to meet them.” 

        (Y/N) smiled, getting into the passenger seat. Andrew drove out to a public supermarket to meet the new owner of the car. (Y/N) negotiated with the customer and managed to snag a few thousands for the used car. 

        (Y/N) took a cab with Andrew to the train station, getting a first class booth so that they could have a closing door for privacy, that way nobody noticed their faces.

        “Hey, look. You’re on the news…” Andrew spoke, although not happy for the news as he pointed his phone (he got from Ren) to her.

        “It was only a matter of time for them to find Penelope’s body and the security footage. It must’ve produced a foul smell in that box and—hey! That photo is so unattractive!” (Y/N) exclaimed, cringing at her photo.

        A photo of her three years ago, the photo for her legal driver’s license. Her hair was messy and her eyes had sunken in with black eye bags under them, showing her malnutrition since at the time she was homeless in her car.

        “Yeah, not so pretty compared to you now…” Andrew hummed, holding up the photo to her to compare.

        "Stop that!” (Y/N) huffed, snatching his phone. 

        “I’m just saying!” Andrew chuckled, smiling before it dropped. “Hey, you sure about this?”

        “Don’t worry…” (Y/N) smiled. “Well come back, for Ashley and Hailey. I promised them flowers after all.”

        “You promised them flowers? Even Ashley?” Andrew questioned, surprised.

        “Of course I did.” (Y/N) frowned. “She might’ve been… a specimen, but she was still a human after all. I mean, I’m supposed to be saving lives as a nurse, whether they’re a kid or not.” 

        Andrew nodded, looking at the window and smiling, before changing the subject. “Where we going anyways?”

        “I dunno…” (Y/N) hummed, thinking. “Greenland?”

        “And freeze my ass off?” Andrew huffed. “No.”

        “Don’t you wanna see the northern lights. It’ll be so romantic!” (Y/N) cooed. 

        “Huddling together for warmth like penguins under solar rays?” Andrew smiled, grabbing her waist and pulling her into his side, resting his arm around her shoulder. “Maybe that can be a vacation one day. I don’t feel like starting a fire all the time.”

        “They still have heating there…” (Y/N) pouted.

        “No. No yearly winter.” Andrew spoke firmly.

        “Fine. Iceland?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “We can’t go out of states, dummy. We need passports.” Andrew groaned. “Meaning they’ll discover our identities and we’ll take a vacation to prison instead.” 

        “Let’s take a cruise then.” (Y/N) chirped. “I’m sure not all cruises or boats check passports! Let them leave without us and boom, we stay!” 

        “So persistent.” Andrew hummed. “Okay, maybe. But I don’t want to live in a damn city, I’ll tell you that. Find a town to live in.” 

        “A town where we can see the northern lights.” (Y/N) huffed.

        “Deal.” Andrew smiled. 

        “Seal the deal with a kiss?” (Y/N) questioned.

        Andrew smiled. He’s definitely come to enjoy their promise kisses.

        Andrew leaned in, kissing her soft lips for a few seconds, before pulling away.

        “Sealed.” He murmured.

        “Good.” She smiled, pecking his lips again for extra measures. 

        She rested her head on his chest, looking out the train window at the scenary.

        It doesn’t matter where she lives. She’ll find another  hospital to work at after completing her degree at one of the Treegrowth hospitals for a falsified certificate. It's not the best to becoming a good person, but it's something; however, as long as she has Andrew, she has a feeling things will turn out just fine.

A huge thank you to those who have been following this little book since day one, and a huge thank you to every new reader who just made it here. I truly couldn’t have done this without each and every one of you. All your comments and positivity and criticism helped me tweak my writing to just not mine, but yours.

If you want to read more Andrew Graves x reader stories of mine, congrats! I will be doing an Andrew Graves x Two-Faced! Serial Killer! Reader! I hope to see you there!

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

Inbox is OPEN for questions about the story and new plotlines/ideas, not for requests!

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, final chapter (current).

Want to listen to music while reading? Check out the Star Patient's Official Playlists! Multiple different playlists and genres!

[stellar-constellations]

Star Patient: Chapter 4 (FINISHED SERIES)

WARNING: This series will include; possible inaccurate medical procedures and medical setting, gore, toxic relationships that should NOT be replicated in real life, murder, yanderes, cursing, suicide mentions, implications of misandry (male misogyny), and possibly more.

Inaccurate canon-timeline (this is before Ashley and Andrew murdered their parents).

Reader has a small fear of adult men/rape and has a history of suicide attempts.

Incest is not Wincest.

Amnesiac! Obsessive! Patient! Andrew Graves x Yandere! Nurse! Reader:

Wordcount: 11,018 words

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, current chapter, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, chapter 8, final chapter.

Want to listen to music while reading? Check out the Star Patient's Official Playlists! Multiple different playlists and genres!

        "Andy."

        "Hey Andy, wake up..."

        "Andrew."

        "Andrew, wake up!" 

        Andrew shot awake, before letting out a hiss, clutching his head as it pounded terribly. He cradled his head, before turning his attention to his bedside, where Ashley stood. 

        "What are you doing here?" Andrew questioned, still holding his head. "You manage to worm your way in here that quickly after getting banned?" 

        "Hospital security sucks." She hummed. "That, or they just hire any idiot off the street."

        "Maybe you can get a job here." Andrew commented sarcastically, earning a half-hearted glare from his sister. "But you still didn't answer my question. Why are you here?" 

        "Well, how are you healing? Are we ready to get out of here?" Ashley questioned, sitting down on his bedside, the uneven distribution of weight on his bed causing his injured legs to shift, making him wince. 

        "I don't know..." he hissed between his teeth as pain shot through his legs and head. "I think it'd be best for me to stay here until I can walk again. We have no where to go when I heal up, and the nurse said I'd have to be bedridden for a few weeks to make sure my legs heal and get strong again." He spoke. "I bet there's probably going to have to be physical therapy too for my legs, so I can walk and crap." 

        "Ugh... healing broken bones takes too long. I feel like a kid watching their grandpa die." She groaned, physically deflating. 

        "What's the rush?" Andrew questioned. "We're out of our old city, and it's not like anyone's following us anymore." 

        Ashley had a look on her face, a flash of hesitancy appeared on her face, gaining Andrew's immediate interest. "I just... I had a dream last night, from the demon, and..." she paused, looking away as she thought what to say.

        "And...? And what?" Andrew questioned, prompting for her to go on.

        "Ah, never mind." She huffed, a little frustrated. "It's not something you can help with, being bedridden and all." 

        "Are you sure?" Andrew questioned, seeming concerned. "You can tell me—" 

        "Don't worry about it, Andy!" Ashley smiled, plastering on a fake smile. "It's nothing too big. So, how are the nurses and doctors treating you?" 

        "Good..." Andrew muttered. 

        He was concerned about Ashley's strange behavior, but he knew that if she didn't want to talk, she sure as hell won't. 

        "They're all fine... Some of the nurses and doctors here are pretty weird, but the one nurse that takes care of me seems pretty nice." Andrew explained. "but, she works in the pediatric branch so I don't see her much." Andrew quickly added, hoping that his lack of time and attention to the nurse would save him from another argument between the siblings.

        "A nurse? Is she pretty?" Ashley questioned, keeping up her innocent smile.

        Andrew knew this trap very well. He opted to look away from her eyes, staring out the window at the daylight outside.

        "No..." he lied. "I wouldn't say that."

        "Really? Even with her pretty (e/c) eyes and (h/c) hair?" Ashley questioned.

        When did Ashley meet (Y/N)? Ashley had never been in the hospital during the night, so there's no way she met her inside the hospital.

        "How did you know what she looked like? Did you meet (Y/N)?" Andrew questioned, curious as he turned his gaze back at Ashley.

        "I knew it..." Ashley muttered, a distasteful expression on her face. 

        "What?" Andrew questioned, confused.

        "Don't worry about it." Ashley spoke, standing up from the bed's end, the small movement causing Andrew's legs to hurt a bit. "I'm gonna go grab food. I didn't get any on the way here. I'll see you later, Andrew." Ashley smiled.

        Before Andrew could open his mouth, Ashley walked out of his room, exploring the hospital as she avoided the nurses and security guards who could recognize her. She was able to snatch a scalpel lying in one of the empty doctor offices while a nurse was cleaning the exam table, headphones in her ears as she blasted music. Quite unprofessional really, but it helped Ashley get a weapon that was actually useful rather than an empty handgun. 

        She shoved it in her pocket and waited around the hospital for hours, changing her hiding spot every now and then. She made sure to stay in the pediatric branch, the branch Andrew said that pretty little nurse worked in. In one of her hiding spots, two little boys were rummaging around before they discovered her.

        The two had been looking around for their parents after escaping their hospital rooms, Ashley figured due to them calling out “Mom! Dad!” in the hallways. They got to her hiding spot and opened the white curtain she was hiding behind, looking to see if their parents were behind there (kid logic, it makes no sense).

        Before the two could scream, Ashley quickly covered their mouths with her hands.

        “Don’t be brats now, stay quiet.” She hissed.

        They looked at each other, then her, before nodding. Ashley looked hesitant to let them go, but she didn’t want to be discovered, so she moved her hands from their mouths, wiping her hands on her shirt.

        “Are you a ghost?” one of the kids whispered.

        “No.” She answered, her expression a mix between boredom and displeasure.

        “Are you a nurse?” the other questioned. 

        “No.” Ashley scoffed, her tone almost sounding offended that they had the audacity to say that. “Like I’d work with kids."

        “So, who are you? What are you doing here?” one of the blond boys questioned.

        “I’m playing hide and seek with one of my friends.” She lied. “Leave, you’re gonna give away my hiding spot.” She huffed, grabbing the curtain and closing it to shield her from view.

        Before the kids could ask to play too (having already forgotten their parents), they heard footsteps, followed by a voice.

        “What are you two doing?” a female questioned, her shadow being seen through the curtain. 

        Both of the boys jumped, letting out squeals as they turned to look at her. Ashley grabbed the scalpel she stole out of her pocket, holding it tightly in her hand. Whether it was the she was looking for or not, she’d kill her if she gets discovered.

        “N-nothing! Just… playing!” one of the boys spoke nervously.

        Good… Ashley thought, smirking. 

        “I’m Tom, that’s Jerry.” One introduced themselves.

        “Like the cartoon?” the nurse questioned.

        Funny. Ashley thought sarcastically, rolling her eyes at the joke.

        “Um… yes?” one of them spoke, hesitant in their answer.

        “Well, it sure matches you both, since you sneaked out of your rooms.” The nurse commented. “Who are you talking to?” she questioned.

        Ashley’s grip on the scalpel’s handle tightened, wiggling her shoulders to loosen up a bit in case the nurse got too curious, getting ready to kill her.

        “Come along now.” The nurse spoke.

        Ashley watched the two small shadows walk away from her hiding spot. The nurse stayed for a second, keeping her attention on the curtain, before she guided the two boys away from her. Ashley peeked her head out of the curtain, seeing a nurse with two little boys walking away. The nurse had (h/c) hair, but Ashley couldn’t see the color of her eyes.

        Damn. Ashley thought. I think that was just my target…

        She couldn’t be certain per se, but it was certainly the best description so far. 

        Well, it’s not the end of the world. In fact, it’s probably for the best. If she killed the girl in this hospital, not only could she get medical assistance from others in the hospital if something goes wrong, but it’d be a pain in the ass to hide the body somewhere here too (not to mention the security cameras). If someone died in the hospital, they’d check the security cameras and find Ashley, then Andrew would be in trouble too since Ashley walked in his room and he was left unharmed. 

        If she can’t kill her in the hospital, she’d just kill her at home. She can just hitch a ride in (Y/N)’s car, it’s really not that hard. Ashley can just follow the girl out of the hospital and either threaten her with the empty gun (not like the nurse would know) or she can just unlock her car depending on her car’s model.

        Ashley made sure to follow behind (Y/N) for the rest of the night. Luckily, she didn’t have to wait too long. After rushing out of the staff room, she ran to the elevators. Ashley took the chance to rush down the hallway and slide down the hospital staircase railing, reaching the elevator’s lobby. She followed (Y/N) out of the hospital lobby, following her to her car. 

        (Y/N) unlocked the car and hopped in the driver’s seat, Ashley timing opening and closing the door from her the back passenger side on her right. (Y/N) buckled her seatbelt, turning up the radio to a random jazz station this late at night and sitting in her car, thinking in silence.

        (Y/N) seemed to be muttering to herself, this combined with the radio on allowed Ashley to situate herself onto the car floor, away from (Y/N)’s vision. Maybe if (Y/N) wasn’t so upset, or maybe if she drove in silence without the auditory distraction, she would’ve noticed Ashley behind her; but she didn’t.

        Ashley decided not to kill (Y/N) at the moment. If (Y/N) died, they’d crash and Ashley could potentially die or be hospitalized; which would give her a one-way ticket to jail after they examine (Y/N)’s body and realized she didn’t die from the crash.

        (Y/N) kept muttering as she drove, seemingly annoyed. Ashley was a bit curious of what she was so upset about (Penelope’s potential crush for Andrew, she was upset about) but Ashley stayed quiet; it would be pretty stupid to say “hey, what are you muttering about?” when you snuck into your victim’s car to kill them. 

        The drive wasn’t too long, but to Ashley it felt like an entirety. When the car stopped, (Y/N) turned off the radio and stayed in the car for a few minutes, her hands gripping the steering wheel as she stared into space absentmindedly. She finally let out a sigh, then unlocked her car and hopped out. (Y/N) locked the car and walked to her apartment door on the first floor outside, opening the door and shutting it behind her. 

        Ashley undid the car door lock on the inside, popping up the lock button and carefully exiting the car (after a small heart attack from the inner lights of the car turning on once she opened the door). She made sure there were no people in the parking lot, then she shut the car door behind her and ran up to (Y/N)’s apartment. 

        Ashley walked up to the door, carefully trying the door handle to see if it was unlocked. It was.

        This is almost pathetic how easy it is…

        Either the work day tired her out, or she really has no common sense or street smarts.

        Ashley slinked into the apartment, the house pitch black. (Y/N) didn’t even bother trying to light up the house, now this was starting to get almost sad.

        Ashley crept carefully through the hallway, using her hands to guide her through the dark. Ashley made it to an opening that led into the living room, the only source of light being the window that showed the sun starting to rise.

        (Y/N) was on her back as she laid on her couch, staring up at the ceiling silently, no thoughts seeming to go through her mind.

        Okay, now this is depressing. Very depressing. Ashley almost felt a little sorry taking her life; or, what was left of it really, which wasn’t much it seemed.  

        Ashley carefully walked past the depressed nurse, finding her kitchen. Ashley decided she didn’t want the scalpel anymore and she traded it for a long kitchen knife instead, 8 inches long with a sharp, pointy blade. 

        She held the knife as she explored more of the house, finding (Y/N)’s room. The room was probably the most decorated of the house, with small plotted pants in the window (surprisingly alive, a comparison to their soon-to-be-dead owner). Her room wasn’t decorated much, having a dresser, a closet, a bookshelf of books, a bed, and a desk. Her walls were pretty plain, and she barely had anything on her dresser to hold other than a multimedia center on it.

        Even her bedding was a plain grey, but there were colorful soft plushies that covered the bed to brighten up the room.

        Ashley’s unsure if that’s childish or even more pathetic, needing plushies to replace humans? That’s just depressing.

        Ashley was starting to doubt if it was even worth killing this woman, her life is already pathetic enough as it is. Ashley even contemplated if someone would even miss her. For now, Ashley hid behind the bedroom door and waited for (Y/N) to walk in… whenever she decides to stop sulking on the couch.         .         .

        (Y/N) laid on her couch, staring at the ceiling pathetically. She couldn’t be bothered to think, or even recall her day. Days and week just all just seemed to blur into one now. If one of her patients told her this is how they felt in life, she’d be considered and talk with Doctor Ryan about scheduling an appointment with a therapist; but (Y/N) had been living like this since she was a child. It doesn’t affect her as much as it did when she was a child.

        Being alone doesn’t hurt anymore.

        I need to get up and shower… (Y/N) thought. 

        She turned on her side, staring at her reflection in her TV. She looked pathetic curled up on the couch like that. 

        She wanted to get up and get ready for deal, get rid of all the germs and hazardous matter that was stuck on her clothes and skin, but walking to the bathroom just seemed like a challenge. 

        She groaned, pausing a few seconds, before getting up from her couch and sluggishly walking to her room.

        I just need to shower, eat a meal, then sleep. I should be feeling better tomorrow. She thought, telling herself the same lie she’s told herself for years. 

        She walked down her hallway, a plain hallway. It was nothing but bare wall, just about as empty as she felt here alone. She had no paintings to put up (and deciding what she’d hang up would be too much of a struggle). She didn’t want to hang up any of her awards or accomplishments, they held no meaning if her parents couldn’t see the victory or praise her for it. She had no family pictures, and even if she did, she wouldn’t have felt pride about the woman that would stand in the frame—not herself or her mother.

        She let out a soft sigh, maybe she should get a pet? Sleeping in a bed covered with stuffed animals doesn't really make loneliness any better, just makes sleep more comfortable. Pets are great for depression too! But it'd be so bothersome trying to choose one, yet alone have time for it... maybe she could just get her a reptile, something that can live inside of a habitat and won't need much care; be independent and uncaring to touch, unlike her own needs.

        She opened her bedroom door, flicking on the light switch. She stepped inside, rummaging through her drawers for a comfortable set of pajamas. Ashley stood in the corner, watching (Y/N) from behind the open bedroom door, before she decided to take her chance. 

        She carefully crept behind (Y/N), a kitchen knife in hand, one she stole from (Y/N)'s kitchen since Andrew wasted all the bullets in her gun when he shot that hitman in the park. She was a little nervous, it’d be her first kill without Andrew or the help of her demon friend.

        As much as she’d like to give (Y/N)’s soul to the demon, this felt more like a personal kill. Surely the demon wouldn’t mind too much if Ashley gave them a dead body instead of a living person.

        Ashley raised her knife in the air, planning to hit (Y/N)’s neck. She’d rather make this quick, they’re in an apartment complex so there’s neighbors around; she’d rather not have anyone hear what’s going on.

        Before Ashley could plunge the knife down, (Y/N) turned around, her clothes in hand as she looked at Ashley. Her eyes widened, surprised, before it trailed to the silver blade in her hands.

        “…Hey?” Ashley smiled, feigning an amused smile to hide the nervousness she felt in committing this act alone for the first time.

        “Are you… trying to kill me with my own kitchen knife?” (Y/N) questioned, recognizing the blade almost immediately.

        She even looked a bit annoyed that Ashley had the audacity to kill her with her own knife, her own money and cooking utensil being used against her. That’s indeed a bit frustrating once you push away that fear, recognizing you’re about to die.

        “Uh, yeah?” Ashley confirmed. “Are you gonna fight, or is this gonna be—“ 

        (Y/N) quickly grabbed her bottle of perfume before Ashley could finish her sentence, spraying Ashley in the eyes. 

        Yeah, not easy, it seemed.

        “Fuck!” Ashley hissed, squeezing her eyes shut as she swung her knife rapidly in the air. 

        (Y/N) was trapped between Ashley and the dresser, trying to avoid the knife before it slashed her forearm. (Y/N) took the chance, using her dresser for leverage as she placed her foot on the dresser for a boost, smashing her shoulder into Ashley’s chest, pushing her away. 

        Ashley stumbled on the ground, the knife laying next to her as her eyes stung from the potent citrusy perfume. (Y/N) rushed past Ashley, but Ashley heard her steps and reached out. With luck, she successfully grabbed (Y/N)’s leg and tripped her, resorting in her falling right next to Ashley. 

        “Fucking bitch.” Ashley hissed venomously, feeling for her knife through her blurred vision.

        She felt the cold blade, reaching a bit lower and grabbing the handle, keeping a strong hold of it. She kept ahold of (Y/N)’s leg as she stabbed her calf, hitting bone. 

        A terrible sharp and tingling sensation shot through (Y/N)’s leg, seeing white for a second as the pain caught up. (Y/N) let out a gasp, verging on a scream, before Ashley raised the knife once more, plunging it in a spot near the  first wound.

        (Y/N) reached back and kicked Ashley in the face a few times, resulting in Ashley letting go of (Y/N)’s foot. Ashley groaned, standing up from the ground as (Y/N) clutched her leg, knowing it wouldn’t be wise to try and stand up in case of any tearing or excessive bleeding. It’s not like she could run far now.

        Ashley stood over her, tears in her eyes as she did her best to see through them and fight the stinging. They both glared at each other, needing no words to show their distaste in one another.

        “I wouldn’t have to do this if you would’ve just stayed away from Andrew.” Ashley spoke, glaring down at her.

        “Not my fault he prefers me. Maybe if you weren’t so obsessive and insecure he could somewhat tolerate your sorry ass.” (Y/N) retorted, a pained smile on her face to piss Ashley off.

        “You’re one to talk.” She chuckled. “Must be real nice to come home alone, pathetically lounging around lazily.”

        “I’m lazy because of hard work. What do you do for a living other than blowing heads and giving it?” (Y/N) chuckled at her vulgar comment (one with lack of evidence, but it wasn't supposed to be a fact), a smile on her face as she observed Ashley. “Doesn’t take much to use that mouth of yours, considering how big it is from all that big shit you talk.” 

        If Ashley wasn’t mad now, she was absolutely livid now at (Y/N)’s insult. She bent down and grabbed a fistful of (Y/N)’s hair, grabbing a fistful of it as she dragged (Y/N) up. (Y/N) stood on her one leg, keeping any weight off her injured one as Ashley glared at her.

        “I can’t wait to kill you. I’ll even bring your head to Andrew so he could see how pathetic you look with your eyes rolled back and tongue hanging out. Hell, I think I’ll cut that tongue out after I’m done with you, that way you can’t bother the devil with it.” She hissed. 

        “You gonna eat it after? Have your own tongue-action with me since you’re so jealous?” (Y/N) chuckled. “Or would you rather that with your own brother? That’s pretty disgusting, if you ask me. Mommy and daddy didn’t give you enough attention so you had to resort to your own brother.”

        Yes, because (Y/N) definitely had a healthy relationship with her parents to say that...

        “I would never eat you. You’re too salty, and that’s not just your attitude too.” Ashley smirked. “After I cut your tongue out and take your head to Andrew, I’ll give your soul to that demon for some vision, then I’ll dump your body in some alley for some homeless man to use.” 

        “Demon?” (Y/N) questioned. “Of course you’d have connections with demons.” 

        “What can I say?” Ashley smiled as a stabbing sensation hit (Y/N)’s stomach. “I get around.”

        “Yeah…” (Y/N) groaned, a pained chuckle escaping her. “I can tell…” 

        Ashley took the knife out of (Y/N’s stomach, going to plunging again, but (Y/N) quickly used her nails and smashed them into Ashley’s eyes, kneeing Ashley with her injured leg since she couldn’t use her healthy once because she’d just fall once applying pressure to her injured leg.

        Ashley let out a short scream at the feeling. Ashley tumbled backwards as (Y/N) followed, using her weight to hold Ashley down as Ashley thrashed about. Ashley tried to stab (Y/N) again, but (Y/N) grabbed her wrists, the two of them struggling for the knife.

        “Let go!” Ashley shouted, one of her eyes covered by (Y/N)’s sharp thumb.

        “You first!” (Y/N) retorted, knowing very well the both of them wouldn't give up as she moved her other hand to the knife, now having both of her hands to try and fight for the knife. (Y/N) ignored the stinging in her forearm from earlier’s slashing.

        (Y/N) was able to grab the knife from Ashley’s hands after a bit of a struggle and a few small cuts on the finger. She held onto the blade tightly as Ashley tried to keep (Y/N)’s wrist steady. It was proven fruitless as the first stab hit Ashley’s chest, hitting bone. Ashley let out a choked sob, pain pooling out of her mouth and chest.

