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fairysongs · 2 months

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౨ৎ pretty scary﹕spencer reid .ᐟ

summary: you're having an awful day and your boyfriend is kind of the best person ever.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

includes: reader struggles with bpd, reader has slight mommy issues, reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, depictions of overstimulation (NOT the sexy kind), reader has slight mood swings, established relationship, silly fluff, spencer reid is the perfect boyfriend, hurt/comfort KINDA? (reader is upset, spencer soothes her), lowercase writing sorry it's a habit/my preference, Fiona Apple Mention <3

word count: 3.1k

a/n: omg.. hiiii! this is my first silly post on this silly blog and its a very self-indulgent one as someone who has bpd and is told OFTEN how irritable i can get -_- .. im so nervous.com right now bcos ive never posted my writing on here but also excited..? yes yes.. on a huge spencer reid kick so if u liked this and have any requests they are open!! likes/reblogs/any feedback much appreciated :3!

today was just not your day.

the morning started out fine. it was actually kind of perfect. you spent the night at your boyfriend’s place, waking up just in time to see him getting ready for work. there was a smile that crept over your lips as you watched him adjust the tie hanging around his neck. you propped yourself up against the pillows as he caught your eyes in the mirror adjacent to the bed. your heart swelled at the sight of a small blush spreading across his cheeks.

“why are you staring at me like that, weirdo?” there was a little morning gravel in his voice but his tone was lighthearted enough to make you giggle. you fell back against the pillows, tucking one under your arm as you kept your gaze on him.

“what? i’m not allowed to stare at my boyfriend anymore?” you replied, a yawn falling off your lips. he playfully rolled his eyes in response, walking over to your side of his bed. he sat at the edge, one of his hands brushing some of your hair from your face.

“actually, no. they just passed that law last night while you were sleeping through coraline again.” you bit your lip, vaguely remembering begging spencer to put that movie on only to fall asleep on his shoulder twenty minutes in. you can only assume at some point he carried you from the sofa to his bed. you blushed at the thought, as if he hadn’t done it at least twenty times by now. clearly you weren’t used to the ‘princess treatment’ he liked giving you.

“oh, my fault then. please don’t arrest me, mr. fbi agent.”

“it’s dr. fbi agent, actually.”

“right…” you giggled again, beaming as he smiled down at you. “do you know if you have a case?”

“paperwork day.” his fingers started tracing small shapes against the skin of your arm. “of course if that changes, i’ll let you know. but hopefully it won’t. you can come over again tonight if you want. maybe we’ll finally finish coraline.” his voice was soft, ringing harmonies in your ear as you let your eyes flutter shut in the comfort. “need me to take you to work today?”

you hummed, reaching out to your phone sitting on his bedside table. you quickly rechecked your schedule and shook your head. “no, it’s okay. i go in a little later. it’s close enough to walk.” you tilted your head as you felt him tangle his hand in your hair again. spencer scratched delicately at your scalp.

“okay, my love. i washed the clothes you left here the other day. they should be in the second drawer of my dresser.” you nodded in response as he leaned in to press his lips to your forehead. you caught his jaw in your hands and pulled him downwards, giving him a proper kiss on his lips. he laughed quietly as you both pulled away. “have a good day, angel.”

“you too, baby.”

well to put it simply you did not have a good day. you got ready for your job at a local cafe and made it to work fine. it was when you got there that it started going downhill. you genuinely loved being a barista. you definitely had the personality for it. friendly, outgoing, kind and patient. it’s actually how you met spencer in the first place. but sometimes it was hard. especially with certain needy customers. most of your regulars were chill. you were actually friends with many of them, always asking about the new things in their lives whenever they’d come in. of course, though, there were always a few bad apples.

like this one particular older man. he came in every now and then and ordered the same thing every single time. black decaf coffee with a blueberry scone. he was always in a rather grumpy mood, not even your tender words could help that. so this morning when you gave him a black regular coffee by an honest mistake he made sure to let you know just how stupid and idiotic you were. you stood there at the counter, expression apologetic as he continued to berate you. eventually your boss told you to go in the back for a bit while she took care of things.

you practically ran to the bathroom, locking yourself in the tiny space as you tried to control your breathing. you could already feel the hot tears spilling down your cheeks. you absolutely despised how sensitive you could get. through shaky breaths, you pulled your phone from your back pocket, unlocking it with a small sob. you had a few texts and one missed call from your mother. one of the texts was from spencer, letting you know it was just gonna be a paperwork day and inquiring what you wanted to order for dinner tonight. the other texts were from your mother, reminding you about a family party that was coming up soon. there was another text after her missed call.