        (Y/N) scoffed, a bit annoyed at Ashley's struggle. If Ashley would just keep still, it wouldn’t hurt as bad. She was willing to make it quick, but Ashley’s squirming and thrashing around was only making her miss.

        “Stop moving.” (Y/N) hissed, using her injured hand to hold Ashley still by her neck.

        (Y/N) struck the knife down again, stabbing Ashley’s sternum. And again, she stabbed her chest, over and over as Ashley let out pained groans and small whimpers, doing her best to claw (Y/N)’s hands. Her hands weakened, her protests and strangled breaths shortening as her pulse weakened under (Y/N)’s hold while (Y/N)’s pulse and breaths only quickened, as if Ashley was giving her own life to her.

        She kept stabbing...

        She kept stabbing...

        She kept stabbing.

        It was like she couldn’t control her hand, like she had no thought other than the echo in her ears.

        Stab…

        Stab…

        Stab.

        She didn’t stop until her hand was soaked, too wet to hold the knife right. She realized she had been stabbing all the way down to the hilt, eight inches that was repeatedly stabbing into Ashley’s chest.

        (Y/N) paused, staring down at Ashley’s face, both faces void of emotion and thought. 

        I did that. She realized.

        A sick turning sensation lurked in her stomach, making her realize she was stabbed in an vital point. She dropped her knife, groaning as she hissed. She got up off Ashley’s dead body, crawling her way to her bathroom, making sure not to get any blood on her carpet. It would've been better for her if Ashley just kept the knife in her stomach, keeping the wound plugged in, but unfortunately Lady Luck seems to avoid (Y/N) any chance she can. 

        She opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a med-kit. Well, that’s one thing useful about being a nurse, you’re always prepared at home.

        She opened the kit, but paused. She couldn’t just open up her stomach and stitch up the insides, but if she goes to the hospital like this she’d definitely get questioned. (Y/N) groaned, mulling over what she should do. 

        She didn’t mean to kill Ashley. Well, she did in self-defense, but she didn’t mean to do it so cruelly. It was almost like second-nature to harm her.

        But she deserved it, didn’t she? She hurt Andrew, (Y/N) remembers that. Ashley made him jump, she’s the one that broke his legs and gave him internal bleeding in his head. (Y/N) made not know much about Ashley, but she knows how manipulative she is. She remembered hearing Ashley screaming at Andrew the first day she met Andrew. She remembered Ashley accusing Andrew of all the crimes he did; of course, he committed them, but she helped too, so she was still at fault. 

        The Graves siblings, even their name is fitting. Two siblings who put others in their graves, and now one is in their own. 

        (Y/N) couldn’t go to the police, not with this. It was self-defense, maybe with the intent of third-degree murder, a spur of the moment, nevertheless it was to protect herself even if she did get a bit carried away. She surely can’t just blame it all on stress or childhood neglect, she’d be a hypocrite.

        She always refused to let her past get in the way of her future. The love she didn’t receive from her parents, she gave to herself. The support she never received from her parents, she gave to herself. She earned all her awards, her scholarships, her jobs, her money all on her own without any support, encouragement, or financial aid from her parents.

        Her mother didn’t believe she could be a nurse. Her mother never really had any faith in her, but her mother never did stick around her long enough to bother learning who were daughter was.

        “You’re far too apathetic and antisocial for that sort of thing, they'd be scared of you.” Her mother would say. “All you care about is yourself. You’d be fired within the first week for neglecting the kids..”

        Ironic coming from her.

        Her father didn’t want her to be a nurse either, not for pediatrics or adults. 

        “It’s just not a good idea. You’re too sensitive for such things. You couldn’t survive watching kids die everyday, that’s such a depressing job.” Her father would say. “You shouldn’t be a nurse in general. Adult men take advantage of caring nurses, it doesn’t help that you’re so... weak? You're just too innocent and pretty for that kind of work! It’s best you find something else. Do something that makes you happy!” 

        Yeah, she totally refuse to let her past get in her way... Her apartment was as void of color as her. She slept with plushies to cope with her loneliness. On bad days, she has no friends to call or parents who'd listen to her vent, so the stuffed animals listen to her instead. She doesn't ever have energy to eat or shower or clean, the only reason she does all those things is to keep herself somewhat healthy so she wouldn't draw any attention from others. She wouldn't want to be a bother to them over some measly emotions. She's dealt with depression practically her whole life, why suddenly indulge in change if it might worsen her condition. 

        She doesn't want to be happy, that would involve having to put energy into changing herself and her lifestyle, and all she wants to do is spend her energy hopping into bed and sleeping. She wasn't one to care for herself, she liked making other people happy. 

        Kids made her happy. Medicine made her happy. She loved working with kids, caring and nurturing for them like they were her own. She liked being the reason a kid could walk again, or talk, or play, or smile. She liked helping children, giving them the help they needed. She liked being able to change their lives, catch those early signs and prevent them from becoming herself; someone absolutely miserable, depressed, and hating herself. Hell, the only reason she hasn't killed herself was because she doesn't want to be a bother to other people. 

        She liked medicine. She liked studying medical advancements, all the new machines and inventions and vaccines and diseases and all! She liked learning about it all; medical procedures, illnesses and disorders, psychology facts, disorders, injuries, hell sometimes medicine could even dive into philosophy! 

        Medicine and kids made her happy because it was what she lacked as a child. She liked being a pediatric nurse, she liked giving kids the chance to receive help early on so they could be functional adults in life, so they couldn't end up like (Y/N); a mother who couldn't care about her, a misguided father, money being towards bills and education, no relationships or genuine connections or friendships with people, and no joy in life other than sleeping her days away. As a nurse, she could catch onto early symptoms for kids and be able to address the issues before it worsen; whether it'd be physical or mental health, that's why she's studying to be a pediatrician now. 

        But she can't be a pediatrician if she goes to jail. This act of self-defense was far too cruel and grotesque, the judges wouldn't believe that it was for self-defense, far too homicidal and beast-like with how she basically just slashed Ashley's ribcage open. No, she wouldn't win that court case at all. She'd lose her job, and she'd probably never be able to work in medical field ever! She needed to do something.

        She put the med-kit back into her cabinet, instead she took off her shoe and grabbed her sock, plugging up her wound with it. Yes, it was very gross and she felt like gagging at this, but it was to insure she wouldn't bleed out. She had been stabbed in her stomach with an 8-inch knife, so no doubt there would be internal damage she couldn't patch up on her own. She used her other sock to plug in the hole on her right calf, plugging the wound up until it was stuffed despite the pain she felt digging her fingers into the wound. She put back on her shoes without her socks and stood up from the ground

        She quickly got to work, grabbing two large black blankets. She wrapped up Ashley's body in both blankets, ensuring the blood wouldn't drip everywhere, and she dragged the body to her car. She put the body and knife in her trunk and limped back into her house, quickly mopping up the mess using hydrogen peroxide on her floors to completely get rid of all the blood. She put her phone on her charger at home, leaving it so the police couldn't track her location on her phone in case anything happens. She got in her car and drove, going further and further out of the city until a good distance away, going to the woods. She got the dead body and knife out of her car, dragging it a good ways into the dark woods before dropping it. 

        She couldn't leave the body in her apartment, and she couldn't just drop it off somewhere in the city when her DNA was under Ashley's fingernails when Ashley scratched her. She left the knife here too, she didn't want to keep a knife she almost got murdered with, and she didn't want to keep it as a trophy for her crimes either. Here in these woods, this is where the police will least likely find her and the murder weapon, at least for tonight. Tomorrow, (Y/N) will return and dig a grave for her, or maybe she'll luck out a wild animal will feast on her. Even then, nobody will probably miss her other than Andrew.

        Jesus, what is she gonna tell Andrew? She can't just say she killed his sister! Even if he's a runaway criminal, she's one too now! He's probably not against murdering her, even if he doesn't like her better than the other nurses. I mean, she killed his sister, so it's only natural for him to kill her?

        But, his sister was just a runaway, she was a criminal! Maybe there's no police looking for them, but still! (Y/N) was a nurse, she's saved plenty of lives, surely taking one can't be that bad? Especially if she took a wrongdoer's life? 

        Before she could turn around and walk out of the woods, she stopped, pausing. She had this nagging feeling to check Ashley’s pockets. It was like a gut instinct (or perhaps literally being gutted earlier) that told her to check. She got on the ground, undoing the blankets and checking Ashley’s pockets to sate this desire. She first found a gun in her waistband. (Y/N) took the gun, popping out the magazine to check how many rounds there were.

        None, empty. Either Ashley found this gun with no bullets, or she already used them.

        (Y/N) did some more digging and found a scalpel, a hospital scalpel from her work she could only assume. Perhaps Ashley was planning to kill (Y/N) with the small blade, before deciding to steal her kitchen knife instead. The bigger the better, right?

        Finally, she looked in Ashley's pockets once more and found something in one of her pockets. Some black and red occult looking charm.

        She remembered Ashley mentioning how she’d give a demon (Y/N)’s soul in exchange for a vision. Is this their charm that keeps them in contact, or in a contract together? Whatever it was, (Y/N) felt like she should keep it in case it was indeed something to a demon; she didn’t want it going into the wrong hands (as if she could talk). (Y/N) shoved the charm into her pocket, keeping the gun and scalpel now that it had her fingerprints, before turning around.

        Did you see this coming, Ashley? (Y/N) thought, resisting the urge to let a smug smirk form on her face. 

        She limped back out of the woods, hopping into her car and hiding the two weapons under her car seat away from view. She turned the engine on, speeding to the hospital and going ten above the speed limit. It wasn't good for her to be out for so long. She could live with her leg being injured so long as she didn't bleed out, but her stomach could definitely develop to internal bleeding, if not already due to how big that knife was. On her way there, she tried thinking of an alibi. This is a knife wound, so it's mandatory for the hospital staff to report this incident to the police. The police are going to ask her questions about what happened and such. (Y/N) doesn't want to come clean, if she does, her whole life would be ruined! She'd lose the only thing she has in her life that she genuinely cares about; her job. If she loses her job and education, she'd be completely lost in this world with absolutely no passions or interests, she might just develop an interest for putting herself in a grave instead and take her life. 

        She thought about her alibi, before cooking up a shitty one. It's the only one she has for a time like this. She can just say that she was driving to the small local store near her apartment complex after work (thus explaining her hospital scrubs), and when she walked out, she was harassed by a man so she fought him and escaped, then drove to the hospital to get medical assistance. She could say she didn't recognize the man, and that he wore a mask so she couldn't see what he looked like. The store she was thinking about just had their cameras stolen a week ago and they have't bother replacing them yet, so there would be no camera footage to confirm or deny this accusation. Her apartment complex is on a bad side of town too (the rent was cheap there), and their camera footage must not be any higher than a quality of a Nokia, so it most likely didn't catch Ashley sneaking into her apartment, or (Y/N) dragging something out out her apartment. Maybe she can pull this off!

        Sure, it's a bad excuse, but what else does she have? This is the best she can come up with on short notice, especially with no witnesses (which is good), along with no camera footage to protect or challenge her word. They'd just have to believe her because what else can they do? She's obviously injured! People in big cities get stabbed all the time and sometimes the assaulters get away with it, maybe she can do this too! 

        (Y/N) got to the hospital entrance and quickly made sure to do a check in her car to make sure there was no DNA of Ashley's. She hopped out of the car and brushed off any dirt or hair or such on her, making sure her gun and scalpel were hidden under her car seat, before limping into the hospital lobby and getting inside of the ER waiting room. 

        The receptionist sat doing work on her computer before her eyes trailed to (Y/N). 

        “Are you okay?” they questioned as (Y/N) held onto her stomach, applying pressure to the sock.

        “I got stabbed in the stomach and my calf. I’ve been bleeding for quite a while, I reckon I’ll pass out soon.” She explained. 

        The nurse nodded and handed her the paperwork to complete. (Y/N) always thought paperwork in the ER was stupid, but it was to help identify the patient and their insurance and all that important information; even in the brink of death, you need to do work. Pathetic, really. It truly does show something about society, whether it's for your own good or not, even if your writing is alienated due to all of your blood on the paper or your blurred vision making it hard to concentrate. 

        (Y/N) sped through the packets of papers and agreements, doing her best to not bleed onto the paper or the hospital chairs (why are the chairs made of cloth instead of leather anyways? At least leather can be washed easier).

        (Y/N) gave the papers to the receptionist, who accepted it and gave it to one of the doctors at the back room. (Y/N) sat down and waited for a doctor to call her name. Her stomach and leg hurt badly, it hurt to breathe and to walk, and her wounds just kept throbbing, spilling more blood and soaking up her temporary sock-bandages. She’s definitely going to throw away these socks…

        The hospital’s bright LED lights hurt her eyes, giving her a headache. Or maybe the headache was from blood loss? Who knows really, it just hurt to sit here and wait.

        Luckily, she didn’t have to wait too long before a nurse called her name. They helped her stand up from the chair, leading her to their office in quick fashion. They placed her down on the operating table, asking if she could remember her name, age, where she was, who the president was, etc.

        “I’m (Y/N) (L/N), 22 years old. I got stabbed in my stomach by a knife, along with my right calf and a laceration on my right arm.” She informed the nurse as they put on medical gloves.

        A trauma surgeon came in with a tray of alcohol wipes, a medical needle and thread, a medical stapler, and syringe of anesthesia. (Y/N) resisted the urge to groan, she didn’t like needles, but she understood it would make the surgery much easier for her and them.

        (Y/N) rolled up her sleeves hesitantly, feeling self-conscious about the old scars on her wrists despite the more important matters at hand. The surgeon ignored her scars as he gave her the shot. 

        The surgeon pulled up her shirt to show her stomach as the nurse cut a hole on (Y/N)’s pants for her leg, making her remember the make-shift bandages she had.

        “I had to use what I had to stop the bleeding, so I used my socks.” She spoke for her lie. 

        She would’ve said more, but she decided it was best not to in case she accidentally messed up her alibi. She opted to stay quiet, waiting for the anesthesia to take effect so the doctor could begin the quick surgery. 

        .

        .

        When you wake up from surgery or an accident, you’d expect to see bright light, instead she only saw a dim light peeking through. She opened her eyes, waking up and looking around her.

        There was a curtain next to her, the white curtain had a slit and moonlight poured out, barely lighting the room. Her left arm was hooked to a IV, the needle sticking into the crevice of her elbow. The needle was slowing flowing blood into her, causing her to shudder at the thought of a needle stuck inside her.

        Her eyes trailed down to her right arm, seeing her arm covered in bandages. She picked up her sheets, seeing her leg was covered in bandages too. She moved her hospital gown up, seeing her stomach was covered with a medical patch and medical tape to hold it in place.

        This is probably going to take some time to heal. (Y/N) thought, resisting the urge to groan. 

        How fun, she’s going to spend weekend off here in the hospital. Either that, or she’ll stay home bedridden. 

        There was a soft knock on her door, before it opened, showing one of the doctors from the emergency department of the hospital. She had never met any of the doctors or nurses here, they’re always busy and on their feet running around. 

        “Ms. (L/N)?” he questioned, smiling.

        “That’s me.” She nodded. “Hello, sir.” 

        “Hey! Have you just woken up?” he questioned, a clipboard and pen in his hand as he walked over to her bedside, standing over her.

        “Yes.” She confirmed. 

        “Okay.” He commented, then cleared his throat. “So, you’ve been asleep for 18 hours. Usually anesthesia wears off in a few hours and you would wake up from some pain, but you stayed asleep for quite some time.” He spoke, flipping a page threw his papers clamped on his clipboard. “However, you could’ve been exhausted given you hadn’t slept because you were working earlier. Your medical history could’ve also helped contribute to that—hypersomnia and all.”

        Yes, the condition she’s almost positive her mother gave her. Being locked in that small room as a toddler really did affect her sleep patterns and routine. There wasn’t much to do in that dark room other than cry, watch old cartoon re-runs a thousand times, and sleep—she chose the latter. 

        “Yeah, sorry.” She muttered, not sorry at all but still feeling the need to apologize.

        “No worries. So, we did report your case to local authorities since it was a stabbing; you should know, hospital procedure and all.” The doctor spoke as (Y/N) nodding, knowing very well the protocol. “Great. So, there’s actually some officers here to question you about the incident. Are you fine with that?” 

        She nodded, ignoring her nerves that went haywire at the thought of talking to the police. So soon after her crime too! 

        “Okay, so before they come in. Let me explain to you really quick what’s going on.” He spoke, clearing his throat. “So you’re going to stay overnight, well more so over day since it’s 3 A.M. but we’ll look after you. So we stapled up your small intestine, and we stapled the skin of your stomach so that it wouldn’t rip or come undone in a large area like stitches would, along with your right calf. Your right arm has stitches due to how tight the skin is along with how deep the wound was. After two week, you can come back and we’ll remove the staples off your stomach and the sutures. For the next two weeks, you need to eat soft foods and liquids such as soups, breads, puddings, all that."

        “That sounds fine.” She nodded. 

        “Sweet. So, before they come in, is there anything you want or need? Like, do you need to use the bathroom? Or are you hungry or thirsty?” he questioned.

        “No, I’m fine.” she politely denied. 

        She’d rather not drink or eat anything, she felt like throwing up at the moment. She really didn’t feel like getting up and walking to the bathroom with an injured foot at the moment.

        “Okay. I’ll let the officers in.” The doctor nodded, writing a few notes on his clipboard before heading towards the door.

        He opened the door and used his hand to call the officers over. He left the door open as the officer walked in, a female and a male, who walked to (Y/N)’s bedside holding a notepad.

        “Hello, Ms. (L/N), right?” the female smiled. “I’m Officer Jenny and this is my partner, Officer Dixon. We have a few questions for you.” 

        “Nice to meet you.” (Y/N) spoke, flashing the officers a polite smile.

        “So, you’ve been admitted into the hospital for a stabbing, correct?” Officer Jenny questioned.

        “That’s correct, ma’am.” (Y/N) nodded.

        “When and where did you get stabbed?” Officer Jenny questioned.

        “Well, I got stabbed in my stomach by a knife. When I fought them off, they slashed my right arm and they stabbed my right calf.” (Y/N) explained, mentally going over her words carefully as Officer Dixon wrote the information in his notepad.

        “And when did this take place?” Officer Jenny questioned. 

        “Well, it was last night when I got off my shift. I work here at this hospital actually in the pediatric branch.” She added. 

        She was about to go on about her grocery store alibi, but paused. The timeframe won’t match. She took forever to get to the hospital after the stabbing so that she could clean her apartment, dispose of Ashley’s body, and finally get to the hospital. She can’t use the grocery store alibi since not only would be make no sense for her to get stabbed someplace where the cameras are coincidentally shut down, but none of the store employees would mention seeing her when they get questioned by the police, and it wouldn’t help that she decided to drive to the hospital bleeding instead of telling the store to call 911 or herself calling 911. 

        Her alibi is unreliable now, so she needs to quickly act now and change it while acting normal and resist hesitating. The officers’ body-cams would catch their interaction and it would be evaluated by licensed psychiatrists, looking out for any holes in the story, for how her words flow, her vocal patterns, her body language. The alibi is now a death trap.

        “After my shift, I drove back to my apartment and went on a walk in a park. Perhaps 7 P.M, so it was dark because of it being November and all.” She explained. “The park was Pacific North Satellite park.” She added, a park not too far from her apartment complex. 

        “I didn’t bother changing out of my work scrubs because I was just going to shower when I got back to my apartment, and I had left my phone on the charger at home. I was walking down the path listening to nature when I heard footsteps in front of me. Someone came up to me with their hands in their hoodie pocket, a black hoodie.” She explained, lying her way through the story. “They walked past me and quickly slashed my right arm… and… they grabbed my arm and stabbed me in the stomach with their knife… and then when I tried to get away… they knocked me down and stabbed my right calf.” She spoke, pausing her words every now and then to appear distressed as she faked reliving the moment. "I ran back to my apartment, plugged up the most severe wounds with my socks, and drove to the hospital since it wasn't too far and I didn't have my phone to call the police or ambulance. It was late at night, so there wasn't anyone around to ask for help, and I didn't want to be trapped in my apartment in case they decided to follow me...

        “Do you know who they were? Or did you catch what their face looked like?” Officer Jenny questioned as Office Dixon’s blurred, hastily writing down everything he heard.

        “No.” (Y/N) shook her head. “They had a black hoodie with their hood up. They had grey jeans too. They were perhaps around 5’6 tall…” she lied. “I’m unsure of their gender, but I think they were male.” 

        The most common description of a killer, or stereotypical when comparing to Ted Bundy or Jeffery Dahmer. With so little information, it’d be pretty hard to try and identify someone, especially someone who doesn’t exist (but of course, only [Y/N] knows that).

        “Do you think there could’ve been a specific motive or something you provoked?” Officer Jenny questioned, her question almost making (Y/N) scoff.

        Provoke? Provoke? How the hell could I have provoke them? (Y/N) thought, almost forgetting her alibi was still a lie.

        Sometimes she can even lie to herself with how scarily believable her lies are.

        But even if this mysterious murderer she made up didn't have a motive, did Ashley have one? It made her wonder, did Ashley really kill her because she was hated her being Andrew’s nurse? Even then, how the hell did she find out who she was, or even why? Ashley had never seen (Y/N) and Andrew together, at least not without her knowledge. 

        “No, ma’am. I’m unsure why, and I don’t believe I provoked them.” (Y/N) answered.

        “Is there any other information you’d like to tell us?” Officer Jenny questioned.

        “No.” (Y/N) answered.

        Short and sweet, it’s best to leave it all like this.

        “Well, if you ever remember anything or have any questions, make sure to call the department.” Officer Jenny spoke. “If we find any information or such, we’ll give you a call.” 

        “If we find who done it, do you want to press charges?” Officer Dixon questioned, causing (Y/N) to pause and think.

        “No. The process is too time-consuming, besides, I doubt they tried to kill me without a reason.” (Y/N) spoke. 

        Everything happens for a reason, after all. It’s logical to believe so.

        (Y/N) had never believed in fate or destiny, she had always believed everything happens for a reason. She hated the belief of something out of her reach trying to control her or her life. She’d rather choose what she wants to do, not something like fate. (Y/N) believes what she sees, so she doesn’t believe anything that isn’t backed up with facts or evidence. 

        Ashley tried killing (Y/N) for a reason, she said it herself. She'll take the dead woman's word on it since it came from her mouth.

        “I wouldn’t have to do this if you would’ve just stayed away from Andrew.” Her words rang in (Y/N)'s head.

        The audacity of some people, does Ashley truly believe she can control who Andrew sees? It’s not like there was anything wrong with Andrew and (Y/N)’s relationship, they were simply nurse and patient, nothing more and nothing less. Who does Ashley believe she is trying to control Andrew? She doesn’t have his heart, his brain, his body, his thoughts, his mouth, his eyes. He could do whatever he pleases and Ashley shouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

        Well, she can’t now. (Y/N) thought, holding back a chuckle. 

        "Are you sure, miss?” Officer Dixon questioned, surprised.

        “I’m sure. Maybe they had a bad day or something.” (Y/N) shrugged.

        “But you don’t just stab anyone on a bad day, this could be serious.” Officer Jenny spoke, her voice a little harsh compared to her gentle treatment earlier.

        Officer Jenny seems to not like having a killer run around, or have about zero clues.

        “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” (Y/N) sighed. "I'm very tired and I wish to rest.

        “The town next to us, they had a killing in a park too. The victim was a man, he was shot, multiple bullets in his chest.” Officer Jenny spoke quickly, hoping the information could bring some details out of the injured woman. “You happened to be a park too, perhaps this was the same guy! We need as much information as we can. Please miss (L/N), we’re relying on you.”

        “I’m sorry, but I truly don’t know. I don’t have anymore information to give to you.” (Y/N) sighed.

        Officer Jenny’s face hardened as Officer Dixon closed his notepad.

        “Very well. We’ll contact you in case we find any details.” Officer Dixon spoke, nodding his head down in respect and farewell, before telling Officer Jenny with his eyes that it was time to go.

        “Get well soon, miss…” Officer Jenny sighed, walking out of the room with her partner.

        Well, I forgot that part… (Y/N) thought, letting out a breath of relief.

        The park killer from the next door town, right, how could she forget? The victim was a man was found dead on the sidewalk, a clean knife nearby him, no fingerprints. The man had a hood, sunglasses, and gloves; a strange attire to walk around in at night, especially the sunglasses part. He died with six bullet wounds in his chest, the news said. The murder was actually a few days ago, maybe even a week ago. Nevertheless, (Y/N) could bet it was Ashley and Andrew. Ashley had that empty gun on her, which was now under (Y/N)’s car seat. 

        (Y/N) turned her head to the window once the police left. She reached over and opened up the curtains, looking up at the stars, or what she could see. Light pollution in the city is a major pain, you can’t even enjoy nature now thanks to humans.

        (Y/N) looked at the lights outside of the window, it’s the only thing semi-interesting to look at in a hospital bed. She didn’t want to turn on the TV, she knew it was all just re-runs of family-friendly movies like High School Musical or the local news. Unfortunately, hospitals don’t really have any good channels to watch.

        It’s only for one day. (Y/N) thought.

        She just had to deal with this for one day, then she could get back home and sleep. Despite always being so tired, she liked to work. The time she’d take to heal would feel like torture to her. Her depression made her feel a sense of worthlessness doing nothing, so being bedridden is just going to throw her in a depressive state. Usually she’d just get up and work overtime when she feels like this, but she really can’t if she’s injured. 

        Even though she has a reason to be lazing around in bed all day, she's not very happy about it. It's at times like these she wished she had some sort of entertainment in life, or at least friends, people she considered real friends. She had acquaintances growing up, but they just never really did it for her.

        The people she hung around with was only for school, she never bothered hanging out with them outside of school that way she could focus on her studies. Besides, they weren't important people to her, she only talked with them because they had conversed with her first, and it gave her something to pass time with at school. She always did have that closed-off demeanor, it surprised her whole family when she decided she wanted to be a pediatric nurse, and later a pediatrician. 

        (Y/N) stared at the window in deep thought, thinking.

        Maybe she could call her dad. The last time she called him was a month ago, to which she had to leave a voicemail... she never did receive a call back. And after that, she called on her birthday four months... to which she's still waiting for a call back. 

        Well, maybe he's just busy. He has a job and a life outside of his daughter, surely he'll call back eventually. She figured. 

        If she had her phone on her, she'd call and leave another voicemail for him to let him know he's okay.

        Wait, what's the point in calling? She's fine, and she hadn't called him of her condition, so what's the point in calling and telling him that she's still alive? Even if he did answer, what will he say other than a "that's good. I'm glad you're okay. I have to get back to work now." 

        If there's no point calling her dad, then there's certainly no point in calling her mom, for obvious reasons.

        (Y/N) groaned, hitting her head back against the pillow, before letting out a pained whine. Her head pounded terribly, followed by a slight ringing in her ears and a second of her vision blurring. Her right arm shot up to help soothe her head, before she let out a hiss, the movement of her arm causing a sharp pain to shoot up it. 

        "This sucks..." she complained, a pout making way onto her lips. 

        Before she could wallow in her sorrows any further, the door opened, gaining her attention. She turned her head, seeing a familiar man in a wheelchair.

        "Andrew?" she questioned, surprised. 

        "Hey." He greeted, flashing a smile at her.

        (Y/N) internally cringed at the sight of him, not that he was bad-looking or anything, but she wasn't expecting to see him so soon after what she's done. 

        "What are you doing here in the emergency department?" (Y/N) questioned, not bothering if the question sound a bit rude or not; she'll just blame it on the headache if he asks.         

        "I heard from the nurses that you got injured." Andrew explained, rolling his wheelchair up to her bedside.

        "A nurse told you I was here?" (Y/N) questioned, confused.

        Well, that's against hospital policy, giving away patient information like that to just anyone. It made her curious who from the nightshift had the audacity to tell him.

        "Who told you?" (Y/N) questioned.

        "Eh, I don't know. That nurse I had before you." He shrugged his shoulders carelessly, not bothering to remember the name. "It was something something. Started with a P. Maybe it was Pen, or Penny? Or was it Nancy? It doesn't really matter."

        "Penelope?" (Y/N) smiled, almost giggling at his poor attempt to remember the nurse's name. 

        Right, makes sense. Penelope was Andrew's nurse before (Y/N), and Penelope seems to see (Y/N) as a friend, so she probably questioned Doctor Ryan where (Y/N) was. Doctor Ryan must've been informed as soon as he entered the office, considering he wasn't going to be able to teach (Y/N) for a few nights until she got better.

        However, she felt a little happy that he couldn't remember Penelope's name (especially after [Y/N]'s little jealous episode from earlier at the thought of Penelope and Andrew being together. Obviously because she just enjoyed having Andrew as a patient, nothing more).

        "Yeah, maybe that was her name?" he hummed, not bothering to think back if it was actually that nurse or not. 

        Yes, it was Penelope, he might not bother to remember her name, but he remembers her face from earlier when he and (Y/N) had gone to the staff room and Penelope was acting strange. He also remembered how tight and uncomfortable she had done his bandages on his broken ankles, much different compared to (Y/N)'s soft hands and nurturing personality. 

        "She shouldn't be giving away information like that." (Y/N) sighed, chuckling softly. "But thank you for coming."

        It was a little heartwarming to know at least someone cared about her. Even if her parents did, at least her co-worker and close acquaintances did, even reserved patients such as Andrew were worried about her!

        "So, what brought you over here? Did you have a question, or perhaps you need your bandages changed?" (Y/N) questioned, observing his body up and down to see if there was anything out of the ordinary or if he needed any assistance. 

        "No... I just... wanted to see for myself, I guess..." he muttered, looking away from her eyes as he resisted the urge to squirm under her gaze. "I heard you got hurt pretty bad, so I got curious..."

        "You sure you didn't just miss me?" she teased, trying to brightened up or at least lightened the mood into a more comfortable atmosphere. 

        "Don't get ahead of yourself." He chuckled, her words succeeding in her goal as they both smiled at each other.

        His smile softened, his eyes glazing over, seeming to be lost in thought. He seemed unsure of himself, before he just sighed. 

        "So... what happened?" he questioned. "If you don't mind me asking."

        Her own smile faltered, doing her best to remain neutral and not puke her guts out as visions of stabbing Ashley's lifeless body took over her mind, hearing each explicit and disturbing wet splash as her hands slowly started to coat with blood from how violently she was pushing her knife into Ashley's chest, down to the hilt. 

        "I got attacked..." she spoke vaguely, clearing her throat awkwardly as she kept her eyes on him to see if he would believe her. 

        "Do you know by who?" Andrew questioned.

        "No." She spoke quickly, internally cringing at how defensive her tone sounded.

        Andrew's gaze hardened, his intuition not believing her. Of course he wouldn't believe her, living with Ashley basically his whole life had practically made him become a human lie detector. Before he could speak about the matter, she spoke up. 

        "Can you check on Hailey for me please? She was a bit down earlier today, surely you can cheer her up for me? Just don't mention my current condition to her, please." (Y/N) requested, sounding more of a pathetic demand and excuse to get him to leave her alone. 

        Andrew looked hesitant to leave her, before he sighed, nodding his head. "Yeah, sure..." he grumbled. 

        "Thank you." She hummed, giving him a false smile.

        They had a moment to themselves, silently staring at each other, before Andrew turned his wheelchair around and rolled out of the room, closing the door behind him. (Y/N) let out a sigh of relief once she was alone, glad to have avoided the tough subject.

        Maybe she'll tell him one day, once she gets to know him better and can be certain he wouldn't kill her for it.

        She ignored the pain as she squirmed into a comfortable position to sleep in. She needed the rest, and sleep is the body's natural way of healing after her. Her eyes trailed to the curtains, watching the cars on the road zoom past the hospitals and watching as some lights started to shut off, night owls getting ready for bed too just like her. 

        She'll call her parents as soon as she gets out of the hospital, even if they've probably not heard the news or care about it, she still wants some sort of closure from her parents. Maybe they'll even take pity on her and stay on the phone for a bit, ask how she's doing, or what she's doing now. 

        Sounds like a plan. (Y/N) thought, closing her eyes as she ignored her body's pain, waiting for sleep to overtake her. 

I know there hasn't been much of any Andrew and reader moments, but chapter 5 will have plenty, these past chapters have just been plot and character-development and such!

My next series will be a Yandere! Hitoshi Shinso x Yandere! Fem! Reader, so keep watch for that!

To the Ashley fans, I'm sorry for what I've done.

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

Inbox is OPEN for questions about the story and new plotlines/ideas, not for request!

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, current chapter, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, chapter 8, final chapter.

Want to listen to music while reading? Check out the Star Patient's Official Playlists! Multiple different playlists and genres!

[stellar-constellations]

Star Patient: Chapter 5 (FINISHED SERIES)

WARNING: This series will include; possible inaccurate medical procedures and medical setting, gore, toxic relationships that should NOT be replicated in real life, murder, yanderes, cursing, suicide mentions, implications of misandry (male misogyny), and possibly more.

Inaccurate canon-timeline (this is before Ashley and Andrew murdered their parents).

Reader has a small fear of adult men/rape and has a history of suicide attempts.

Incest is not Wincest.

Amnesiac! Obsessive! Patient! Andrew Graves x Yandere! Nurse! Reader:

Wordcount: 12,000+ words

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, chapter 4, current chapter, chapter 6, Chapter 7, chapter 8, final chapter.

Want to listen to music while reading? Check out the Star Patient's Official Playlists! Multiple different playlists and genres!

        Andrew glided through the hospital corridors, taking the elevator to the pediatric branch. He really couldn’t care less about the kid, Hailey, but for some reason his favorite nurse just loved the little nuisance. 

        He felt a bit jealous. Does she like Hailey more than him? 

        Obviously, she does, considering how she had talked about the girl when they first met. He felt pretty annoyed. Did she spend more of her time and attention on the ill girl? Did she get to innocently hug her like that? If Andrew wasn’t so prideful, he’d definitely ask her for a hug.

        Hell, he was really fighting with himself to ask now. Just a small quick hug, nothing bad! He wondered if he could genuinely pull that off. He wondered how she must feel inside his arms. Would she rest her head against his chest, or would she rather prefer resting it on his shoulder? Is she one of those people who cling onto you like their life depends on it, or was she someone who preferred soft and polite hugs? Would she be a long and affectionate hugger, or simple and sweet? 

        He put that thought in the back of his mind for now, rolling down the hallways to Hailey’s room. He didn’t bother to open the door, much like he did with (Y/N)’s room earlier, as he strolled in without a care.

        Hailey laid in her bed, her eyes glued to some book (Y/N) got her, before she glanced at him. Her eyes raised, surprised to see the pale man again.

        “Andrew, was it?” she questioned, her voice sounding better from yesterday. “What are you doing here?”

        “(Y/N) told me to check on you.” He stated bluntly.

        “(Y/N)? Is she here?” Hailey questioned, a smile growing on her face. “I haven’t seen her tonight! I thought she was off work?”

        Andrew was about to open his mouth and say (Y/N) was, before remembering how the nurse didn’t want the girl to know about her condition. 

        “Uh, no…” he muttered, looking away. “She… wanted me to get into books to distract myself… so she told me to go to you for any books.” He lied.

        “So you do have an interest in books after all.” Hailey smiled. “You must have an interest in nurse (Y/N) too, huh?” Hailey smirked teasingly.

        “…What are you getting at?” Andrew questioned, resisting the urge to glare at the sick girl.

        How the hell did this kid know? Andrew questioned to him.

        “It’s very obvious.” She smiled. “See, if I had a past life, I’m sure I was like a cupid!”

        “Uh, yeah. Sure, kid.” He spoke, brushing off the comment as he decided not to entertain nor deny the idea.

        “I’m very serious.” Hailey re-enforced. “I can see it in your eyes! You’re invested in her!”

        Who is this brat… Andrew thought, annoyed but intrigued (much to his dismay).

        “You know, I’ve known her ever since she came here. I know her type of men.” Hailey lied, a mischievous smirk growing on her face.

        “…You do?” Andrew muttered, now he was unashamedly interested. 

        “I could tell you…” she hummed, trailing off. “Or not.”

        Andrew looked hesitant, before letting out a sigh. He rolled his chair up to her bedside, glancing down at her lap where her open book rested.

        The book she got from (Y/N)…

        God, everything just seems to trace back to that woman, huh? No matter what, everything he sees and hears all traces back to her, even outside of the hospital people are attracted to her (even if the reasons could be malicious). It’s almost pathetic how hooked he is on her, despite not even knowing her for a week. It’s almost scary how everyone seems to be attracted to the girl, she just had an aura that everyone was aware of and drawn to. 

        He could look at something stupid like his shoes and remember her footsteps as she walked with him to the surgery room. He could remember her hands on his face, chest, wrist, looking all around and checking his condition, his bandages, his vitals. He could look at his bedsheets and remember her hands tucking him in for bed… and imagine things he’d rather not envision for a woman he just met.

        Yeah, back in the hatch those thoughts go.

        “Could you just tell me?” he huffed, trying to sound as uninterested as possible despite asking for this, rather impatiently at that.

        “Well? Do you like her?” Hailey questioned.

        Andrew took the moment to think to himself. Yeah, she was a pretty nice nurse, and she knew her stuff despite specializing in pediatrics; though he shouldn’t be surprised, children are basically just the same anatomy as adults, just smaller in size.

        She had a nice voice, and she somehow balanced between playful and professional, perhaps that’s practiced for pediatrics to make kids feel comfortable yet still hold authority. 

        She had a cute smile, and her eyes were pretty to look into. He liked looking at her while she worked, sometimes she’d even bite her lip or stick her tongue out to remind herself to concentrate. She looked like an angel laying on that white hospital bed. Even in pain, she still looked pretty. 

        He wondered how she was outside of the hospital. She was a human too, how did she act with her friends, or her family? How did she act alone? Was she single? Did she have a boyfriend, or did she prefer girls? Would she take interest in him? Could she see him as a potential partner?

        Fuck. Yeah, he definitely liked her.

        “Just a little…” he muttered, feeling a little embarrassed.

        This feels weird (and degrading, in a sense) to be relying on a sick kid for love advice. 

        “So you admit it?” she smiled.

        “Are you gonna tell me or not?” Andrew growled.

        By now, Hailey was no longer fearful or anxious of Andrew. Andrew was just a lovesick puppy hopelessly enamored with her favorite nurse, in her eyes at least. She learned that expression from her books.

        “No.” Hailey smiled, picking up her book.

        “Why?” Andrew questioned, feeling a little betrayed that she made him admit his feelings only to not hold onto their deal.

        “Because I lied.” Hailey smiled. “I don’t know her type.”

        “Brat…” Andrew muttered under his breath, unashamed to be talking smack in front of a dying kid.

        He could’ve said worse, but it’s quite mean to talk ill to a sick child, especially in front of them. Besides, (Y/N) wouldn’t like it if she found out.

        “So, books?” Hailey hummed, getting back to her reading. “This book I’m reading right now is pretty good. I can read it to you.” She suggested.

        “No…” he grumbled, still a little upset that he was tricked. 

        He’ll let her lying slide. Kids will be kids, let them have their fun. 

        “How about I read it to you instead?” Andrew suggested.

        He didn’t want her reading to him; he was the adult, not her. Besides, her voice sounds hoarse and struggling, he’d rather him read it to her than have the kid push herself—not because he’s soft or anything, but because (Y/N) would be upset. 

        Hailey seemed to ponder the idea, before handing over the book to him. 

        “Just don’t crease the pages.” Hailey spoke.

        “Got it.” Andrew hummed, looking at the page she was originally reading.

        He started at the beginning of the page, reading a bit wonky at first, before he started to get into the narration. The words started to flow more smoothly, and he even took pauses for dramatic effect at the intense moments that felt like they needed a pause to sink in.

        One chapter became two, and two became four. He was pretty interested in the story, makes sense considering it was his (Y/N) who got the story, of course she’d have immaculate taste too. 

        He read until his throat went dry, the tip of his tongue aching from all the pronunciations. He looked up from the book to see Hailey asleep.

        Did she get bored? Andrew thought, a little offended that she fell asleep at the book (Y/N) gave her instead of giving it to him, especially when he was kind enough to read it to her. 

        Maybe she just liked his voice? It’s perfect for listening to. His voice wasn’t quiet, but it wasn’t loud either, like a polite demand for attention or to respect his authority. It was deep, but not too deep, with a slight rasp from smoking. He was good at projecting his voice so others could listen to him—well, everyone except Ashley, really. 

        Thinking of Ashley, where is she? She was sure acting weird today. Something about the demon’s vision she saw in her dream. She also described (Y/N)’s appearance despite not even knowing the nurse; he couldn’t recall any moment they had interacted.

        Andrew took a white bookmark that laid on her bedside table, placing it on the page he stopped reading on. He closed the book, placing it down on Hailey’s bedside. He wheeled out of the room, making his way back to the elevators.

        He entered the elevator, pressing the button for the emergency branch, waiting for the doors to re-open. The metal shutters opened and he rolled out, going back to (Y/N)’s room.

        He made it, opening the door and entering without bothering to knock. (Y/N) laid in the hospital bed, her eyes closed as she appeared to be sleeping.

        Damn… Andrew thought, disappointed. I was hoping to talk to her.

        He doesn’t know what he would’ve talked about, but he was hoping she’d start the conversation. He wanted to get closer to her, emotionally and physically. 

        Andrew debated what he should do, before finally giving in, rolling his wheelchair up to her side. He observed her sleeping face, blissfully unaware of his presence as she slept. Her hair was a little messy, perhaps from sleeping or from the attack earlier. Her skin was a bit paler than usual, perhaps from shock or blood loss. She had more prominent bags under her eyes than usual, resting heavily under her closed eyes.

        He wondered who attacked her, and why. Was it a crazy ex boyfriend? Some stalker? A jealous friend? Someone suffering under delusions? He wondered what happened.

        He had an idea, though he was scared to ponder on it.

        Instead of thinking about it, he distracted himself. He looked down at her bandaged arm, trailing his hands down to her wrists, and to her fingernails.

        Her nails were strangely clean. They were polished and trimmed, which makes sense considering nurses need to have good hygiene, especially so they don’t transfer bacteria or accidentally infect patients. They looked like they had been scrubbed squeaky clean recently, not even a trace of dirt under her nails. 

        Her hands looked small compared to his, clean and petite compared to his rough and damaged ones. 

        His hands had small burns from failing to light his cigarettes as a starter; her hands had small burns from ovens and hot cookware and hot glue guns, yet somehow her scars were far more attractive than his.

        His hands were dirty, stained with blood and sins; hers were clean, baptized in purity and commandant.

        He wondered how her hands would feel against his. They looked soft, would they feel soft? He wondered if she used lotion, what her favorite nail polish was, how long she liked her nails.

        Those thoughts led to other thoughts. What did she like wearing when she’s at home? What does she wear in public? What kind of music does she listened to? What kind of foods does she like?

        He decided it was best to stop those thoughts. He stared at her hands, juggling his thoughts in his head, before finally giving in. He reached out and held her hand with his larger one. 

        He held it gently, feeling the weight of it. His thumb rubbed the back of her hand soothingly, memorized at the difference. Her hand was slightly cold, possibly due to how cold the hospital’s AC is followed by blood loss, but it wasn’t uncomfortable to touch. 

        He looked at her face to see if she woken up or felt the touch. She didn’t.

        His fingers carefully interlocked with her, cautious to make sure she wouldn’t accidentally wake up. She remained neutral, not even a flutter of her eyelashes or any stirring. 

        She must be really tired… Andrew thought. 

        His admired their hands as they eloped together. He noticed discoloration on her hands, He shifted his body, laying his elbow down on the edge of the mattress and using his arm as a pillow. He admired her sleeping face, closing his eyes to relish the touch and intimacy of this moment. He doesn’t know how long it took for him to fall asleep, but it was relatively quick.          .         .        

        A few hours later, Andrew jolted awake first at the sound of the door opening, turning his head at the noise. (Y/N) groaned, opening her eyes and seeing Andrew by her side, holding her hand as a man stood in the doorway, one Andrew didn’t know. 

        Andrew squeezed (Y/N)’s hand softly, a silent greeting before glaring at the man, almost possessive of (Y/N)’s vulnerable state.

        “Hello, Doctor Ryan…” (Y/N) yawned, before directing her attention to Andrew. “And hello to you too, Andrew.” She hummed, smiling as she gently squeezed his hand back.

        She looked down at their hands, wondering when she and Andrew started holding hands, or even when he returned back. Her hands trailed down to her sleeves, more so lack of, as the hospital gown didn’t have any long-sleeves for her. She noticed her scars out in the open and ripped her hand away from Andrew’s, a sense of insecurity and embarrassment rapidly building in her as she hid her arms under her blanket.

        Andrew looked confused (even a little disheartened that she let go) as Doctor Ryan walked over to her. Doctor Ryan isn’t usually at the hospital on Saturday nights, but he could’ve decided to work overtime this week. It’s not unusual since he has a stay-at-home wife and three kids.

        “Hello! I heard what happened and I figured I’d wait to see you when you’re awake.” The doctor smiled brightly, walking over to her bedside and sitting next to Andrew. “And who is this?” he questioned, looking at Andrew, yet having a good idea of who it was as he sent a knowing smirk. 

        While Doctor Ryan had never met Andrew face-to-face, he had read his report when assigning (Y/N) to watch him his first night, along with hearing all the gossip from Penelope. 

        Andrew had a small reputation around the hospital since he’s one of the trouble patients, on suicide watch and needing special treatment for his wounds and wants. Andrew wouldn’t accept any care from any other nurse during the night shift, it was a fight for the day shift to care for him until (Y/N) told him to behave for day shift. His sister was also banned from the hospital due to proving a threat to Andrew’s recovery and health, though she won’t be a problem anymore. 

        Rumors spread pretty easily of Andrew’s fondness and almost admiration of the nurse he chose, (Y/N). Penelope has a big mouth without meaning to, having a bad habit of rambling and over sharing her and other people’s problems and secrets, so it spread pretty quick of the strange relationship the nurse and patient shared. Penelope’s ramblings of doubt as a nurse because Andrew wouldn’t accept her care had reached Doctor Ryan’s ears, being the catalyst of his teasing to his student, (Y/N). 

        “This is Andrew.” (Y/N) introduced when she realized Andrew wasn’t going to answer the doctor’s question, only give him a nasty glare.

        She cleared her throat, shoving her arms into her blanket so the pair of males didn’t see, and flashed a smile. “What’s your visit for? Don’t tell me you’re gonna make me work.” She chuckled lightly, trying to make a joke. 

        “I wouldn’t say 'work' exactly.” Doctor Ryan smiled, before it faltered, letting out a sigh. “You’re here today, so I figured it’d be a good time to tell you. I think it’s best if you see Hailey.” 

        “Hailey? Why? Did something bad happen to her?” (Y/N) questioned, doing her best to not sound alarmed or panicked.

        It’s never a good thing for a nurse to panic, it’d defeat a key factor of their job. Nurses are supposed to provide aid to their patients, whether it’s emotionally or physically, or even emotional in cases like Andrew’s. A nurse panicking would panic their patient since they’re going to look to the one with most experience. If a patient panics, they can worsen their condition or provide unnecessary stress that can affect their recovery or even create new problems. 

        And people think being a nurse is just all fluffing pillows and handing out medication. You have to be constantly in tune with the patients emotions, symptoms, and healing process; from what they're feeling to how much they're eating or using the bathroom. Always checking up on how they are and cater them to the best of your ability; serving them food (and sometimes helping feed them), changing their bedsheets, helping them to the bathroom, helping out with physical therapy, prepping them for procedures or appointments, and charting. The worse is charting. You have to document every single thing; from what they ate and what times, to who visited them today, to how what they said to be feeling and what they looked actually looked to be feeling like, to any improvement or decline or neutrality of their status, to their behavior, to what medicines they had, to their complaints or compliments they have about the hospital or their treatment, and so much more. 

        “She’s just not in the greatest condition at the moment. I think it’s best she sees you.” Doctor Ryan spoke.

        Before she could question it, Doctor Ryan grabbed something from his coat, placing it down on her bedside table. 

        “Here,” he spoke, patting what looked to be a Polaroid recorder down on her table, “I came to drop this off too. This was supposed to be a wholesome visit, until Hailey at least…” he spoke, allowing his smile to drop. “Check out the contents on the camera later. I have to get back to work. Get well soon!”

        “Thanks.” (Y/N) smiled, watching Doctor Ryan leave the room.

        “Who was that?” Andrew questioned, glancing over at her as he resisted the urge to grimace.

        “That’s Doctor Ryan, he’s my professor! He’s the one teaching me pediatrics since I’m an apprentice.” (Y/N) explained, slowly sitting up from the bed.

        Andrew watched her movements carefully, observing how she slowly took her time getting out of bed. She didn’t apply much pressure on her injured leg as her sock-clothed feet hit the ground (with clean hospital socks, none of her blood soaked up in it and used to plug in any stab wounds). The room looked like a carousel, spinning rapidly, and a headache followed with it, screaming loudly in her head. She let out a groan as Andrew quickly placed a hand on her waist.

        "Careful..." Andrew muttered, watching her intently as he kept his hand on her waist.

        "Thank you, but I'm fine." (Y/N) lied, placing her hand on his shoulder to use as leverage. 

        "Yeah, sure." He hummed sarcastically.

        (Y/N) resisted the urge to glare at him. While she wasn't on duty, she was still his nurse and she didn't feel like having any workplace drama. 

        "Do you want me to assist you there?" Andrew questioned, his thumb absentmindedly tracing small circles on her hip.

        "No, it's fine." She spoke, taking a few steps to the door and ignoring the stabbing sensation in her leg. 

        "Are you sure?" Andrew questioned, trying his best to not look too concerned for her. 

        "Yes, I'm sure." She huffed, trying not to be snippy. "It's for the best. I don't want Hailey to be nervous or worried, especially if there's something going on with her." 

        "Just be careful..." Andrew spoke, watching her limp away. "I'll be here waiting for you." 

        (Y/N) took the moment to look back at him, confused. Before she could question it, she stopped herself, deciding there was always later to talk about it. Right now Hailey needs her, Andrew can wait.  

        (Y/N) settled for a nod, rummaging in the hospital cabinets and grabbing a white blanket. She wrapped it around her body to hide her hospital gown; she wouldn’t want to worry Hailey. (Y/N) limped out of the room, going down the halls to the elevator. 

        She pressed the floor the pediatric branch was on, waiting rather impatiently for the doors to open again as she descended.

        Was Hailey okay? What did he mean by she’s not in the greatest condition? Has she gained more symptoms, or weakened?

        Hailey has acute lymphoblastic leukemia, also known as ALL. It’s a cancer inside the blood and bone marrow, where the infected white blood cells are rapidly multiplying, creating blocks in the blood and bones that could prevent other cells from getting through and working. The cancer comes with symptoms such as fever, frequent nose bleeds, weakness or fatigue, easy bruising, pain in the bones or stomach or groin, frequent infections, and swollen lymph nodes. 

        Hailey’s most prominent symptoms are her swollen lymph nodes, hence why her voice is low and raspy, along with her bone pains in her legs, which is why she’s bedridden. At least 90% of kids under 15 who have ALL survive, so long as they’re treated. Even thought Hailey has been in the hospital for three years, she’s made very little progress in recovering. 

        Despite there being no stages in ALL cancer, if (Y/N) had to guess, she’s assume Hailey would be in stage 3. Over the years of chemotherapy and medications, her infected white blood cells just seem to be multiplying more and more, hence why it’s called acute lymphoblastic leukemia, acute means rapid. 

        (Y/N)’s theory is that a doctor didn’t give a strong enough dosage to Hailey, therefore the cells grew a resistance to the medication, creating a superbug that could withstand the medicine entirely. 

        Even then, what matters is if Hailey is feeling alright. (Y/N) exited the elevator and limped down the hallways, making it to Hailey’s room and opening the door.

        “Oh. Hello, Ms. (L/N)!” Hailey greeted brightly, her voice still hoarse and raspy, but having life to it. “What are you doing here? You said it was your day off!”

        Hailey’s upper body shot up quickly as she sat up from bed, a smile on her face as she greeted (Y/N). Her eyes were bright and lively, even waving her arm at the nurse.

        Oh.

        “Sorry it’s so early!” (Y/N) smiled. “It’s at least 5 A.M. What are you doing up so early?” 

        “I couldn’t sleep, I just had such a sudden burst of energy!” Hailey spoke. “I think I’m getting better!”

        (Y/N) ignored that comment, sitting down on the guest chair in Hailey’s room. Her eyes trailed to the wheelchair that sat near her IV pole, a wheelchair that’s only used for Hailey to wheel herself to the bathroom now, but even then she needs help from the nurses. 

        “So? How’s that book you’re reading?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “I’m almost done with it. At least 30 pages away.” Hailey answered. “What are you doing here at the hospital? It’s your night off; unless you’re working overtime again?”

        “Yes! I’m working overtime again.” (Y/N) lied, smiling at the girl. 

        It’s best not to tell her anything, not in her condition.

        “Are you cold? Why are you wearing a blanket?” Hailey questioned.

        “Yes, I’m cold. I’m feeling a bit chilly at the moment. It’s verging to winter and the hospital still hasn’t adjusted the thermostat yet.” (Y/N) lied once more. “Hey, remember when I said I’ll take you to the garden the next time I see you? Would you like to go right now?”

        Hailey’s eyes brightened even more, her grin widening as she nodded. “Yes! I want to see the flowers!” 

        “Let’s get you in the wheelchair, yeah?” (Y/N) spoke, standing up from the chair and using the blanket to hide herself limping from Hailey’s sight.

        Hailey used her upper arms and was able to push herself to the edge of the bed on her own, even moving her knees a bit too! (Y/N) still carefully placed one of her arms under Hailey’s knees and the other on her back, picking up Hailey and placing her in the wheelchair. 

        (Y/N) decided against the wheelchair restraints, not wanting Hailey to feel trapped at the moment. (Y/N) grabbed the blanket off Hailey’s bed, but Hailey spoke up.

        “We can leave the blanket. I actually feel pretty warm at the moment.” Hailey spoke.

        The only warmth Hailey usually had was when she had a fire spreading in her legs, the bone pains acting up and causing many sleepless nights for her. It’s why Hailey is almost always awake when (Y/N) does her rounds around the hospital at night.

        “It’s cold outside. Let’s take the blanket just in case.” (Y/N) persisted, smiling as she covered Hailey’s shoulders and down with the thin white cloth. 

        Hailey decided not to argue against it and cooperated. (Y/N) wheeled Hailey out of the room, her pace a little slower than usually as she felt that stabbing sensation in her leg and stomach. It made her silently hitch her breath, her ears having a slight ring in them, yet she persisted. 

        “Gosh, I haven’t seen these halls in forever.” Hailey spoke, her eyes scanning every nook and cranny of the white hallways. “You know, I read that whenever you enter a unfamiliar area, the reason why you feel dizzy is because you have a sensory overload. Like, you’re saving mental images and color palettes and the layout of the area all in your head, that way you remember where you are the next time you go! Even though I’ve been here before, it feels like it’s my first time down these halls all over again.” 

        Yes, (Y/N) knows that. She was the one who gave Hailey the book she learned that from, but for Hailey’s sake (and to distract her mind from the pain), she decided to play dumb.

        “Wow, really?” (Y/N) hummed, smiling. “I never knew that. It makes sense now that you’ve explained it.”

        Hailey nodded, smiling. “Yeah! I remember having that dizziness when I was at my friend’s for a sleepover.” She spoke, before her smile dropped. “Though, it was before I had cancer, or at least when I wasn’t placed in the hospital… I sometimes miss having friends.”

        “Why, of course you have friends.” (Y/N) spoke. “You have me! And you have Doctor Ryan, and Penelope, and Ruby, and even Andrew too.” 

        “Yeah, but I mean friends my age.” Hailey spoke.

        Normally, that could be arranged in the hospital so long as the patients aren’t being exposed to a infectious disease or illness, especially in Hailey’s case since she’s more prone to getting infections; however, Hailey didn’t want to be friends with the other kids after her hair started falling out due to the chemotherapy. She was insecure of her appearance deteriorating, even if Penelope kept lying to her face and telling her she looked perfectly fine. Hailey preferred (Y/N) over Penelope for that reason. (Y/N) always told her the truth, or at least left it blank so there was no harsh comment. 

        If Penelope asked (Y/N) if she looked sickly today, (Y/N) would tell her that a bit of water and food would help bring back some color to her face. It was a good way to not only promote healthy behavior for Hailey, but also it helped build trust in (Y/N) to always telling her the truth about her health. If she asked Penelope, Penelope would’ve lied and said she looked as bright as the sun; which is kind, but she could tell Penelope was lying by how Penelope’s right eye would twitch and bite her bottom lip. 

        “I see… well, I’m sure we can arrange that soon, when you’re ready.” (Y/N) smiled, taking Hailey into the elevator.

        (Y/N) pressed the lobby floor as Hailey spoke up.

        “Are the flowers even in bloom? Since it’s verging to winter?” Hailey questioned.

        “A secret between me and you; the flowers are fake.” (Y/N) whispered, acting as if there was a camera watching her or something. We have scented pads hidden in the soil to make it smell like flowers, and we wet the soil regularly to keep that earthy smell lingering.” 

        “Really?” Hailey gasped.

        “That’s why they’re always in bloom. It’s depressing to have an empty garden, even something as small as colorful flowers give people hope.” (Y/N) explained. 

        While fake flowers aren’t present in most hospitals, this hospital was different. Even if they were always understaffed and overworked, they at least cared for their patients. Even if the staff excel at their work or not, at least they have work ethic. 

        The elevator doors opened as (Y/N) wheeled Hailey down the hallways. (Y/N) noticed the stares from guests and even some patients; whether it was because of Hailey’s bald head or (Y/N)’s limp. (Y/N) noticed Hailey’s gripping the blanket on her, seconds away from raising the blanket above her head to hide it. (Y/N) recognized Hailey’s insecurity and spoke up.

        “You know, I’m thinking of starting a garden. A real garden with real flowers indoors, that way patients with allergies or conditions can see the flowers too without going outside.” (Y/N) spoke, redirecting Hailey’s attention. “I was wondering what flowers you’d like for me to add. I’ll do a survey with the other patients too, have a nice diversity of flowers. What do you think?” 

        “I think… it’s a nice idea.” Hailey smiled, letting go of the blanket. “I think daisies. You should do daisies.” 

        “That’s a nice flower. I’ll see what I can do.” (Y/N) nodded, smiling as she pushed open the glass door, rolling Hailey to the garden. 

        (Y/N) guided Hailey to the wooden bench, picking up Hailey and placing her down on the seat so she wouldn’t be confided to the wheelchair. 

        Hailey rambled on and on about anything and everything. She talked so much that (Y/N) contemplated if she should go fetch water for Hailey’s throat given how raspy it was, but she decided against it as she noticed the signs.

        Hailey’s bright smile, the almost whimsical joy in her eyes; an expression that (Y/N) thought Hailey has lost over the years as she spent her birthdays in this hospital. 

        (Y/N) remembers bringing a cake for Hailey’s 7th birthday, the first they spent together. Even though Hailey admitted to not liking vanilla cake, she still ate it. It was the last birthday she’d spend with her parents before they threw themselves at work, leaving Hailey along in the hospital with other sick patients and the staff. 

        The second birthday they spent together, (Y/N) had to ditch the candles, concerned the smoke would affect Hailey’s lungs. At least the cake was homemade, even if the frosting looked a bit ugly. (Y/N) made sure it was chocolate this time, so Hailey could enjoy it. 

        And the third birthday they spent together, (Y/N) made an ice cream cake, chocolate of course. She figured the ice cream would soothe Hailey’s throat and Hailey could still enjoy the flavor. It took many tries, but she succeeded in making the perfect cake, gifting Hailey books for her to read too. 

        If (Y/N) had known it would be Hailey’s last birthday, she would’ve made sure to go all out. Buy balloons and party streamers, force her parents to come back and see her, cover her head to toe in presents. 

        Unfortunately, you can’t change time. 

        Hailey’s eyes shined as she spoke, talking about anything possible. She didn’t have many who would listen to her, her doctors and nurses were there for work, and (Y/N) couldn’t visit long since she had other patients to tend to. But now, (Y/N)’s off the clock. At the moment she’s not Hailey’s nurse, she’s Hailey’s friend.

        Eventually, Hailey’s voice faltered, before she let out a hum, satisfied as she rested her head on the bench. She took a deep breath, then sighed, smiling softly.

        “It really does smell like flowers. Those are some good quality scent pads.” Hailey spoke.

        Fake flowers last for years; patients do not.

        “Do you ever wonder what’s beyond us?” Hailey questioned after a long silence.

        “What do you mean?” (Y/N) questioned, turning her head to face the girl.

        “Death. Like, do you ever wonder what happens after?” Hailey added.

        (Y/N) hummed, thinking as she kept her blanket wrapped around her, hiding her hospital gown just as Hailey hid from the cold. 

        She wasn’t sure. Many religions had their own ideals of life and death, but she doubted Hailey wanted an answer based on religion. She wasn’t sure what was beyond. After trying to kill herself, everything in her life started losing value, a spiral of nothing and everything thrown at her all at once. 

        Even if she stopped hurting herself physically, she couldn’t stop mentally.

“I think it changes for everyone.” (Y/N) spoke. “Like, your own paradise. You could be surrounded by anyone you want, and anything you want.”

        “What would you want to be surrounded by?” Hailey questioned.

        She didn’t have to think much on that matter. There wasn’t much in her life she cared about anymore. She did nothing but work nowadays. She was an empty husk that worked itself to death to pass the time, awaiting Death by the door. 

        If she couldn’t open the door, she’ll make Death open it. 

        “Beds.” (Y/N) answered.

        “Really? That’s it?” Hailey questioned, surprised and perhaps kindly disappointed. “I was expecting something… more. Like, deep, or wise.” 

        “You can’t expect everything to make sense in life, you know.” (Y/N) chuckled. “Sometimes things just happen. I think that’s what’s so fun about life, it’s just a mystery to be solved at the end of the line through all that hard work; or, perhaps there’s no mystery. Maybe it just coexists just like we do.” 

        “How can your answer be so boring but your follow-up be so wise?” Hailey pouted, cause (Y/N) to chuckle.

        “Hey, I never said I’d give you any special answer.” (Y/N) pointed out.

        “But, really, why beds?” Hailey questioned.

        “I just like sleeping.” (Y/N) smiled, giving part of the truth.

        “I guess it’ll suffice.” Hailey sighed, disappointed.

        “And you? What would you like to be surrounded by?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “My parents.” Hailey spoke. “And my old friends. And tons of my hair, like as much hair as Rapunzel.” 

        “That sounds nice.” (Y/N) hummed. “Though, you’d have to brush your hair all the time. Maybe it’s not so good having hair, I can’t stand mine at times.” (Y/N) spoke, trying to gently reassure Hailey.

        “Well, maybe just normal hair then. What it used to look like before.” Hailey spoke. “You’d be there too. I wouldn’t only see you when you’re working. I’d see you outside of the hospital as my friend.” 

        “What’s it matter where or how you meet? As long as we’re still friends, I don’t see any issue.” (Y/N) smiled.

        Hailey smiled, nodding. “I like that.” 

        Eventually, Hailey went quiet, no longer having any words to speak. She sat on the bench, observing her surroundings in a youthful fashion. Her eyes sparkled with life, her pulse relaxing as she enjoyed the false nature around her.

        “Thank you for staying with me.” Hailey spoke up, her volume decreasing, the sound of her raspy voice cracking more. “I know it’s probably hard for you to see me like this.”

        “Anything for you, Hails.” (Y/N) smiled, wrapping her arm around Hailey’s shoulder and giving her a gentle side-hug.

        “Thank you for not leaving me alone. It means a lot to me…” Hailey muttered, taking a few deep breaths, before eventually subduing. 

        (Y/N) glanced at the IV pole, looking at the fluids that gently flowed in Hailey’s veins, before she turned her attention back to Hailey. 

        After a few minutes, there was no movement from Hailey. No breathing. No eye movement. No leg twitching. Just nothing.

        (Y/N) took a deep breath, smelling the fake flowers and wet soil, before letting out a sob she’s been holding. 

        Hailey had so much life, and yet she died so young. She was so lively in her final moments.

        All that matters now is she’s not going to be in anymore pain and that she wasn’t scared. (Y/N) thought.

        Even if kids under 15 have a 90% chance of surviving acute lymphoblastic leukemia, it doesn’t mean it’s guaranteed. Life and death is really never a guarantee though, so it’s good to enjoy it while it lasts.

        If only (Y/N) could follow her own advice.

        (Y/N) covered her face in her hands, crying now that Hailey was gone, so she wouldn’t see her tears. This hurt way worse than any stab she could endure. 

        (Y/N) almost contemplated covering Hailey’s face with the her blanket, but she decided against it. She didn’t want to be ashamed of Hailey or her presence, she didn’t want to forget Hailey or brush her aside.

        (Y/N) stood up, deciding not to waste much time, and picked Hailey up, putting her in the wheelchair. She had such lifeless and glazed eyes, her mouth was slightly open and her arms flayed motionless as (Y/N) moved. She doesn’t look like the suddenly bright and cheerful Hailey from just a few minutes ago.

        Terminal Lucidity. It’s an unknown phenomenon that can happen before death, giving you suddenly more strength, a clearer consciousness, and even regaining memory. It’s surprisingly common, at least 88% experiencing the symptoms before death. It can happen from minutes to hours to days before death, and it has a habit of giving false hope to the patients loved ones. While it’s quite common in dementia patients, it can also happen to those with neurological problems or in some special cases those with cancer.

        In the hospital, a terminal patient suddenly acting lively and alert is usually a bad thing because it means they’re near death. It’s not quite known why, but some speculate it could be the brain’s last fight, before eventually giving in. 

        (Y/N) wheeled Hailey’s dead body to the hospital’s mortuary. She checked the body in, guessing the nearest time of death since she didn’t have a watch on her, and the cause of death. She wrote down the parental numbers so they could be contacted, before lumping her way back to the elevator.

        The ride up was deathly silent, not that anyone was in the elevator to talk to her, but it was silent in her mind too. Usually she’d at least be thinking of things to do, but she had no thoughts in her mind.

        The elevator doors opened and (Y/N) walked out. She walked back to her own hospital room, exhausted and tired. Tears threatened to escape her eyes once more, the pain of losing Hailey and the pain of her wounds piling up on her. 

        She opened the door, surprised to see Andrew there, sleeping in his wheelchair with his arms crossed. (Y/N) wasn’t sure whether to feel annoyed or happy. Annoyed because she wanted to cry and sleep, but also happy because it meant she wasn’t alone with her thoughts and feelings. 

        The door opened, jolting Andrew awake. He was probably in a light sleep, whether because he was expecting (Y/N) or because the wheelchair is uncomfortable to sleep in. Whatever the reason was, he was awake.

        His eyes trailed to (Y/N), doing his best not to smile and brighten up at her presence (that would be so lame if he did that).

        “Hey.” Andrew spoke.

        “Hey.” (Y/N) parroted, throwing her blanket at Andrew for him to use instead as she got up in her hospital bed.

        There was no point in hiding her hospital gown now that Hailey was dead, so that blanket could now be used by Andrew while she got under her own hospital bedsheets. 

        “You can go to your room, you know. I’m fine on my own.” (Y/N) spoke.

        “So? You got stabbed.” Andrew gruffed, catching the blanket and placing it down on his lap.

        “And you have two broken legs, mister. You should still be recovering after surgery.” (Y/N) scolded lightly.

        Her response caused Andrew to chuckle. Even injured and off the clock, she still worried about others. Andrew wasn’t sure if it was because she was his nurse or if she was just trying to be a decent human, but he relished the attention anyways. 

        “Ah, c’mon. I feel fine.” He chuckled. 

        (Y/N) resisted the urge to kick his leg to prove him wrong, yet she decided not to be petty today. She hummed, lying down on her bed. 

        “Is there something you want from me? Why are you here?” (Y/N) questioned, looking at the clock.

        It was 6:30 A.M. She’ll be here in the hospital until 3 P.M. She wasn’t fond of that. She needed to bury Ashley’s body and deep clean her apartment. Even though the police hopefully had no trace it was her, and hopefully they didn’t invade in her apartment and swab the place (which, they better of not considering it’d be illegal without her permission or a warrant). 

        Not really. Andrew thought.

        He just came over as soon as he heard (Y/N) was put in the emergency unit thanks to Penelope’s big mouth. He doesn’t really know why he came here, maybe just out of curiosity to see how bad she was hurt. All humans are curious when something bad happens.

        Maybe he just wanted to spend more time with her, to be happy she was here with him. It’s not like she could fight much with him, she was tired and her eyes were red.

        Red eyes. Was she crying?

        “I just figured I see you, since you’re here. It gives me something to do other than being stuck in that hospital bed.” Andrew spoke.

        “And now you’re stuck in a hospital wheelchair.” (Y/N) chuckled.

        “Forget about me. Are you okay?” Andrew questioned.

        “Yeah. I told you. It doesn’t hurt much.” (Y/N) lied, ignoring the pulses inside her wounds.

        “I wasn’t talking about that. I mean, are you okay? You look like you’ve been crying.” Andrew pointed out, leaning back in his chair as he looked at her.

        (Y/N) paused, thinking. Would it be against hospital protocol to say a patient’s status or info to someone if they’re dead? 

        Well, you only live once. And Andrew doesn’t look like a snitch. 

        “Hailey died.” (Y/N) spoke. “And, her parents weren’t there to say goodbye. Really, never visited her much either.” 

        “That sucks…” Andrew muttered.

        He’s not too sure if he could care or not. Yeah, it sucks a kid died, but why should he care about a kid he had no connection with? She died, might as well get over it.

        “It happens more than I like around here. They pass without their family around.” (Y/N) spoke. “But, I just can’t stand when the parents aren’t there for their kids. They die scared, that’s no way to die, for a kid or adult.” 

        (Y/N) spoke, looking out her window as the sun started rising. 

        She wondered where Andrew’s parents were. Why aren’t they here to visit him? Do they not know he’s here? Or perhaps they don’t want to visit their child who’s a murderer…

        “What shitty parents.” Andrew spoke with no filter.

        “Yeah,” (Y/N) chuckled, “that’s what I think too.” 

        To really care about someone you don’t have any blood-relation to, must be a special kind of bond; it’s one you can choose, not one you’re born with, unlike the one Andrew and Ashley shares.

        “So, where’s your parents?” Andrew questioned.

        “I’m an adult, I don’t need them checking up on me.” (Y/N) spoke.

        “Yeah, but, wouldn’t it be nice? A sense of security and all?” Andrew questioned.

        “Well, where’s your parents?” (Y/N) retorted, a bit annoyed.

        So what? It’s not like if she called them they’d come rushing to her. Her mother would care less seeing (Y/N) in a hospital again, and her father would probably go berserk and try to bring her back home where it was safe. 

        “Touché.” Andrew chuckled. “But I have my sister to visit me.” 

        (Y/N) mentally grimaced at that, doing her best to not make a face so Andrew wouldn’t question it. 

        Not anymore… she thought.

        Her hands suddenly felt dirty again. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, so she hid them in the hospital blanket. Once again, Andrew was intrigued with her hands after seeing her hide them. It’s like everything she hides them, he immediately gets curious and wants to see them. 

        He knows of the obvious self-harm scars now, he saw those when she was sleeping. And he saw the small scars and burns from everyday life, but why care so much about them? 

        Maybe it’s just something you have to go through in order to understand. You can’t understand everything on the first try, especially if you have no experience in it.

        Sure, he was admitted for jumping a rooftop, but that’s a bit different than self-harming. Jumping a rooftop is one clear goal; suicide. It has subcategories such as wanting to escape life, or having too many problems to run away from. 

        Self-harming, on the other hand, is more complex. The desire to harm yourself is there, but you don’t want to die immediately. It’s a slow steady process building up. You hurt yourself possibly because you feel ashamed, that you feel like you deserve to hurt because that’s all you’re worth. Or perhaps it’s to relieve stress or pain. There’s not always such a strong intent to die when you hurt yourself? sometimes pain is the only thing people know that they use to feel normal or detached. Perhaps they even get pressured into hurting themselves. Self-harming isn’t to die, it’s to make yourself suffer because you feel that that’s what you need. 

        The question is: what is her reasoning? 

        The question left him wondering, he was almost compelled to answer, but she didn’t look to be in a good mood, so he decided against it.

        (Y/N)’s eyes trailed to the digital recorder on her bedside. Doctor Ryan had left it on her bedside earlier, but he didn’t explain what was on it. She reached over and grabbed it, studying it.

        It was a shiny silver recorder, with a slot for polaroid photos to slip out of. (Y/N) turned on the camera, pressing a button to the camera roll. The camera roll opened, multiple short videos at least 10 or 20 seconds showing. 

        She clicked on one and turned it on, seeing a video of one of her patients. They had black hair and black eyes, sitting in their hospital bed with an IV needle in her arm and bandages around her head. She recently had surgery for a tumor in her brain, now resting in bed.

        “Hi, Ms. (L/N)! I heard you were doing unwell and I wanted to say please get better and visit me when you’re healthy!” the patient smiled.

        (Y/N) chuckled, a smile plastered on her face as she looked at the footage. Andrew wheeled his way over to her side, curious to what she was smiling at. He rested his arm on the bedside, leaning over and looking at the footage. 

        (Y/N) moved the camera in the center of them so they both could see. She clicked the next video, pressing play.

        A boy with brown hair looked at the camera, confused. “What do I say?”

        “Say get better.” Doctor Ryan whispered from behind the camera.

        “Get better.” The boy spoke.

        “Now add more to it, say nice things.” Doctor Ryan whispered, resisting the urge to chuckle. 

        “Nice things.” The kid spoke. 

        “No. What do you like about Nurse (L/N).” Doctor Ryan spoke, now using his normal volume instead of whispering.

        “I like that she’s nice.” The kid smiled.

        “Now say it to the camera.” Doctor Ryan pushed.

        “I like that you’re nice, camera.” The boy smiled, one of his front teeth were missing, only adding to the cuteness.

        “Ah, close enough.” Doctor Ryan chuckled, ending the video.

        (Y/N) giggled at the video while Andrew remained unfazed. She clicked the next video, pressing play. There was a girl inside Doctor Ryan’s office, there for an appointment. She was a frequent regular for common colds, so (Y/N) recognized her instantly. 

        “Hi, Ms. (L/N)! Please get better soon, Doctor Ryan’s handwriting is too messy! I like yours better!” she smiled.

        “Hey! It’s not messy, you just can’t read the prescriptions because it’s long words!” Doctor Ryan laughed.

        “Still bad.” The kid smiled. 

        “Oh whatever.” Doctor Ryan chuckled from behind the camera, ending the video.

        The kid was right, Doctor Ryan’s handwriting was bad. The kid would try to read the prescriptions on the paper but couldn’t read the big messy words, so (Y/N) would just simply write “cold medicine” so the girl could read it. 

        (Y/N) smiled, going through more and more videos as she chuckled and grinned at the kids, their thoughts and feelings, and seeing their current statuses. 

        She eventually got to the last video, the caption above saying it was recorded just eight hours ago, when (Y/N) was still sleeping in the hospital after surgery. 

        “Hi, Ms. (L/N)!” the patient with blonde hair smiled, revealing to be Hailey, lively and well.

        “I heard you’re unwell and I hope you get better really soon! I can’t wait to see you again and to read the books you lend me. Please get well soon, I miss you already!” Hailey smiled.

        “Wow, she looked to be getting better.” Andrew commented, pointing at the screen. “I wonder what happened…”

        Even though Hailey was lively and well, anybody with medical knowledge would know that she was doing bad.

        “Terminal lucidity.” (Y/N) answered. “Sometimes before you die, your brain acts out on a last defense. You gain more energy and strength; but it’s fruitless.” She explained.

        “Oh… that blows…” Andrew muttered.

        No wonder she seemed much more vocal and confident today than she did yesterday. He wondered if he died, would he act like that too before kicking the bucket? That must hurt for the loved ones who don’t understand. 

        “It does…” (Y/N) sighed, her mind going blank as she stared out in the distance.  

        When things become too much, it’s better not to think and just go on auto-pilot. It’s how (Y/N) went through her life when things became too much.

        It’s unhealthy, she knows that, but it helps her cope with reality. 

        She turned off the camera screen, burning a hole into her lap as she looked at the black screen. She spaced out, going motionless.

        Andrew noticed, unsure whether to speak up or not. She was obviously feeling distraught and he wasn’t sure if she should be wallowing in her feelings or not.

        Auto-pilot took over and decided it wanted her to cry. Tears started pouring down her face before she knew it, only causing Andrew to shift uncomfortably in his chair. He sighed, grabbing her hand and holding it. 

        “Hey… it’s okay.” Andrew spoke awkwardly. 

        “No, it’s not.” She spoke, her voice cracking. “All these kids, they shouldn’t have to go through this so young. They shouldn't be in pain or dying.” 

        It’s admirable, her care for others. It must take a good heart to do that, always worrying about others instead of herself. Andrew wondered if he was like that before all this happened. Was he a good person before he jumped and lost most of his memory? 

        No, probably not. This is reality, not a dream. He doubts that he was a good person, judging by the way he acted with Ashley the past three months he could remember. His parents ignored his calls, his girlfriend broke up with him on the phone, and he killed multiple people and even ate his neighbor!

        Yeah, definitely not a good person.

        “There, there…” Andrew muttered awkwardly, squeezing her hand hesitantly. “Sometimes things just happen?”

        “But they shouldn’t happen to kids. They’ve been brought in this world just to get taken out when life has barely even started for them. These poor kids.” She cried, squeezing Andrew’s hand tightly for comfort. “They shouldn’t be wanted to die so early on. They should be enjoying life, not wondering when it’ll end.” 

        Normally, she’d just hide her feelings or bottle it up until she got home, but she can’t even go home and cry because she has a body to bury and a apartment to clean. 

        Life just keeps piling up on her more and more. It feels like a never ending cycle of pain. The only time she even feels happy now in reality, without sleeping, is seeing kids happy and smiling. How can she be happy if they keep dying? How can she be happy if these kids keep getting their happiness robbed?

        Andrew contemplated what he should do. Should he let her vent? Should he try and comfort her more? Should he offer her to shut up and shove advice down her throat? 

        He decided it was probably best to just comfort her, he’d rather not see her cry. She can be emotional outside of his vision. As much as he likes this nurse, he hates sensitive people; maybe he just doesn’t like seeing someone he favors crying. 

        Andrew sighed, reaching over and placing both his hands on her face, wiping the tears off her cheeks with his thumbs. 

        “Hey, don’t cry.” He spoke. “It doesn’t look good on you, you know?”         

        (Y/N) sniffled as she tried to speak. The muscles in her throat felt restricting, preventing her from putting them to use, so she only just shook her head.

        “That video showed Hailey saying that she wanted you to get better, right?” Andrew pointed out, wiping the tears into her skin. 

        (Y/N) nodded, unsure of where he was trying to go with this.

        “So, she knew you weren’t feeling good, even when she wasn't doing good herself She cares about your health. Do you think crying would make her happy?” Andrew questioned. “I think it would just worry her about you. You wouldn’t want her to worry about you, would you?” 

        (Y/N) shook her head, her shoulders shaking from her sobs. 

        "You were there for her when no one else was? Isn't that all that matters in a kid's final moments?" Andrew questioned.

        Andrew's right, at least they didn't die alone. Dying alone must be one of the worst ways to die, alone to succumb to your own thoughts and regrets of what could've happen and what did. It must be worse slowly deteriorating over time, at least dying quick you wouldn't be alone with your thoughts, but dying alone just leaves your thoughts, which slowly fade over time the more and more you stop living and just start existing, before even you lose that too. 

        Yeah, being alone sucks, (Y/N) can vouch for that. Coming home to an empty house with nobody to greet you, eating meals alone, waking up alone and going to sleep alone, shopping alone. It's kind of like dying alone in one way. You're just waiting for that time to come when eventually you stop doing those other things, so you just go on autopilot and wait. Of course, she could easily change all that by dating someone or getting a pet for at home, but it's just so exhausting trying to find a good person to spend the rest of your life with. 

        There's a reason so many people are single in the dating pool. Besides, she doubts anyone would want to date her with her work schedule; she sleeps in the day and either works at night or stays up at night on her days off. Let's not forget how she's constantly tired and depressed, dating someone like her would be such a buzzkill, you'd have to be desperate; at least that's what her mother said to her last time they met up for dinner. 

        (Y/N)’s tears stopped, realizing Andrew was right. Hailey wouldn’t want her crying, and if (Y/N) died, she wouldn’t want to be sad either.

        (Y/N)’s sadness was soon replaced with embarrassment once she realized she was crying. Crying in front of a man and have the audacity to rely on him for her own emotions. It only makes it worse that he was her patient. This must be wrong in some way to be touching her patient like this, considering Andrew isn’t in any need of reassurance she should be providing as his nurse. 

        She pushed him away rather quickly, wiping her own tears out of her eyes instead of him doing it for her. Andrew looked confused, mentally wondering if he did something wrong. 

        Why the sudden change?

        (Y/N) adverted her eyes from his face, feeling childish and insecure for crying in front of someone. Even if he was pretty handsome to her, she’d rather not see the pity, or any other sort of expression on his face. 

        Andrew felt a bit annoyed at the sudden change. He was just holding her and comforting her. She was even leaning against him and crying into his chest! Why did she suddenly push him away? Why did she suddenly not want him anymore?

        His eye unconsciously twitched, showing his mild annoyance as a tinge of insecurity washed over him. Before he could question the sudden change of heart, the door opened, Penelope walking into the room.

        Penelope’s face brightened once she saw (Y/N), before it dropped noticing Andrew. Penelope suddenly became skittish, playing with her fingers as she avoided Andrew’s gaze (glare). 

        “Um… Mr. Graves, you’re not supposed to be here at night. It’s protocol for patients to be in their rooms in the night.” Penelope muttered, her green eyes staring down at the white tiles. “Should I escort you back to your room?”

        “No.” He spoke quickly, wanting nothing to do with Penelope.

        Andrew looked back at (Y/N), his gaze softening just a bit as he looked a bit concerned for her. He didn’t want to leave her. What if she needed help with something? What if she cried some more? What if she needed him?

        Andrew mentally groaned, conflicted with his emotions. He unlocked his wheelchair and wheeled to the door, Penelope stepping to the side so he could pass by her. 

        “You can come back during visiting hours.” Penelope added quietly, resulting in a harsh glare from Andrew.

        If only looks could kill.

        Penelope watched as Andrew left the room, before she closed the door behind her for privacy.

        “Gosh, he’s just so intimidating…” Penelope groaned, taking a seat in the room’s guest chair. 

        “He’s not so bad…” (Y/N) hummed, smiling.

        (Y/N)’s not too sure why Penelope’s afraid of Andrew. Sure, he’s a man, but he’s not really intimidating. Perhaps she’s grown desensitized to him and his menacing aura. 

        Or you know, perhaps she just likes red flags. A killer cannibal certainly is a red flag, but that’s just a theory.

        Besides, what’s he gonna do with two broken legs? Punch her? Penelope just has to climb up on the hospital bed or take the stairs. 

        Penelope took in (Y/N)’s appearance, a frown making way on her face.

        "Oh, you poor thing!" she spoke, the words sounding degrading enough, especially after (Y/N) was just crying a few minutes ago. "Who could do such a thing to you?"

        "Who knows..." (Y/N) muttered, ignoring the sudden shock of anger shooting through her.

        She looked at Andrew. Why did Penelope look at Andrew? Yeah, she was searching for him to bring him back to his room, but did she have to advert her eyes and mutter like a damn school girl? 

        The sudden jealousy pissed (Y/N) off, why was she acting like this? Why did she care? What does Penelope even want?

        "Did you need something?" (Y/N) questioned, not doing too well to hide her annoyance.

        Luckily, Penelope was a bit oblivious, yet still seemed a bit on edge.

        "Oh, sorry... Well, before I speak, how do you feel? Do you need anything? Food or water? Painkillers?" Penelope questioned.

        "I'm doing fine..." (Y/N) spoke, gritting her teeth as she smiled.

        "Good. Well, did you hear the news about that patient? Andrew Graves?" Penelope questioned.

        "What about him?" (Y/N) questioned, glancing at Penelope suspiciously as another volt of jealousy shot through her. 

        "Well, I did some digging online, and I found out he's wanted!" Penelope spoke, her voice a bit too loud for her liking.

        "So?" (Y/N) questioned, already knowing this information, before she quickly switched up her attitude, realizing that wasn't an appropriate social response. "Wait, what? Wanted? Like, by the police?" 

        "Yes!" Penelope nodded, leaning closer to (Y/N) in her chair as she spoke. "Wanted for murder! They said he killed four people at their old apartment. Him and his sister, Ashley. They even said one of the bodies had meat cut off it and it was cut up in pieces! They found DNA and blood in their kitchen, on the counter and pots and silverware!" 

        Well, the police only has to worry about one sibling now... (Y/N) thought to herself. 

        (Y/N) stayed silent, unsure of what a functioning human would respond to this. Honestly, she's grown quite comfortable with the fact Andrew is a killer and a cannibal. 

        "I mean, that's just... vile! And disgusting! How could someone do that?" Penelope questioned, her face turning as green as her eyes. 

        "Why did they do it?" (Y/N) questioned.

        "H-huh?" Penelope questioned, surprised. "What do you mean? They kill four people and ate one! They must be insane or something." 

        "Let's not jump to conclusions. We don't know why they did it." (Y/N) spoke. "Penelope, we should know better than anyone else that people act out for reasons. We're nurses, we deal with mental breakdowns and patients lashing out all the time, and we know they have motives behind it." 

        "Yeah, but that's a medical setting, when something's generally wrong with them! Andrew seems stable enough!" Penelope spoke. "He must've knew what he was doing!" 

        "Peer pressure?" (Y/N) suggested. "Perhaps his act is a facade? We don't know a person's thoughts or feelings. For all we knew, they could've been in a dire situation. I mean, who just randomly kills four people in one day and run? Something must've happened."

        Penelope looked frustrated, her bottom lip pouting as she clenched her fists. "And? So? Why should we care?! He killed four people, you know! We need to call the police!"

        "No! You can't!" (Y/N) quickly shot up from the bed, flinching as she felt a stabbing pain in her stomach where her wound was. 

        "What? Why not?" Penelope questioned, surprised at the sudden outburst as she leaned back in her chair. "Why are you defending him? We're nurses! We need to help protect people. He could hurt someone else here!" 

        "No! You can't take him!" (Y/N) shouted, throwing the bedsheets off her and rushing to Penelope, ignoring the pain shooting throughout her body as she placed both of her hands on the arm chairs, caging Penelope in. "You can't do that! I won't let you."

        "W-what? W-why are you acting like this?" Penelope squeaked, her hands pressing together as she curled herself up in a ball, sinking herself down in her chair as she stared up at (Y/N), frightened.

        (Y/N) paused, realizing the sudden position she put herself in. Damn it! Why did she just lash out like that? She's never like this! Why can't she just let Andrew go? She needed to think of something quick to diffuse this situation and convince Penelope not to report Andrew.

        "Don't you understand? The police are just going to keep him here until he heals up to where he can go to jail. If you report him now and he's aware of that, he might snap and actually hurt people." (Y/N) spoke, trying to come up with a false reason. "You'll just enrage him and give him a motive to hurt others. He hasn't injured anyone severely these past days, only a few books and hits thrown because he was afraid of us recognizing him and calling the police."

        Penelope looked uncertain, contemplating whether she should listen to the younger and injured nurse in front of her. 

        "B-but—" Penelope started, but was cut off by (Y/N).

        "Penelope, please. Don't be an idiot. Don't do something so unfathomably stupid!" (Y/N) pleaded.

        Just make the idea look stupid. Just act like Penelope's the one being insensible. 

        "He could really hurt someone if the police come and tell him he's arrested. They're just going to explain that he's under arrest, and will be escorted to prison once the doctors deem him healthy enough to go. He'll just be here, drugged up from his surgeries, and that could cause him to not think sensibly, it'll make him more of a hazard to others. We can't afford that, Penelope." (Y/N) explained. 

        Penelope adverted her eyes, (Y/N)'s words seeming to sink into her as she started to appear ashamed of what she was previously proposing.        

        "So... what now?" Penelope questioned. "He's not going to be able to stay here long anyways. We have no emergency contacts to contact for him. He has no records inside our hospital. He can't even fill out any of our forms or such because of his amnesia, either that or he's pretending to not to know the information." Penelope explained. "He doesn't have health insurance or can't remember it, and I doubt he can afford the hospital bills if he can't even remember anything! He probably doesn't even know his banking information if he has it!" 

        “If we tell him that, it’ll be bothersome…” (Y/N) explained. “I mean… he could get mad and hurt someone.”

        “Exactly!” Penelope exclaimed. “I-I don’t know what to do! Should we bring this up to HR or the head nurse?” 

        “No.” (Y/N) spoke quickly. “I-I mean, c’mon? It’s hard to trust these so-called professionals. The hospital is notorious for its accidents and fatalities. I mean, we're all working here because we were rejected by other hospitals because of our questionable backgrounds and court filings! For gods sake, there’s an advisement a town from here that has a doctor suggesting anesthesia for depression and it has our hospital name on it! We can't trust the board for anything!"

        “But… what can we do?” Penelope questioned, feeling hopeless.

        “We’re the smartest nurses in this whole shithole,” (Y/N) spoke.

        Maybe it was an exaggeration, but she needed Penelope to believe her, or at least stop her from reporting Andrew so that he could escape.

        Why does she care so much about a wrongdoer? He should be in prison, he should pay for what he’s done, but for some reason there’s a stabbing sensation in her chest at just the thought of not seeing him again. The feeling was almost as painful as the bleeding wound she currently had.

        She needed new bandages, she’s been putting too much stress her body. She would ask Penelope, but she’d rather not stick around with Penelope any longer. Sure, having Penelope around would make it so she’s less likely to snitch, but there’s also the possibility that she could potentially catch (Y/N)’s unnatural behavior and go back on her words. 

        "I-I just... what if we're making the wrong choice? I can't stand the thought that someone can get hurt." Penelope spoke.

        (Y/N) almost felt sorry for the young nurse. The nurse was only three years older than her, yet she seems utterly more helpless in life than (Y/N). Penelope has a bad luck streak with everything. She's terrible at math and doing her taxes. She's terrible at thinking for herself. She's grown up from foster home to foster home. Every relationship she's been in has been disastrous. 

        (Y/N) would care if Penelope didn’t have such an unhealthy obsession about finding love. The whole reason she became a nurse was to try and nurse someone to health so they’d love her; it’s almost sad, really.

        “I just can’t believe it…” Penelope groaned, burying her face into her hands. “Why are the cute guys always so unstable?”

        Nevermind. (Y/N) doesn’t feel sad for her at all. Absolutely no pity. Void of emotion. She was almost considering the idea of murdering Penelope. Seriously, you're caring about how cute a guy is despite him being a major threat to your life? Should you really be focusing on a cannibal's looks. 

        (Y/N) decided to bite her tongue. There was no reason to start a fight (that, and maybe she's just a bit guilty of this as well...) It still didn't stop the bubbling pot boiled inside her stomach and chest as she glared at Penelope though. 

        “Penelope, can you go find my nurse? I need a new change of bandages.” (Y/N) grumbled, desperate for Penelope to leave her as she sat back down on her bed, wincing as she overstrained herself once more.

        Maybe cornering and intimidating a person while injured isn’t the best course of action.

        “O-oh, right! Sure!” Penelope spoke, popping up from her makeshift ball as she stood up from her chair. “Whats your nurse’s name? I’ll go find them.” 

        “I don’t know their name. I didn’t met them, only my doctor.” (Y/N) explained.

        “Oh, okay then. Well, I’ll ask around and see if I can find them.” Penelope spoke, walking to the door. “Door open or closed?” 

        “Close it.” (Y/N) answered.

        Penelope nodding, closing the door and leaving (Y/N) to her own devices. (Y/N) let out a sigh of relief that Penelope was gone; however, there were other things to worry about.

        She needed to figure out a way to solve the Andrew situation. She could talk to Andrew herself and see if he has any insurance. She might be able to judge if he’s lying or not about knowing anything, if Andrew’s a good liar or not, that is. 

        She almost felt compelled to leave her room and go to Andrew’s. She could tell him what happens; no health insurance means paying the full entirety of the bills, which could be five digits to possibly even six after all his car, special requests/needs, surgeries, and days he’s spent admitted.

        It’s fine… she just needs to sleep. She can deal with it another day. If she sleeps now, time will pass quicker and she can get discharged. 

        She closed her eyes, seeing nothing but darkness as she used her drawback to escapism once more, distancing herself from reality as she did her best not to think about her patient.

And chapter 5 is done! I do apologize for it being so long, I wasn't planning on it being so long but I guess I did get a bit carried away... Chapter 6 will have quite a bit of drama and new characters being introduced! Now I just have to get chapter 6 done... which I'm unsure of when will be done, but it's in the works already! Thank you for your patience and for reading, and I'm excited for you all to see the development of (Y/N) and Andrew!

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

Inbox is OPEN for questions about the story and new plotlines/ideas, not for request!

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, chapter 4, current chapter, chapter 6, Chapter 7, chapter 8, final chapter.

Want to listen to music while reading? Check out the Star Patient's Official Playlists! Multiple different playlists and genres!

[stellar-constellations]

Star Patient: Chapter 7 (FINISHED SERIES)

WARNING: This series will include; possible inaccurate medical procedures and medical setting, gore, toxic relationships that should NOT be replicated in real life, murder, yanderes, cursing, suicide mentions, implications of misandry (male misogyny), descriptions of self-harming, accusations of cheating, child death, death of major and minor characters, OC's are used throughout the story for plot and depth, reader is in denial and paranoid, toxic family dynamics, perversive thoughts, reader is bipolar (not saying that in a quirky way, like literally bipolar), religious comparisons, light mention of demons, stalkers, possibly more to add.

Inaccurate canon-timeline and setting (this is before Ashley and Andrew murdered their parents). They also live in America (because I wasn't aware they lived in Europe prior to this series).

Reader has a small fear of adult men/rape and has a history of suicide attempts.

Incest is not Wincest.

Amnesiac! Obsessive! Patient! Andrew Graves x Yandere! Nurse! Reader:

Wordcount: 15,100+ words

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, current chapter, chapter 8, final chapter.

Want to listen to music while reading? Check out the Star Patient's Official Playlists! Multiple different playlists and genres!

        The sound of holy hymns filled the tall church, the painting of a man looming over (Y/N) as she avoided the male’s eyes. Religious paintings just always looked creepy, their eyes just always followed you. What was even more creepier is making prolonged eye contact with the same boy for two minutes now. 

        Bright brown eyes stared at her own for 120 seconds now, 115 seconds too long for a normal gander to be. Perhaps he was just looking at the people behind her? Or maybe she has something on her face? Dear God, please don’t let it be that he can hear just how awful she sounds when singing. It was like her voice was a sin to this holy choir. 

        (Y/N) finally broke eye contact with the male, deciding to look back at the painting of the sacred male. Even he wasn’t as creepy as that boy’s staring was, whatever his name was. 

        The church reeked of burning incense and an old lady’s strong floral perfume. It almost hurt having her mother and some strange next to her singing—practically screaming—into her ears while she did her best to memorize the lyrics. It was hard to remember what came after “I’ve been set free” when all she could think about was being set free to the food trucks outside calling her name for lunch. 

        Finally, the song ended as she sung the finally sentence.

        “You are forever mine.”

        What a creepy thing to say to anyone, to any god or not.

        (Y/N) stretched her limbs, earning herself a swat to her arm as her mother whispered for her to fix her dress before it rides up on her. She smoothed down her dress skirt, reaching behind and fluffing the white bow sewn to the dark blue dress.

        She was excited to go eat some food, then get out of these damn flats that kept pinching her toes. She watched as people filed out of the church, making her eyes meeting bright brown ones as they stared at her through the crowd.

        Has he even looked away once during this whole session? 

        .

        .

        “Hey, maybe he likes you?” Lola suggested, lounging on the library couch, taking up most of the space as her arm draped over the arm rest, her legs lying on (Y/N)’s thighs.

        “God, I hope not…” (Y/N) groaned, tilting her head back to hit the couch cushion just to be a bit more dramatic. “I don’t even know his name. That’s grounds for instant rejection.”

        “Well, is he cute?” Lola questioned, curious as she watched (Y/N) copy notes from her computer onto her notebook. 

        “I mean… I dunno? I think?” (Y/N) shrugged. “Gosh, Lo. You know I don’t ever notice that. Looks aren’t everything, you know?” 

        “Well, my future husband is definitely gonna have brown hair, brown eyes to match and a dashing, symmetrical face." Lola smirked.

        “Please, you’re asking too much. Your face isn’t even symmetrical.” Annabelle scoffed, sitting on the harsh library carpets. 

        “Shut up! I’m gonna get laser surgery for this mole when I have enough money!” Lola whined, hitting Annabelle upside the head.

        “I meant your nose, dummy!” Annabelle hissed, cradling her head where she’s been hit. "But that too!" 

        “Jerk!” Lola exclaimed, going to hit Annabelle once more, but Annabelle was quick enough to catch her wrist. “Stop touching me, Anna!”

        “Then you stop hitting me!” Annabelle retorted as their hands wrestled with one another.

        “Hey, hey! Stop! You’re messing up my notes!” (Y/N) hissed, hitting her shoulder against Lola’s.

        “Stop, that’s not fair. You’re double-teaming!” Lola whined.

        The school bell rung, prompting the three to halt their fight. (Y/N) packed up her notebook and computer with a sigh.

        “Damn it… I didn’t get to finish my notes.” (Y/N) complained, throwing her backpack strap over her shoulder.

        “I don’t know how you do it, girl. Being a nurse sounds like it’s such a drag, having to kiss up to everyone’s ass.” Lola sighed, looking at her hands to make sure her nail polish didn’t get ruined during their tussle. “Ah, damn it, Annabelle! You chipped my nail!”

        “Which one?” Annabelle questioned, looking over at Lola’s yellow nails. 

        “This one.” Lola smirked, holding up her middle finger.

        “You little—“  

        (Y/N) yelped, her body hitting the wall as her legs gave out from the unexpected force, knocking her to the ground. Two hands grabbed the collar of her blazer, pulling her right back up to her feet as they cornered her against the wall.

        “Was it you?” a male spoke, his fists shaking with anger as his green eyes met (Y/N)’s.

        “Hey! Hands off her, Ben!” Annabelle spat out, her hand touching the male’s shoulder.

        “Bud out, I’m talking with the freak!” Ben hissed, shrugging her hand off his shoulder. “Was it you?” he repeated, his eyes glaring back at (Y/N).

        “I can’t confirm anything if you don’t tell me, moron.” (Y/N) retorted, annoyed as she tried to pry his hands off her. 

        An uncomfortable feeling grew inside her stomach at the close proximity they shared, the tension downright suffocating as she resisted the urge to puke. 

        Dear stomach, don’t let me vomit on him… I’ll never go to school again. (Y/N) prayed to her stomach. 

        “Did you steal my wallet?” he finally spoke. “I had a three hundred dollars in cash and two gift cards, did you steal them?!”

        “Lay off, dude. She was with us this morning!” Lola spoke. 

        “Yeah, I didn’t steal anything.” (Y/N) huffed, finally prying his hands off her blazer’s collar.

        “I swear to God, if it was you I’ll kill you.” Ben spat, his finger jabbing into her sternum. “You’re a freak, just like your father.” He spoke, before storming off down the school hallways.

        “What an asshole.” Lola scoffed. 

        “People like that shouldn’t be let loose into the public.” Annabelle growled, before looking at (Y/N). “You okay?”

        “I’m just fine and dandy. Everything’s intact.” (Y/N) muttered, dusting off her blazer and skirt. “It’s not like he stabbed me or anything, so I’m fine.”

        “Jeez, girl. You really need to be more… phased? Like, get pissed off at him! Punch him! Kick him in the balls!” Lola encouraged.

        “Why would I waste my time on such pointless things…?” (Y/N) sighed, subconsciously picking at her nails. “I mean, Ben’s been doing this crap since middle school.” 

        “He doesn’t have any right to treat you like that!” Annabelle huffed. “If you won’t kick him in the balls, I will.” 

        “Can we not talk about Ben’s balls?” (Y/N) whined, a bit embarrassed at this stupid topic. “Just forget it, guys. I mean, this is senior year. We’re going to be graduating in three months, then I’ll never see him again so the problem will be solved.” 

        “The Almighty Lord blessed you with something I don’t have; patience.” Lola sighed, fanning her face exaggeratedly to show how heated she was about the matter.

        “The offer is still on the table if you want me to—“ 

        “No.” (Y/N) interrupted Annabelle, who just sent a pouting glare her way.

        Annabelle was a short, black haired girl with brown eyes and a serious passion for weightlifting. She even won an award for the best high school female-weightlifter in the state, being able to carry Annabelle was (Y/N)’s best friend since pre-school. They met in the sand box, where a boy stomped out (Y/N)’s sandcastle, so Annabelle dumped sand in his hair. That sand was in his hair for at least a couple days—it looked like lice to where the caregivers had to inspect and comb through everyone’s hair to make sure there wasn’t a lice that would soon infect other kids.

        They met Lola during their first year of middle school. Lola came into the year late as a new girl. She had bleached blonde hair with pink highlights in them (her natural hair color is unknown since she’s been dying it since she was six, not even in her photo gallery does she have a picture of her natural hair). 

        Lola hit it off with Annabelle instantly, the two meeting in after school’s photography club—which is the cover name. In actuality, it’s mostly just a place for friends to hang out after school and lie to their parents about doing important school stuff; however, the club does take pictures of pep assemblies and football games for the yearbook (albeit half of the photos are crappy and extremely unflattering). 

        The two girls are always begging (Y/N) to join the club, (Y/N)’s always rejected because she’s studying for college and to keep her college scholarship for a extremely well-liked nursing academy. After graduating that academy as a nurse, she can continue studying and work up the ranks to become a pediatrician! 

        So she has no time to be fooling off inside a club. She didn’t have that time as she did back in middle school. Well, she was practically a shell of a person.

        (Y/N) got hit with a large wave of depression. She’s not quite sure why it just suddenly came up on her. Maybe it was because of the abuse she suffered as a child, maybe it was because of the bullying she would receive at school because of who her father was, or maybe it was because she didn’t have a good personality or looks. Whatever it was, it weighed her down for months, making it hard to get out of bed, hard to shower, hard to eat, hard to brush her teeth. Everything ached with pain. She didn’t know what hurt more; her brain or her heart?           Annabelle and Lola were there for her though. They would encourage her to eat a little, to step outside for a bit, to shop for new clothes that would make her feel comfortable. Even after multiple suicide attempts, they never blamed her for how she felt, and they never gave up on her. Maybe the only reason she quit dying was because of them.

        “Hey, the bell is gonna ring in a minute.” Lola pointed out, holding her phone as she stared at the time, her 2008’s preppy Hello Kitty aesthetic wallpaper staring at her. 

        “Damn.” Annabelle sighed, disappointed as she rubbed her neck. “Well, see you tomorrow, (Y/N).”

        The two girls still had club after school, so they’ll be seeing each other. After lunch, (Y/N) doesn’t have any classes with them, so lunch is her last chance to see her friends before leaving school. 

        “Stay shining, star girl!” Lola spoke, sending (Y/N) her own starry smile as she referenced (Y/N)'s star hairlip, her lips coated in a light transparency of pink strawberry lipgloss. 

        “I’m gonna hit the bathroom real quick. If I’m late to class or not be damned.” (Y/N) smiled, waving them off as she parted ways with them. 

        (Y/N) glided down the hallway, before reaching the bathroom, pushing open the door and immediately making a dash to the toilet without even bothering to close the stall door. She dropped to her knees, balancing herself by placing her hands on the walls (so she wouldn’t touch the dirty toilet) and puked.

        She had been holding that in ever since Ben slammed her up against that wall and shouted at her. The scene was absolutely terrifying to her, being trapped so close to an aggressive male like that did not feel good in the slightest.  

        How the hell do romance protagonists go through that? (Y/N) questioned herself, before another wave of nausea hit her as she thought about earlier, prompting her to lean over and puke once more. 

        Her father taught her many things in life; to raise a chicken and slaughter a chicken, to ride a horse and clean horseshoes, to tell the difference between ripe and unripe fruits, and to never trust a boy.

        “Boys are disgusting creatures.” He would say.

        “You should never trust a boy.” He would say.

        “Boys only care about their satisfaction and pleasure. Everything about you is irrelevant.” He would say.

        But men and boys are different. What makes a boy a boy is that they’re stupid, immature, and selfish. A man is someone who sacrifices themself for their family, and treats his wife and daughter with respect and kindness.

        How can you tell the difference between a man and a boy if it’s not puberty that separates them? How do you know until before it’s too late? 

        Truth is, her father has always been distrustful of men in general—though he’s never explained why. She has a feeling it’s because of his upbringing. Maybe he grew up in a bad neighborhood, or maybe he had an abusive father; whatever it was, he didn’t want (Y/N) knowing about it.

        But even though he hates boys with a passion that rivals the Greek Goddess of Passion Aphrodite, sometimes he doesn’t always act like a man.

        There’s been moments where he’s screamed, punched holes inside the walls, been gone for nights after a time, on a very rare chance break stuff. Sometimes he remembers the episodes, sometimes he doesn’t. When he does remember them, he cries and apologizes, hugging (Y/N)’s mother Rose and her. He cries about how sorry he was, and how he doesn’t mean to overreact, and how he begs them not to leave because of his problem. 

        Rose will never leave; she likes the familiarity of her home town and the memories of the farm. (Y/N) knows she’ll never leave the farm. 

        The farm is extremely important to the town. It provides lots of the local strawberries for bakeries and jams. It provides the church parties to have their famous loaded mashed potatoes and potato bread. It provides Rose’s pockets with money in cold hard cash. The farm is so damn rich that it even regularly transported goods to three different states nearby. 

        Rose is sitting on a hill of riches supported by her family’s farm of 120 acres all the way on the edge of the small, close-knit town. The farm was passed down in Rose’s family for three generations now. The farm is so important that every inheritor must only have one child, that way the children can’t fight over the farm when the parent dies. 

        (Y/N) is expected to have a single child too, her mother has drilled that into her head enough. Rose always babbles on about how (Y/N) will inherit the farm when she dies. Her daughter must not be a whore and spread her legs for any boy; he must be a farmer, he must be her husband, and they must only have one child. 

        Rose is extremely serious about the farm, despite it being farmhands who tend to the farm. Rose doesn’t help out, she decided to become a nurse for some more money. 

        People think “Oh, Rose is so good, but her husband Frank is just a monster” but in actuality Rose is more of a monster than (Y/N) is.

        (Y/N) spent the early years of her life locked in her damn room because of that witch. (Y/N) was forced to starve for hours to even days at a time while Frank laid unaware of what was going on to his daughter. Frank was consistently discriminated against, and constantly on his feet burning and cutting his fingers off in the auto shop, working grueling hours from open to closed because of mandatory overtime (which was actually just to drive the poor bastard out of down, or at least make him suffer for his condition “the Devil himself” gave him). 

        Frank had no idea the abuse and neglect (Y/N) received. (Y/N) wasn’t even aware it was abuse because she grew up like that ever since she was potty-trained. 

        (Y/N)’s early years revolved around watching TV, sleeping, and crying. Well, at least she had water she would drink out of the bathroom sink. 

        Rose spent the time working while (Y/N) was locked up, but it wasn’t uncommon for her to shove (Y/N) in that dreadful dark room just for  her to neglect her duties as a parent. Anything to get out of cooking, cleaning, or spending bonding time with her daughter. 

        Another wave of nausea hit (Y/N) as she vomited once more. Her throat burned from her stomach acid and stomach enzymes. Her lungs hurt trying to breathe whilst her heart slammed against her rib cage. Her ears were ringing and her eyes had tears in them. 

        A flash and a camera shutter got her attention, causing her to spin her head around to look at the source, only for another shutter to echo in the bathroom walls as she was blinded by a bright light.

        “Looks like the freak is self-purging.” A girl laughed. “This has to at least go viral on some platform. Not that you’re much to look at though.” 

        (Y/N) groaned, her throat aching from the vibration as she closed her eyes, cursing herself for not shutting the stall door. 

        “Y-you got it wrong…” (Y/N) muttered, meeting the girl’s blue eyes. 

        Kate’s had it out for (Y/N) for who knows how long. Kate’s been more of a bully than Ben has, and for longer too. Kate’s dad works with (Y/N)’s father Frank, and they don’t get on good terms (either because of her father’s disorder or because of Frank being given Kate’s dad’s hours for “mandatory overtime” only Frank has to do). Maybe because Kate’s dad hates (Y/N)’s father, Kate hates (Y/N)?

        (Y/N)’s eyes glanced over at the girls who were with Kate. Jen and Shell; though their real names were Jenny and Shelly. They were sisters, but honestly they’re pretty irrelevant in (Y/N)’s eyes. She just couldn’t bother to care enough about them since they didn’t speak much. Their current goal in life is to piggyback off of Kate, but maybe in the future they’ll mature and go their own separate paths—that at least make’s (Y/N) a little happy for change.

        “I wasn’t throwing up food. You took this out of context…” (Y/N) muttered, wiping her mouth with toilet paper.

        “Right… looks like…” Kate took a few steps to the stall, standing behind (Y/N), making uncomfortable shivers crawl up her spine. “Looks like the cafeteria pizza. What? Are you saving it for dinner tonight?” Kate snarked before smiling. "I wouldn't be surprised if you were starving yourself. Everyone knows you tried to kill yourself—I think that's the best idea you've had in your miserable life."

        In a small town like this, gossip gets around quick. One of her doctors or nurses were probably a parent to one of the kids here, so they let something slip. It breaches hospital code in keeping patient's confidential, but in a small town like this, there's not much consequences. 

        A flame of annoyance flickered in (Y/N) eyes, a boiling pit in her stomach. She stood up, dusting the rocks and dirt off her knees. She looked at Kate with distain, her eyes flickering towards Kate’s phone.

        She could throw the stupid plastic flip-phone into the toilet and flush it down, but she decided against it. There were three girls against herself, so the odds of winning a fight are not in her favor at the moment. Besides, (Y/N)'s trapped inside the stall, so her escape options are limited in case she does start a fight. She could bulldoze her way between the three girls, but then again, that's three girls. She can't really crawl under the stall because someone can just grab her leg and pull her right back—so she's at a disadvantage to win a fight. 

        “We’re late for class.” (Y/N) sighed. “I recommend getting to class soon, otherwise Mr. Jones will throw a fit.

        Kate glared at (Y/N) as she walked past them, muttering the smart words of “stupid bitch…”

        (Y/N) made it out of the bathroom safely, and without a fight too.

        Let them post that photo. (Y/N) thought, her footsteps echoing throughout the hallway. It’s not gonna be the end of the world. I’ve had worse.

        I’ve had worse.

        I’ve had worse.

        I’ve had worse.

        That’s always been the same stupid excuse she’s used whenever someone bad happens to her in life. She just can’t accept that she’s allowed to be angry, or sad, or afraid of anything; it’s always “I’ve had worse.” 

        She could fall down a set of stairs and ruin her science project she’s spent a month on, 70 bucks down the drain, but “I’ve had worse. At least I’m not admitted in a hospital room again.” 

        She could break her arm falling off one of her horse’s, but “I’ve had worse, at least I’m not starving.” 

        When will it be worse? What’s gonna top the next thing? 

        Because eventually, there’s gonna be something worse. There’s always something worse for (Y/N).

        A notification pops up on her phone, prompting (Y/N) to check it. 

        “Online transfer: +$300” 

        “What the…?” she muttered, confused.

        A minute later, another notification popped up. 

        “Withdrawal: -$300”

        Ah, it must be one of her parents. Her parents has access to her banking accounts and information, so one of them must’ve accidentally sent money to the wrong account and quickly withdrew the payment.

        She goes back to her classroom, receiving a stink eye from the teacher, Mr. Jones. 

        Mr. Jones also wasn’t a fan of (Y/N), well, more so her father. During the summer enrollment, you got to check out your classes and meet your teachers. Frank was absolutely livid to see a male as (Y/N)’s teacher. He was knocking down chairs and cussing a storm that the principal had to be brought down and threatened to call the cops if Frank didn’t leave. 

        It’s a miracle (Y/N) didn’t get expelled with some shitty excuse or something because of that scandal. Maybe that’s because this high school was the only one in their small town, and (Y/N) was about to graduate soon, so there would’ve been no point in trying to destroy her education when she’s so close to leaving.

        “Well, look who decided to show up.” Mr. Jones spoke, placing his dry eraser marker down, halting the learning of the classroom. “Wanna tell the class what was so important that you just had to skip the first ten minutes of my class?”

        (Y/N) resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She missed the days where elementary teachers would get down on your level and whisper to you so you wouldn’t get embarrassed in front of the class. 

        Or maybe she just wants to be coddled like a child…

        “I’m sorry, sir. I had a period problem.” (Y/N) lied.

        She had no shame or embarrassment, not with lying, and not talking about her body functions either. She was a human with a uterus, so if the teacher had a problem with then, then the school will too (or, at least they should).

        “Oh.” Mr. Jones scoffed, not entirely convinced. “Nice save. But if it happens again next week, I’ll be onto you.” 

        Yeah, he wouldn’t dare go against the teaching board. Even if he did, the student body of females would protest; (Y/N) may not be the most popular, but when it comes to woman functions, girls got each other’s back.

        Or they should.

        “Go take your seat.” Mr. Jokes spoke.

        (Y/N) walked down the row of students, jumping over Ben’s foot as he tried to trip her. She made it to her desk safely in the back of the class.

        Mr. Jones assigned the seats, perhaps he assigned her in the back so he wouldn’t see her father and be reminded of her father. Or maybe he just doesn’t like her in general. 

        (Y/N) sat down in her seat, confused to see someone had taken the desk next to her. That desk was always empty due to how small the student body was. It was a small town after all, so there were always empty seats in classrooms. 

        She recognized those brown eyes—it was the boy from her church. 

        She was surprised. He was never in her class before until now. 

        She decided to look away before he caught her staring, but he was watching her to begin with, ever since she walked into the classroom. 

        “Hey, I’ve seen you around before.” The boy spoke, looking at her. “You’re (Y/N), right?”

        Damn it. She has to talk with a boy? Out of all the other females around? 

        “Um… yeah…” (Y/N) nodded awkwardly. “How do you know my name?”

        “We go to church together.” He smiled. “I’m Ren. Ren Itami.”

        “Japanese?” (Y/N) questioned. 

        “Yeah. My parents moved here from Japan when they had me.” The boy, Ren, nodded.

        “Cool…” (Y/N) muttered, figuring the conversation was done, before Ren spoke again.

        “I just transferred classes today. My other teacher wasn’t good at teaching in a way I could understand, so it was only hindering my education.” Ren explained.

        “I see…” (Y/N) hummed, not too interested in what else he had to say.

        So that’s why he’s in her class now. Still, she doesn’t want to talk with him. Just talking with this guy gives her the chills, but she just can’t understand why. 

        .

        .

        A month or two has passed, (Y/N)’s not too sure how long it’s been actually, days always seem to blend together now. She goes to school, does her chores on the farm, then studies for college. 

        She’s been busting her ass for a nursing school she’s been dreaming to go to; the best news is that in freshmen year, the school reached out to her after she scored top grades in her biology and health classes. They offered her a fully-paid scholarship, including dorm renting and free cafeteria food! 

        With a scholarship like that, you’re damn right she’s studying hard. 

        It was passing period, the hallways bustling with students as people made their way from class to class. Some kids stopped and stared at (Y/N), much to her annoyance.

        Her father had an episode in town again, muttering something about being followed by a man. He filed police reports, but they ignored him per usual as this was a case they’ve reported about before, only to be a waste of time as there’s no evidence to prove it. 

        Frank got angry at his reports being ignored, so he stared yelling inside the police department, which quickly remained in him spending overnight in jail until he’s calmed down and no longer a threat to himself or others. He didn’t get any charges filed against him due to his medical condition, so he got lucky. 

        Of course, if Frank is a nut show, then his daughter must be a nut show too. That’s the logic around this town.

        Well, at least Lola and Annabelle didn’t think like that. They were (Y/N)’s true friends.

        “I swear, nobody can mind their damn business anymore.” Annabelle gruffed, more annoyed about the situation than (Y/N) was.

        “It’s fine, Annabelle. Things just happen.” (Y/N) spoke.

        “Hey, it’s seriously not fine.” Lola scoffed. “You shouldn’t be treated like this. It’s not like you control what your dad does.” 

        “If anyone messes with you, I’ll punch them.” Annabelle smiled.

        “Don’t bother…” (Y/N) hummed. “We have like… one more month until graduation. There’s no point.” 

        But alias, problems always seem to occur for (Y/N). As she walked down the hallway, a shoulder bumped into her roughly, causing her to stagger before turning around.

        “Freak.” Ben sang, smirking as he walked by her. 

        “What’s his problem all the time?” Lola scoffed, glaring at the boy. 

        (Y/N) let out a sigh to calm her nerves, annoyed, before moving past it—but Ben wasn’t just ready to move on.

        “Hey. I’m talking to you, freak.” Ben scoffed, walking back towards her.

        “Leave me alone, asshole.” (Y/N) hissed.

        “Make me.” Ben challenged, pushing her. 

        “Hey, fuck off!” Lola exclaimed, to which Ben ignored her.

        “Stop. It.” (Y/N) spoke through gritted teeth, and for once, pushing him back harder.

        “What the—“ Ben huffed, surprised, before he quickly pushed her with more force.

        “Ben, st—“ Annabelle was cut off, shocked as (Y/N) threw a punch to his face. 

        “Fuck you, Ben!” (Y/N) exclaimed, shoving him away from her by using her shoulder. 

        Her legs shook, adrenaline and fear pumping through her veins, her fists clenching and unclenching as she realized what she just did. She’s done it now. 

        Ben touched the side of his face, shocked as it swelled, before his fist balled up. A crowd formed around them, watching to see what will go down, holding their flip phones in their hands. 

        Before he could land a punch, some stepped out of the crowd and grabbed Ben’s arm, pinning him up against the wall. 

        “You shouldn’t hit a lady.” The third party spoke.

        “Ren?” (Y/N) questioned, surprised. 

        “Get off me!” Ben barked, squirming under Ren’s hold. 

        Ren had appeared so fast, it was like he was here the whole time. 

        “T-thanks.” (Y/N) spoke, taking a few shaky steps backwards, before forcing her away out of the crowd of students, making her way to the nearest trash can and throwing up. 

        “Ugh… damn it…” she muttered, knowing she was done for, for real this time as people recorded her. 

        Yep. Sounds about right for (Y/N), just her luck. 

        She scanned the crowd, unsure exactly what she was looking for. Her eyes met his bright brown ones, before she closed her own.

        I really hate being alive… she thought.

        .

        .         (Y/N) had got called into the principal’s office later that day along with Ben. Some other students were there to recall the events and explain their side of the story, including Ren. 

        It really didn’t matter who was at fault, both of them got suspended under the excuse: “We don’t condone any sort of violence during school premises.” 

        You can just say that you don’t want the backlash from the bully’s parents and their friends. (Y/N) thought to herself, but she kept that thought in the hatch.

        The walk back home hurt. The whole day she had trembling legs and shaky hands, it seemed every hour she was near a trash can throwing up. She was severely dehydrated, light headed, and really just wanted to go home and cry in the shower.

        It was a hot day, making the walk home worse. Because of how big her family’s farm was, she lived on the outskirts of town, making her walk longer. The town didn’t have any public transportation due to how small the town was, the buses would’ve clogged up all the morning rush hour traffic where adults try to get to work on time, so buses weren’t a thing in their town. 

        There was sweat dripping down her forehead, her back uncomfortably wet as her backpack dragged down her posture, and she wanted nothing more but to just give up. Give up walking, give up life—practically the same thing.

       ��She made it to her house and unlocked the gate, seeing a figure sitting in her family’s rocking chair on the porch. The figure noticed her, before it stood up, running towards her.

        (Y/N) removed her backpack straps and threw it on the ground, before running and meeting the figure, engulfing them in a hug.

        “Papa.” She whimpered, tears welling up in her eyes, the sun burning the top of her head.

        “Oh, (Y/N). I got a call from the school. What were you thinkin'? Fightin' against a boy? You know boys are stronger than girls!” Frank spoke, quickly letting go of her as he looked at her hands and face for any marks.

        “I’m fine, he didn’t hurt me.” (Y/N) spoke. “But he started it! He pushed me first so I pushed back!”

        “He touched you?” Frank gasped. “What a freak! Boys nowadays need to learn some manners and keep their hands to themselves.” 

        “I was so scared, Papa.” (Y/N) sniffled, wiping the tears and snot off her face.

        “Oh, I bet.” Frank sighed, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go inside. There’s a fresh pitcher of tea waitin’ for you.” 

        (Y/N) nodded, picking her backpack up off the ground and following him back inside the house. 

        Her mother sat in her loveseat, watching the news on the TV. She turned her attention at the door, before motioning for (Y/N) to come over and sit on the couch across from her.

        “Frank, those blueberries should be in season to now. Could you go harvest them?” Rose ordered, finding an excuse for Frank to leave. 

        “Sorry, sport.” Frank sighed, patting (Y/N)’s shoulder, before walking out the door. 

        “I got a call from your principal today…” Rose started, crossing her legs. “Do you wanna explain yourself?”

        “I’m sorry.” (Y/N) started. “I got in a fight with Ben in the hallway. He pushed me, so I pushed him back, so he pushed me harder and I just got upset and punched him…” 

        “Jeez, (Y/N)… What are you? A animal?” Rose scoffed. “You’re a lady. You don’t hit people. And you especially don’t under the eyes of the Lord. Seriously, what’s wrong with you?”

        “I was just defending myself! He’s picked on me before!” (Y/N) defended.

        “So? You go to the principal’s office and report it.” Rose retorted.

        “But Ma, they don’t listen to me. They don’t like our family.” (Y/N) spoke. “They think we’re cursed. Or were sinners in another life!”

        “That’s nonsense. Everyone loves us. Everyone loves our products. We’re devoted followers of our Lord. How could they not love us?” Rose snapped, not seeming to believe it.

        “It’s because we’re freaks, Ma!” (Y/N) exclaimed, hitting her hands on her lap. “We’re major freaks! They constantly talk bad about us! We’re always invited last for our community gatherings! Papa is always getting mandatory overtime but no payment, yet everyone else doesn’t have that overtime! We’re constantly being sneered at in public! The kids at my school harass me, but you don’t care because it doesn’t affect you!” 

        “(Y/N), you can go to your—“ 

        “Do you know what they say about you, Mama?” (Y/N) questioned, her fists shaking as she spoke. “They think you’re a selfish, narcissistic, and hypocritical woman. They think you sold your soul to the devil to inherit your parents’ wealth.”

        “Who?” Rose gasped, her jaw dropped.

        “Everyone.” (Y/N) hissed. “They think Papa’s a freak because they don’t understand him. They don’t know what he’s going through. They think I’m a freak because I’m your daughter!”

        “Well, you know what? I’ve had enough of you. You’ve been acting like a freak lately!” Rose spoke, standing up from her seat. “What’s with you? Is it that college? Is that college stressin’ you out with your studies? I told you that the city isn’t for you but you never listen to me! Is it your father’s stupid paranoid delusions? He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Don’t listen to him!”

        “He knows more than you do!” (Y/N) shouted. “And that college is the only thing in my life that will keep me away from you!” 

        “Go to your room, now! Go straight to bed! Don’t even expect supper tonight!” Rose shouted back, her voice louder—it was always louder compared to hers.

        (Y/N) had no problem with that, it’s not like that wasn’t her first time being forced to skip a meal. Besides, there's nothing too great about pre-packaged meals. Rose rarely cooks, and Frank is either always working in the auto shop or on the farm. It's been that way since she was a kid, so school lunches were basically a miracle for her when she entered school. Breakfast and lunch five days a week? That's better than no meals every day of the week! Or at least one every other day.

        She quickly took her backpack with her and walked to her room, resisting the urge to slam the door shut. She shut her door (gently) and walked to the bathroom, turning on the shower faucet and stripping off her school uniform. She sat down on the shower floor, feeling more tears well up in her eyes.

        “This fucking sucks…” she gritted through her teeth.

        She sat there for some time, before finally getting up and washing up. She dried herself off, before picking out some pajamas and changing into them. 

        She walked back to her room and sat down on her bed for a while. She was tired after today’s events, all that crying and puking and yelling really got to her. She should at least drink some water, but right now she really couldn’t be bothered. 

        There was a knock on her door, before the door opened.

        “Hey, kid. You doin’ okay?” Frank questioned, popping his head into the room.

        “No… not really…” (Y/N) sighed. 

        “Do you wanna talk about it?” he questioned.

        (Y/N) took a moment to think, before nodding. “Yeah. I think so.” 

        Frank walked into the room, sitting down on the bed. He sat down on the edge, waiting patiently for (Y/N) to talk.

        “I-I just feel so out of place…” (Y/N) sighed. “I mean, I don’t even know what I do but they hate me, and I don’t know why. I mean, I know I’m not the most prettiest or—“ 

        “Hey, stop that.” Frank spoke up. “Don’t beat yourself up like that. You’re one of the prettiest girls out there, and that’s not just cause you’re my daughter.” Frank explained. “You’re a (L/N). We (L/N)’s may have shit luck, but you know what? We always get back up. And we know what’s true and what’s not.”

        “You don’t have to be pretty to be liked. You don’t have to be anything for people to like you. It’ll come naturally over time as you meet some great people.” Frank explained. “Problem isn’t you, it’s society. You shouldn’t have to change yourself to fit societal norms, and you shouldn’t have to beat yourself up over it either. We just live in a shitty town with shitty people; but that doesn’t define society as a whole. There’s still good out there.”

        “You know what they say: everythin' happens for a reason. Right now, you’re just waitin' for your moment to shine, and when you shine; you’ll be a damn star.” Frank smiled, patting her back.

        “Thank you, Papa.” (Y/N) smiled. 

        “Now, is there anything else making you upset?” Frank questioned.

        (Y/N) took a second to think about it. Everything he’s been saying was right; it’s not that she’s bad, it’s that the people in her town are so close-minded, judging people because they don’t match their beliefs or act a little different from others. 

        “Would you be upset if I left the farm?” (Y/N) questioned. “I’ve talked about it before, about getting a scholarship to this really good med school, but would it make you mad that I’d be leaving the farm behind? Leaving you and mama behind?” 

        “(Y/N), there should never be a time in your life where you have to choose between your happiness and someone else’s.” Frank spoke. “You should always choose yourself first.”

        “But wouldn’t that just be that selfish?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “Are you kiddin'? You’re leavin' behind thousands, maybe even millions, of dollars this farm gained over the generations!” Frank laughed. “That’s pretty selfless if you ask me.”

        “Ah, you know what I mean, Papa.” (Y/N) chuckled, rolling her eyes playfully. 

        “Think of it this way. You’re goin' to wake up to yourself, you’re goin' to shower with yourself, you’re goin' to eat meals with yourself, you’re goin' to go to work with yourself, take spa days, go shoppin', run errands, and go back to sleep in the same bed—all with yourself. Everyone else in life comes and goes; coworkers, friends, lovers, even me.” Frank explained. “Put yourself first because it’s your life. There should never be a period in your time where you feel the need to sacrifice your happiness. If you’re not happy, you’re not livin'; you’re existin'. It’s plain and simple. It's only selfish if you're in a position to help someone in need, but you don't help them despite bein' stable to."

        “I… guess you’re right, yeah.” (Y/N) nodded, smiling.

        “But if you plan to have kids, then you’re gonna have to make sacrifices. You can’t just make some kids and expect that to be over, there’s a lot more than just that.” Frank chuckled. “But hey, that’s a whole other story for when you’re older. Don’t you dare be tryin' to get pregnant at your age.” 

        “I won’t, Papa. I promise.” (Y/N) giggled, shaking her head at her father’s antics.

        She surprisingly felt a lot better now. Life didn’t feel so bad anymore, who knew a little speech was all she needed to feel better. 

        But in realty, it was really just her father sacrificing his positive energy to give to her. He may not be the ideal father, and he may not remember everything he does or remain in control of himself sometimes, but she knew this was her father Frank—not the monster or the sinner her town thought he was. 

        “I heard your mom isn’t letting you eat dinner, I can sneak some in here?” Frank suggested.

        “Nah, I’m really not that hungry.” (Y/N) shook her head.

        I might just throw it up anyways… she thought.

        “Just making sure.” Frank chuckled. “Oh, hey. You wouldn’t happen to know where that hole in the face came from, would you?”

        “What hole?” (Y/N) inquired.

        “While I was harvestin' those blueberries your mom told me to fetch, I noticed a square hole in the fence, at the bottom of the fencin'. It looks like some wire pliers or somethin'.” Frank spoke. “I told your damn mom we should invest in some sturdier fencin', but she’s so persistent in wantin' that cheap fencin' that we can easily move out of the way in case we expand the farm more.” He sighed.

        “No, I wasn’t aware there was a hole in the fence.” (Y/N) spoke honestly, surprised.

        “Ah, must be someone tryna deal my damn chickens. Nobody is takin' Charlotte from me.” Frank huffed, crossing his arms.

        Charlotte was practically Frank’s pet hen. Charlotte was born in domestically at her farm, she was smaller than the other chicks and had a white fluffy spot on her back. Charlotte has some serious attitude for something that’s easy to fry up. 

        “I’ll just go to town and replace the fencin' tomorrow. I don’t want any damn coyotes or foxes trying to get ‘em.” Frank sighed, before standing up from the edge of the bed.

        “Thank you for talking with me, Papa. I needed it.” (Y/N) smiled. 

        “Hey, it’s the least I can do.” Frank smiled, before ruffling her hair, causing her to giggle. 

        “Night, sport. Just remember, I’m proud of you no matter what you do in life.” Frank smiled, opening her bedroom door.

        (Y/N) smiled at the reassurance. “I love you, Papa.” 

        “I love ya too, (Y/N).” He smiled. “Get some rest now.” He spoke, before closing the door behind him.

        (Y/N) crawled under her covers and smiled, glad to have talked about her feelings. She didn’t feel as alone as she did earlier.

        She closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of the cicadas outside, and the snapping twigs of a bunny or raccoon nearby her window. 

        .

        .

        (Y/N) woke up feeling a bit more happier and relaxed than usual. She at least woke up in a good mood, the effects of last night's talk still lingering with her as she stood up. She did a small stretch to get her blood pumping, before walking over to her drawers to find clothes for herself. She opened up her drawers to grab a pair of socks for today, before feeling something weird.

        What is that?

         She pulled out a paper folded in fours, but her heart dropped when she saw red splotches on the piece. She quickly folded open the paper, reading the contents. 

        "My love, how utterly divine you are. I've taken care of that nuisance for you, are you proud of me? I couldn't stand how he touches you, how he wishes to harm you, when a beauty like you should be absolutely adored. He won't be a problem for you anymore, nobody will ever be a problem to you. You're like an angel, and all I wish to do is protect you from the evil in this world. I want to serve you and be your faithful prophet, your only follower.          You saved me, let me save you now. See you soon, my love." 

        It was printed sugar paper with typed letters printed on it, and dried blood spots on the paper. That wasn't in her drawer last night, someone broke into her house.

        It felt like she stopped breathing, a ringing inside her ears as her head felt fuzzy. She dropped the bloodied paper, taking a few shaky steps, before running to the bathroom and throwing up in the toilet. 

        You would think she'd have nothing in her stomach to throw up, but you'd be wrong. Whenever she gets scared, a nauseating feeling takes over and she can't help but empty her stomach. 

        She coughed and wiped her mouth with toilet paper, taking another piece of toilet paper and wiping the snot and tears off her face. 

        Who the hell could've sent her that note? Who the hell broke into her house and planted that? 

        Another thought stuck her. Just how long have they been watching her? What else is planted in her house?

        That thought pushed her up off the ground, scurrying back to her bedroom. She tore her bedroom apart, searching every nook and cranny. She even went as far as to check every single clothing item she owned. She found a small microphone inside one of her ceiling light bulbs; no wonder the room looked brighter, her soft yellow lights were replaced with white LED's and she didn't even realize it! She even dismantled a part of her alarm clock, finding a small camera there. And she found another small camera in the eye of one of her old collector dolls that sat perched on her shelf. 

        After another trip to the bathroom to puke, she did a quick sweep around her bathroom, finding another microphone in her bathroom lightbulb and a camera inside the shower head; hence resulting in her throwing up again. She grabbed all the cameras and lightbulbs, placing them in a large ziplock bag for evidence, before placing the note in a separate ziplock bag.

        (Y/N) sat on her bed for a moment, trying to wrack her brain on why this was happening. Why her? What this a nightmare? Who the hell would choose (Y/N) to stalk? It must be a sick joke, right? Nobody would write her a love confession, that's never happened in her life! She's close to nobody except Annabelle and Lola, and they would never do this! Kate hates her, and Ben's most likely still pissed off at her for punching him. There's nobody else in her life who's been around her recently except...

        She grabbed her hair, tugging the ends to cope with the sick realization. It was Ren. That stupid, creepy brat with the stupid, creepy brown eyes that just bore right into her all the time. He's in her church, watching her every move like a hawk. He coincidentally transfers into her class a few months ago. He coincidentally steps in and saves her from Ben yesterday. It has to be him, there's nobody else!

        Her throat was sore and burning, her eyes were exhausted and tired from crying, and she felt like she was about to tip over and faint. She opened her bedroom door, stumbling out into the hallway. Her father sat on the couch watching a baking show, while her mother sat reading a book on her loveseat. (Y/N) dragged herself into the living room, placing the ziplock bags onto the center table for them to speak.

        "Papa. Mama. We need to call the police. Someone's watching me..."

        .

        .

        The police were called down to the farm, talking to a clueless mother and father as they tried to gather evidence. The only evidence that could be found was the ziplock bags (Y/N) provided them. There were no signs of breaking in, but (Y/N) knew that was because of their own faults. They lived in a small, religious town, so everyone knew each other. They would've never expected anyone to break into their house, so it was common for people to leave their doors unlocked in their town. During the police investigation, they found a body inside the pig enclosure, the pigs feasting on the body of Ben Rivers. (Y/N) was immediately placed in custody and taken down to the police station to be questioned.

        She refused to talk without a lawyer, but there weren't many lawyers inside of her small town, and her trial date was approaching rapidly. (Y/N) was being trialed for the possibility of first degree murder alongside tampering evidence, and (Y/N) was trying to file charges against Ren for stalking, trespassing, first degree murder, and frame up. 

        It took weeks for their small town court to final accept their case and get court hearings done. The word got around quick around town. If she felt isolated beforehand, well she certainly felt so now. As luck would have her, Ren was popular in school and in town. He actively attended and volunteered in church, he had stellar grades, and a perfect social image.

        That's the only damn thing he has against her, a good social image. It's so unfair. Why is she punished for what others do? She didn't choose to be Frank's daughter, she didn't choose to be next inheritor of Rose's family farm. 

        Please, as if that was a good excuse, a part of it is her fault too. She was the one that tried killing herself. She was the one that sang the quietest during the church's hymens. She was the one that never bothered to stand out and do extracurricular activities like Annabelle and Lola do. By isolating herself, she's practically doomed herself in this case. 

        (Y/N) resisted the urge to play with her thumbs as she sat in front of the judge. She wore a white blouse with a black blazer, wearing a pencil skirt and black tights with black flats. Rose said that it would show she's sophisticated and respected, but (Y/N) felt like she was wearing the outfit to her own funeral. 

        She practically avoided Ren's eyes the whole session, not wanting to see what stupid "innocent" face he'll have on that damn face of his to sway the whole court. He sat in one of the seats behind her, just feeling everyone's eyes (including his) on her sent shivers down her spine. She was currently being tried for first degree murder and tampering with the evidence, but (Y/N) knows that's not true. 

        Surely they'll believe her, there were literally cameras and microphones in her room! There's practically nobody else that'll do this to her!

        "With all the evidence and statements taken into consideration, we the court, find (Y/N) (L/N) guilty of first-degree murder." 

        Her heart practically dropped at that. How could this happen?

        "With all the evidence and statements taken into consideration, we the court, find (Y/N) (L/N) guilty of tampering and trying to rid the body of Ben Rivers." 

        She tried to open her mouth to speak, but it felt like no words were going to come out. If she kept her mouth open any longer, she might just cry instead.

        "(Y/N) (L/N) will serve 20 years, with no chance of parole." The judge decided. "Is there anything you wish to say, Ms. (L/N)?"

        "How could you turn your back against justice?" she questioned, her bottom lip trembling. "I'm innocent. He framedme! Tell me how those cameras got into my house! How those microphones appeared!"

        "According to receipts on a shopping site, you spent nearly $300 dollars purchasing two cameras and two lightbulb microphones, and had them shipped to a public park. It was purchased under your name and debit card."

        (Y/N)'s face paled, her hands shaking. No, she didn't do that. Ren must've stolen it. He must've framed her!

        "Around that same time, Ben Rivers, the man you killed, also happened to lose his wallet that was reported to have at least $300 in his words." The judge explained, reading a paper in their hands. "It was also during that time that you fought Mr. Rivers at your public high school, which provoked the murder. With this evidence, you not only premeditated the murder by buying the technology and trying to get rid of the body, but also tried framing the murder itself." 

        "B-but the note? Where did that come from?" (Y/N) questioned.

        "There was no forensic evidence on the letter except for your finger oils, and the dried blood of Ben Rivers. The note was typed so you could hide your handwriting." The judge explained.

        "No, no! It was typed! Anyone could've typed that! Ren could've typed that!" (Y/N) tried to fight. "Please, this was a targeted attack! Ben was murdered! Mine and my family's lives are in danger! This didn't just happen out of the blue, it was planned by someone that wasn't me! It was Ren, it has to be!" 

        "With the evidence of online receipts found under your name and debit card, the forensic evidence of your finger oils after you supposedly found the note in your clothing drawer, the finding of Ben Rivers body in your family farm, the previously shown hostility you've shown against Ben Rivers in the past; it is with undeniable evidence that you are guilty of murdering and hiding the body of Ben Rivers." The judge spoke. "With all this said, (Y/N) (L/N) will serve 20 years in prison, no parole. Along with this sentencing, I hereby give the verdict that Ren Itami is not guilty of first-degree murder, of trespassing, of stalking, and of tampering with evidence."

        "What?! No! That needs another trial! You can't do that!" (Y/N) exclaimed. 

        "Court dismissed!" the judge shouted, their voice echoing throughout the courtroom.

        (Y/N) sat limp, staring at the table she was seated at.

        It's all over. She thought, her vision blurring with tears as her ears rang.

        She could make out her father yelling in the background of the ringing, but she didn't have the energy to look. 

        My life is over. She thought as the judicial security forced her up out of her seat, taking her away from her family.

        She stood up, tripping over her feet as security forced her away. She was able to tilt her head to look at her parents, watching as Rose covered her face with her hands; either she was crying, or she was embarrassed. Frank was standing and animated, his hands moving all around as his mouth ran, but (Y/N) couldn't hear what he was saying.

        (Y/N) forced her eyes to look around the courtroom. Most people didn't even seem shocked or surprised that it was "supposedly" her who killed Ben Rivers. A few emotional people cried, others filing out of the courtroom. She saw Annabelle and Lola here with their families, the girls' expressions looking betrayed and in disbelief.

        She saw the family of Ben Rivers there. His little siblings sobbed, and his mother covered her mouth as she cried. The father was trying to comfort Ben's mother, but his eyes stared at her with nothing but hatred. 

        No, don't look at me that way. She thought. I didn't do it. I didn't!

        He just needs some guidance. They all just need some guidance to know it wasn't her. It wasn't her!

        She finally saw the man that put her in this position, her eyes meeting his bright brown ones. His black hair covered his eyes, but she knew damn well he was looking at her. His disgusting, blood-soaked hands were patting the shoulder of one of Ben's siblings.

        No! Don't let him touch them, Ms. Rivers. She thought. Don't let him kill your other children too, Mr. Rivers!

        She was led through door, before the security slammed the court door shut, leading her down a hallway where a police car awaited to take her to prison. 

        .

        .

        One week here, and she could barely get out of bed. She was taken to the town's small prison. There weren't toomany people here, so she was able to get her own cell. At least she wouldn't be sharing a cell with a freak. 

        Oh, who is she kidding? She'd be the freak they'd be cellmates with. 

        She stared at the food on the ground, not wanting anything to do with it. It's not even that it looked unappetizing, it's that she had absolutely no strength to eat. 

        Her life was over, everything she looked forward to in her future no longer existed. She was going to get out of this town, run away from the farm's responsibilities and inheritance, find a place that could accept her no matter who her family was, go to college, become a pediatric nurse and help other kids like her and more. Somewhere in that future, she could even get a chance at a happy relationship. 

        But that's over now. Nobody is going to love her now. Nobody is going to accept her now. When she gets out of jail, she'll be at least almost 40. How is somebody going to accept a convicted murderer, whether they did it or not? Who is really going to believe her? Jobs will turn her down, she'll be lucky to even score a job at a fast food joint.

        It's all over now, so she might as well just die. Starve herself away. Or, at the very least, she'll try to the best of her abilities. Sooner or later, the guards will take her to the medical-treatment room, and they'll force a tube down her nose or mouth and feed her some crappy nutritional supplement whether she wants it or not. After that, she'll go to her cell, and she'll stick her finger down her throat and force all of that disgusting crap out of her body, speeding up her dehydrating process and just finally die. The only reason she's been drinking water is because it hurts to breathe without a moist throat. At least after a while, the starvation slowly stops to hurt, but dehydration just feels worse in her opinion. 

        There was a bang on her cell's bars but (Y/N) couldn't bother to look over, staring at the ceiling as she rested on her bed. 

        "Hey, (L/N). You got a visitor!" the guard spoke, though she really couldn't care.

        She didn't bother responding to them, staying in the same spot as she refused to talk. 

        "If you don't get up, we'll just bring them here." The guard persisted, though (Y/N) remained uncaring.

        She heard the guard's footsteps fade away, at least ten minutes going by as she listened to other inmates talking and screaming, some banging on their cells angrily. 

        Can't you fools tell it's pointless? (Y/N) thought.

        She wondered how many others were here innocently. This whole damn situation, being in jail, nobody believing her; she was almost convinced that she was a sleeper agent. Or at least, she was guilty but couldn't remember. Why else would people not listen to her?

        Footsteps echoed down the hallways, before they stopped in front of her cell. She mentally rolled her eyes, not having the energy to do so in person. 

        "Hello, (Y/N)." A voice spoke, almost smugly as they stood at her cell. "Did you miss me?"

        (Y/N) immediately scrambled up from her spot, getting dizzy and falling on the ground for a few seconds, but she forced her way up off the ground and ran to the prison bars. 

        "Y-" she tried to speak, but her voice was hoarse.

        She quickly ran to her table and grabbed a water bottle, practically chugging the whole thing before wiping her mouth. She ran back to the cell's bars, staring at them.

        "Y-you son of a bitch!" she shouted, her voice raspy as she forced her hands through the bars and grabbed the collar of their shirt, slamming them up against the bars. "How dare you show your face to me? I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" 

        "My, how hostile. I'm just doing you a favor too!" he laughed.

        "What the fuck are you doing here, Ren? What are you doing here?!" she shouted. "Was it not enough? Was ruining my life not enough for you?!" 

        "Calm down, my love. I'm not looking to harm you, honestly this all was my mistake." Ren laughed. 

        My love? My love? As in, the nickname that bloodied confession letter said? 

        So it was Ren. (Y/N) thought, almost sickeningly gleeful despite all the damage he's caused to her.

        At least she knows she's not completely crazy. 

        "Fuck you and your mistakes." She hissed, her grip tightening on his collar. "I'll never forgive you for this."

        "So feisty." Ren smiled. "I'm actually bailing you out. Shouldn't you be glad?"

        "Bailing... me out?" she questioned, confused. "Why did you even get me in here in the first place?! Do you understand how damaged my reputation is now?!"

        "Oh, please. It's not like it was good to begin with." He chuckled, causing her to glare at him. "I didn't mean for you to be held accountable for murder. Really, it was an honest mistake. I was just trying to cover my tracks, I didn't mean for that pesky body to have you end up in jail. It's a shame a pest like him is still causing you problems even after he's dead."        

        "Why didn't you just admit to the murder? Why did you have to involve me into it?" she questioned. 

        "Well, if I was in jail, I wouldn't be able to see you anymore, silly!" he laughed, his hands reaching out and holding her wrists as she held his collar. "You have such soft, delicate hands. An angel like you shouldn't be trapped in a nasty cage such as this." 

        "It wouldn't be so soft and delicate when I bash your head into the wall!" she hissed, ignoring his angel comment as she ripped her hands away from him, a new wave of anger hitting her as he had the audacity to touch her after everything he's done. 

        "Well now, I had to make sure you learned your lesson. I was originally going to let you have a month here in prison—but ah, but I couldn't stay separated from you for that long." He sighed longingly. "I figured a week must be enough for you to learn your lesson! I'm glad I came sooner though, it looks like you've been starving yourself!"

        I would rather stay a month here and starve than after to see you. She thought, annoyed. 

        "You've learned your lesson, right?" he questioned.

        "Die sooner?" she spoke sarcastically. 

        "I do love your humor dear, but now is not the time." He smiled.

        "What? Not to cross you or some crap?" she scoffed, crossing her arms. 

        "Bingo! Aren't you so smart?" he cooed, his hands holding the cell bars as she backed up from him. 

        "Fuck off. I might as well just rot away here. My life is over now." She hissed, turning her head away from him. 

        "Oh, no. See, it doesn't work like that!" he smiled. "Whether you like it or not love, you're still being bailed out! So, you can either come with me, or live in the streets! Aren't I a better option?"

        I'd rather be the next Oscar the Grouch than go anywhere he's going. (Y/N) thought to herself. 

        "So? What will it be?" Ren questioned. 

        "I want to be bailed out." (Y/N) responded. "And I want food." 

        "Sure, that can be done." Ren smiled. "Just as long as you promise one thing?"

        "What is it?" she questioned, glaring at him suspiciously. 

        "Graduation is near. As soon as we graduate, I want you to come live with me and become my wife. We'll move out of state and have our own family! Unless you want to wait for kids, we can do that too." Ren smiled, as if the idea wasn't crazy.

        "Excuse me?" she questioned.

        "Yeah, kids are a bit too soon, huh?" Ren nodded, as if agreeing with an idea she didn't even say.

        "I said excuse me! Not even a first date or something?" she spoke, shocked. 

        Well, she shouldn't expect much class from the guy that put cameras and microphones inside her bathroom and bedroom. 

        "On the way home we'll grab that lunch I promised you. Consider it a lunch date." He smiled. 

        (Y/N) resisted the urge to roll her eyes, before eventually agreeing. "Okay..." she nodded. "If you bail me out and get me lunch, I'll be your wife..." she spoke, her legs shaky at just the thought of actually agreeing to this ridiculous request.

        It can't be that bad, right? It's better than 20 years in prison, right? 

        "Oh, good! I was worried I'd have to bail you out and kidnap you on the streets! That would be quite the hassle to try and hide you!" Ren laughed giddily. "I'll be right back! I'll go pay and have the guards unlock the cell for you! I even brought you an outfit!"

        "Great..." (Y/N) muttered, not even bothering to force a smile. 

        (Y/N) looked around her cell for anything she wanted to take, but there was nothing that wasn't hers. She watched as the prison guard opened the door for her, a hateful glare on his face. 

        Understandably so, he's under the impression that she's a murderer of a teenage boy, and now she's being paid out of jail. No wonder he would stare at her in disgust, even if the true killer was the one standing right next to him. 

        (Y/N) stepped out of the cell, being handed a bag from Ren. 

        "There's some private bathrooms here, we can find one for you to change in." Ren explained. 

        (Y/N) nodded, silent as she followed Ren. They found a bathroom for her to change into, much to (Y/N)'s relief as she doesn't want to change inside of a cramped car with her stalker. Ren opened the door for her, about to walk in with her before she stopped him.

        "Excuse me? No. I can change by myself." (Y/N) scoffed, stopping him with her arm. 

        "Hm? Why?" he questioned. "It's not like I haven't not seen any part of your body."

        "Don't remind me, creep." (Y/N) hissed, a shiver running up her spine as he reminded her of the cameras. "You stay out! I'll just change really quick!" 

        "Fine, whatever you want." Ren sighed, disheartened. 

        (Y/N) closed the door behind her, triple-checking to make sure it was locked. She opened the bag that Ren gave her, mentally groaning at the outfit he chose. 

        She put on the outfit reluctantly, before grabbing the brush he left in the bag for her. She brushed out her hair, looking at herself in the mirror. She wore a white mid-thigh length sundress that Ren gave her, with strawberry patterns printed on the cloth, and frilly off-shoulder sleeves. She put on white flats that he left in the bag for her, and she refused to wear the questionable lace panties and matching bra. The outfit was cute, but she didn't like knowing it was something her stalker got for her. She'll probably throw the dress away in the trash later. 

        She walked out of the bathroom, looking at Ren. 

        "Ah, look at you! You look adorable!" Ren cooed. "Spin for me."

        "No." (Y/N) stated firmly, a flash of annoyance crossing her face at his audacity. 

        "Maybe next time." He laughed, before leading her to an office area.

        He signed her out, and (Y/N) shortly received her personal items they held onto. She had the outfit she came to the prison with, along with her phone. She checked her phone's battery, seeing it was at 0%. The battery must've slowly been draining while she was held here. 

        "Ready to go, my love?" he questioned, holding his hand out for her.

        "Die." She snapped, walking past him. 

        How could he act like this? How could he act like he did nothing wrong after he broke into her house and placed cameras and microphones into her private living space? How could he have the audacity to make her take his fall, then bail her out and tell she must've learned her lesson.

        Of course she's learned. She's learned that she's going to get as far away from him as possible, no matter what. It doesn't matter when, one day, she'll escape him. Like hell she'll be his wife. 

        Ren laughed at her hostility, making a comment about "how cute she is when she's upset." He was acting as if he was dealing with a fussy toddler. 

        Ren guided her to his car, causing her to halt and rethink her decisions. She was going to be alone in an enclosed space with a man, a man who has done nothing but destroy her life. Ren looked at her expectantly, refusing to get in the car until she does first. 

        He's making sure he can quickly catch her if she tries to run from him.

        (Y/N) sighed, before hesitantly opening the car door and getting in, closing the door. She tested the door handle to see if it'd open, but it was child-locked, she realized. If she wanted out of the car, Ren would have to unlock the doors and walk around to open the door for her. 

        Damn it, he's smart. 

        (Y/N) frowned, watching as Ren hopped inside of the driver seat. He turned the car on and smiled at her, opening his mouth to speak, before she interrupted him.

        "Food." She spoke, buckling her seatbelt for safety (even if she would rather be in a car accident instead of hanging out with her stalker). 

        Before he could question where or what, she added on. 

        "Steak. Go to a steakhouse." She ordered, crossing her arms. 

        "You seem to know what you want." He chuckled, smiling.

        "I haven't eaten in a week. Now drive." She snapped. 

        "Whatever you want." Ren hummed, pulling out of the parking lot and driving. 

        She looked around Ren's car, not noticing anything out of the ordinary except for the man himself.

        "So, what do you see in me?" she questioned.

        "Excuse me?" he questioned.

        "ExCuSe Me." She mocked, let out a scoff of disbelief. "You heard me, jackass. You stalked me. You killed Ben. Why?" 

        "Let's save that for our wedding vows, yeah?" Ren smiled. "Don't worry. You won't have to wait long."

        (Y/N) looked over at him nervously, before letting out a defeated sigh, instead focusing her attention outside of the window to avoid his predatory gaze.

        .

        .

        Just like he promised, he returned her back home after paying for lunch. He requested for her to keep him bailing her out as a secret, to which she hesitantly agreed.

        (Y/N) returned to her family's farm, rushing inside and hugging her father and mother. She made up a stupid lie saying that her good behavior let her get released, though they probably knew that wasn't the truth; however, they certainly didn't care if it was the truth or not.

        Everything might've seemed resolved now, but that was far from the case. The news of (Y/N) being convicted and released made the news and headlines. It was (Y/N)'s first day of school and she sat in the bathrooms during lunch, hiding away from the rest of the world in the stall. 

        Annabelle and Lola are no longer her friends. "We can't be friends with a murderer, whether you say you did it or not, the evidence leads to you." they told her. There wasn't a Ben to try and push her in the hallways, or to try and trip her in biology class. Mr. Jones couldn't even come up with a dry comment to say to her.

        It seemed like everyone was busy taking pictures or recording her. There were pictures of her mugshot taped onto her locker, and newspapers with the highlighted words "murderer" taped on it too. There were posts on social media questioning why she was back and how they could let a murderer escape.

        She would rather be known as a freak than a murderer any day.

        And the worst part? People sympathized with Ren. They were whispering about how sorry they were that he had to see the girl who "tried" to accuse him of killing Ben and stalking (Y/N). 

        It hurt losing her best friends from middle school. It hurt losing her social image, even if it wasn't much. It hurt being an accused murderer.  It hurt hearing the rumors that her family's wealth and connections to the Devil is how she got out of prison. 

        It hurt being known, but not known at the same time. 

        She constantly looked at the posts the media had of her. She didn't know how to feel; angry, sad, disappointed, afraid? People are just making assumptions of what they heard and know, they don't know that Ren is the real murderer tormenting her. They don't know anything.

        People whispered in the hallways and classes about her. 

        "I heard that she tried framing Ren because he rejected her confession."

        "I heard she was the killer all along. I mean, who gets a love letter placed in their drawers and doesn't know about it? Sounds pretty suspicious."

        "She got bailed out because of her mommy's money. She can't even accept responsibility for her own crimes."

        "She sure looks like a killer, all quiet and creepy. I didn't even know who she was until now."

        Even if Ben's bullying stopped, Kate's didn't. She only got more physical. What used to be verbally assaults was replaced with milk spilt on her head and cigarette burns on her scarred arms. 

        When will it be enough? She questioned the universe. 

        Never. 

        But the worst part? God, the worst part must be that bastard's face. (Y/N) constantly checked her room everyday to make sure there were no cameras or light bulbs, so Ren gave up trying to install more. Even though he stopped his 24/7 supervision of her, he constantly visited her at night, keeping her up by knocking at her window until she opened it so that he could talk her ear off about how pretty she was, and how excited he was to be her husband, and how close graduation was coming until he'd take her away from here. 

        He kept writing his stupid confession letters to her, about how much of an "angel" she was, and how utterly divine her beauty was. He used sugar paper to write on, and he used a dark red ink pen to write with. It was like he was taunting her by choosing red, reminding her of the spilt blood that stained the first confession he gave her. It was like he was reminding her that nobody believes her, that in everyone else's eyes she killed Ben.

        She would grab the letters and burn them on her father's grill outside. It didn't matter trying to prove herself with the letters, nobody would believe her anyways. All she cared about was tearing the papers, stomping them on the ground and burning them into embers that flew in the air. Even burnt paper was more free than her. She wanted to destroy the evidence of Ren in her life. She wanted to destroy his love for her, but he just wouldn't give up. 

        Even her own mother believed she was a murderer. Rose told her one day while doing the dishes that she should be ashamed of herself, and that she should've at least tried blaming the murder on someone who was more less known and a weirdo. Rose couldn't dare think that Ren did such a thing, not when Ren was such a respectful boy who attended church and participated in volunteer work. At least her father believed her, but it felt like he always had to remind her what happened, to never go outside alone, to never leave the farm. She wasn't even sure if her father actually believed her, or if he was mixing his persecutory delusions when he experienced episodes into (Y/N)'s life. It drove her mad, she felt her already poor mental health deteriorating into something worse.  

        The church kicked out her entire family from ever stepping foot on the premises. Not only was she isolated from her hometown, friends, and society; but not even church would wash away the "sins" she committed. 

        Her grades were slipping. Her studies were failing. Her sanity was dropping. 

        Everything just looked like a weapon for her to use against herself or another. 

        Why should she eat food? Why should she drink water? Why should she take a shower? Why should she live? 

        One week before graduation. One week before Ren would whisk her away from this hell of a town, and give her a new hell as his wife. 

        She was admitted into the hospital for a stomach pump and to sew up her wrists after having another failed suicide attempt. It's been a couple years since she last tried to kill herself, but after all the events that happened, it only seemed like the most reasonable thing to do. She had tried overdosing on pills and cutting deep into her wrists so she could bleed out, but her father came home from work early. He made it a habit to always checked up on her after work, so when he saw her unconscious on the ground with blood on her arms and empty pill bottles around her body, he grabbed Rose and made her apply a towel and pressure to (Y/N)'s wrists while he sped through town to get her to the ER. She made it out alive, much to her dismay. 

        She sucked at living. She sucked at trying to find happiness. She sucked at trying to die. Wasn't there anything she was good at except being a punching bag? 

        The hospital made her take multiple tests during her time there. She had to answer a lot of paper tests asking about her health, and she had to take tests involving her nervous system. She was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, exactly what her father has and is why he's shunned from society. She was also diagnosed with manic depression as a follow-up for her bipolar disorder. 

        It clicked in her head then and there. She'll never be fine. She'll never escape these emotions. She'll always be a freak, and the daughter of a freak. She'll always be the daughter codependent on mommy's money. The realization made her sob, try to suffocate herself with her pillow. She was placed under suicide watch inside the hospital, and she was kept for three days, when the doctors finally decided to let her go. 

        As always, word got around in school, and more rumors spread. The constant whispers, the constant feeling of eyes watching her, they were all looking at her, they were all watching her just like Ren. It was too much. 

        Why was she being punished for simply just existing? Even when she tries to take her life, they still look down on her. 

        She had her scholarship to her dream med school denied after the newspaper headlines made way to them. They sent an email about how they couldn't accept a mentally ill scholar to care for others in need. All the other colleges she applied for wouldn't accept her either.

        Everything was taken from her now. She had absolutely nothing to look forward to now. How can you possibly live if you have nothing to live for? 

        Ren was knocking at her window again tonight. Tomorrow was graduation, tomorrow was going to be her final day free from him. 

        Go away. She pleaded. Please, just leave me alone.

        After one too many knocks on her window, she finally walked over to the window, ripping it open and jumping out the window, tackling him and pulling down to the ground. She got up on top of him and started punching his face.

        "Fuck you, Ren! Fuck you! You ruined my future! You ruined my life!" she cried, her fists hitting anything on his face, before it hurt too much to punch him anymore. 

        When her fists stop hitting him, he looked up at her with a sickeningly sweet smile.

        "My love, I'm so proud of you for communicating your feelings with me." He cooed, his hands moving up and holding her shaking hands. 

        "I want to die. I want to die." She cried, her figure shaking as tears dropped on his bloodied face. 

        "So that's where these scars came from..." Ren muttered, running his fingers along her stitches. "My love, why must you cut your wings? If you cut too deep, you'll lose your ability to fly!"

        "I don't wanna fly. I just want to die." She spoke through tears. 

        "I never wanted you to waste a drop of your blood. I only want mine to spill..." he spoke, his fingers going from her arms to her thighs, trying to soothe her, but the feeling only made her feel worse. 

        "Don't touch me! I'll kill you!" she shouted. 

        It’d be such an honor dying by your hands. To feel your skin on mine. Please, tell me how you’ll kill me? Will it be slow or long? Use me as you wish and dispose of me!” he laughed, taunting her as he fed into her fantasies, as if the idea was actually entertaining to him. 

        No. She doesn't want to kill him. She doesn't want to touch him if he'll just enjoy it and act like a masochistic freak. She just wants him to disappear from her life. 

        "Please, please just let me go. Please just let me die. I can't. I can't do this." (Y/N) begged. "Just let me go. Please."

        "I'm sorry, but you're mine, angel. I can't live without you." He frowned. "Finders keepers."

        (Y/N) cried, slapping his hands off her thighs. She stood up off his bleeding figure, climbing back into her bedroom window.

        "I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, my love!" he smiled, blood leaking out of his mouth. 

        She ignored his words, shutting her window and locking it. She walked to her bathroom and washed her hands off in the sink, before crawling into her bed and crying herself to sleep. 

        .

        .

        It was graduation day, but she felt anything but excited. It's not like a high school diploma would fix everything in her life. 

        However, depending on how she plays this out, she just might be able to escape this.

        She received her diploma on stage, with little to nobody except her parents clapping (Ren was in line, but he wasn't going to clap for the girl who "tried to frame him for murder"). She quickly exited the stage, sneaking out of the ceremony and running out to the parking lot. She hopped into her car and drove away.

        For weeks she's planned this out. She sold her phone and laptop in case there was any tracking malware installed by Ren, buying a new phone and laptop. She gave her parents her phone number and told them not to give her number to absolutely anyone. She checked all over her car, inside and outside, looking at every nook and cranny inside the engine and outside for any airtags or tracking devices. She packed up all her clothes and important essentials, putting them in luggage and shoving it into her car. She closed all her old bank accounts and opened new ones now that she was 18, bank accounts her family or nobody else could access, transferring all her money into said accounts. She only had a few hundred bucks, and she refuses to stoop so low as to ask her parents for money (she does not want to be indebted to Rose). She said her goodbyes to her parents this morning, knowing she won't see them after the graduation. She even found Ren's car in the parking lot before the ceremony and slashed all his tires so he couldn't drive after her. 

        She didn't know where she was driving, but she was driving away from her hometown, from her family, and from Ren. She'll find a new home, and she'll learn to be happy there. She'll live inside of her car until then, and she'll search for a job until she can eventually save up money for a place.

        Weeks went by as she drove in and out states, looking for a place to settle. She slept on the side of the roads, and picked up cheap food from any gas station or fast food joint she could find. She would use free wi-fi from those fast food joints or public places, and she would take showers in the public showers of trucker gas stations (she would wear socks during her showers though, like hell she'll contract ringworm or any other fungi). 

        Living homeless was uncomfortable and downright scary, but she felt it was better than being Ren's wife. 

        A month into her escape, she received a sketchy email from a supposed learning institution. The supposedly email basically summed up to them being notified that you were looking for a med school, but because of your recent arrest charges, you can't get into any schools. The institution is offering to accept her into their school under any medical degree and skill due to the fact their school doesn't accept discrimination of any kind. 

        It was extremely sketchy, it even had a poster of a doctor recommending euthanasia for suicidal people (honestly she could use that). 

        But it was something? If she actually got a degree from these guys, then she could really get her life back on track! Get a job! Become a pediatric nurse! She could actually make something out of herself and be happy on her own!

        She responded back to the email, surprised to see the email reply not even ten minutes later. The email came with a short "thank you", followed by an address a few states away. (Y/N) gathered her items and walked out of the dining establishment, hopping into her car and putting on a GPS to follow the address.

        This was her future, wherever it will lead her, it must at least be better than Ren.

        .

        .

        (Y/N) woke up from her sleep, tired and disoriented. She felt a warm presence holding her, and looked up to see Andrew. Andrew's hand was placed on her head, his other arm wrapped tightly around her body, holding her close in a protective manner. 

        (Y/N) tried to carefully sneaking out of his hold, but it was to no use. She didn't want to wake him up, so she just resorted to lying there. She looked at her clock, noticing it was 8 A.M, far earlier than she'd like to be up by. 

        She looked over at Andrew and smiled. It's funny how she enjoys this practical stranger's company far more than she enjoyed Ren's, but I guess the difference between them is Ren was a stalker who didn't have any boundaries, and Andrew wasn't. 

        (Y/N) mentally gushed over his handsome face, resisting the urge to giggle as she saw drool on his lips. 

        What? She's allowed to mentally enjoy the peaceful sight. Who cares if he's a murderer staying with her rent free and she murdered his sister. She doesn't have many peaceful things in her life, shut up and let her enjoy this moment before her life goes to hell once more!

        She remembered that her parents had spent the night, and that (Y/N) had express-shipped a package today for Andrew. 

        (Y/N) groaned, closing her eyes for a second before reopening them. She placed her hand on Andrew's arm, shaking him until he woke up.

        "Uh... (Y/N)?" Andrew muttered, sleepily. "Something wrong...?"

        "Morning, sleeping beauty." (Y/N) teased. "Ready to start today? We have a bunch of shopping to do."

        "To spend a day with you? I'm honored." Andrew hummed sarcastically, before reaching his hand out and touching her cheek, gently pinching and tugging it. "Let's get today started, bedhead." He smirked, before ruffling her messy hair. 

Hello, my stars! I know Andrew didn't show up in this like, at all, but don't worry, chapter 8 will have tons of Andrew. I'll make it up to y'all by doing a cute little date with Andrew and (Y/N), where cute, wholesome things happen. Nothing bad.

Chapter 7 is done! Phew! This was probably the fastest I've ever written a chapter for you guys. I've just had a lot of free time this week and I felt really motivated to do this chapter, so I'm glad it's out! Chapter 8 has most of its outline work done, so now it's just the matter of getting to write it! The series is starting to wrap up, but I think it probably won't end until chapter 10-12 (no promises though).

I also know that Andrew wasn't (was barely) in this chapter. I wanted to do a chapter of (Y/N)'s backstory, but I didn't expect it to get so long... I just didn't want to half-ass it. It was better separating the chapters after all though!

Don't worry, chapter 8 will have tons of Andrew. I'll make it up to y'all by doing a cute little date with Andrew and (Y/N), where cute, wholesome things happen. Nothing bad. Thank you all for reading!

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

Inbox is OPEN for questions about the story and new plotlines/ideas, not for requests!

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, current chapter, chapter 8, final chapter.

Want to listen to music while reading? Check out the Star Patient's Official Playlists! Multiple different playlists and genres!