- Guess you’re too busy to talk. Just let me know if you can make it.

you closed your eyes, feeling the passive aggressive tone through the message. the best way you could describe your relationship with your mother was that she was both your best friend and your worst critic. she tried to support everything you aspired to do, but also hated the way you did them. it was... complicated but her text was enough to leave you in a sour mood for the remainder of the day.

you felt like you couldn’t catch up. you couldn’t get over that bump setting you back from having a good shift. your head felt like it was elsewhere and no longer attached to your body, your movements becoming monotonous and your words dull. to make things worse, your eighteen year old coworker was coming in for their shift an hour before you were leaving.

and you loved them, you really really did. often times you would joke about them being your work child, taking them under your wing. but they talked. a lot. most days you could keep up no problem but with the way your mind was on a downward spiral today, all you could feel was immense overstimulation as they yapped in your ear about the latest tv show they were binge watching. soon it was all too much for you to handle and you end up snapping at the poor kid.

“dude i’m sorry but i don’t really care. can we just be quiet for, like, five minutes?” you interrupted them mid-sentence, tired eyes looking over with a slight glare. you immediately softened, eyes wide with guilt as they looked towards you like a kicked puppy. you tried your best to stammer out an apology but was met with silent treatment until you clocked out.

they would soon accept your apology in the next coming days and you’d go back to normal because that’s how you guys were, but the guilt would eat at you for quite a bit. when you were a kid, your parents often praised you on how self-sufficient and respectful you were. in your adolescent years, with the help of an untreated personality disorder and your regular teen hormones raging inside your cage of a body, your behaviour would suddenly change. you found yourself more irritable. more prone to overstimulation. you internalized a lot of what you were going through because every time you tried to bring up your feelings, your mother would shut you down and it’d turn into a fight.

you expressed yourself through slammed doors and screaming matches. you bottled things up until they overflowed. it was how you handled the thunderstorms behind your skull. you would eventually get better in time, finally attending therapy and finding solace in little things like journaling. and when you started dating spencer, he helped a lot too. your brain could sometimes make a lot of irrational judgements and spencer would help you see reasoning instead. he was also insanely patient with you. especially in the first two months of you guys dating where you broke up with him upwards of five times. each time because you didn’t believe you deserved him. (you still don’t believe it, but at least now you’ve stopped trying to fight the good coming into your life.)

you would never forget the first time spencer met your parents. the night was going well up until dinner time when your dad decided to pull out your old high school yearbook. at first it was just classic embarrassment as spencer looked at your school photos. but then your mother, after one too many glasses of wine, brought up your old struggles with anger.

“be careful getting on her bad side, spencer!” she had said, waving a finger in the air. “she’s got a scary temper for sure! remember when we had to replace her bathroom mirror because she threw her hairbrush at it?" she spoke like she was a comedian telling her greatest joke in the world as she turned towards your father. "i can’t even remember what made her so upset! but i remember how expensive that fix was…”

“oh i’m sure i’ve dealt with far worse at my job, ma’am. i think i can handle her just fine.” he was quick to reply and the hand pressing on your bouncing knee beneath the table calmed any nerves of him looking at you differently. later that night he’d hold you as you sobbed in his arms, retelling different memories of your past. he made you a promise that he’d never see you as a bad person as long as you promised him you’d talk to him whenever you started to feel like one.

you were finally walking home after this exhausting day and it wasn’t until you were changed into your comfy clothes and curled in bed that you realized you hadn't texted spencer back at all. with your knees pulled to your chest and a low hum of a fiona apple album playing from your record player you reached across your bed for your phone. you had four texts from him and one missed call.

- Hi angel. Haven’t heard from you all day, just checking in. - Hi, you should be clocked out by now. Just wanted to know if you still wanted to come over? We can order from your favorite italian place. - One missed call from spencer ♡. - Are you having a bad day, my love? Or did I do something wrong? - I’m gonna come over. See you soon, angel.

your brows furrowed together at the last text, sent just about ten minutes ago. you could feel your eyes well with frustrated tears. you felt like shit for unintentionally ignoring him. you couldn’t even think of what to say to him, but you had to think fast because soon you heard a gentle knock at your bedroom door. with a sniffle, you stood to your feet and slowly opened it.

you met spencer’s eyes, they were desperately searching your face. trying to figure you out, trying to see what was troubling your mind. you hated it sometimes when he profiled you, but most times you were grateful he could just know when you weren’t doing okay. saved you the shame of having to actually vocalize your feelings. you stepped back as he entered your room.

“your roommate let me in. she said you went straight to your room after work and have been listening to nothing but when the pawn… by fiona apple.” he was still in his work clothes, the same ones you watched him get dressed in just that morning. felt like an eternity ago at this point. before you could even let your face fall to the ground, his hands were holding your jaw, tilting it upwards and keeping it in place. he always held you like you were made of glass. “bad day?”

“you could say that.” you words were short and you didn’t mean for them to be. you were just so exhausted. “sorry i forgot to text you back. it’s just been…” you let your words fall off, waving your hands in the air with an annoyed huff. you pulled away from his touch, slumping back into your mattress. he just watched as you ran your fingers through your hair, eyes shut tight as if you were trying to talk yourself down. he bit his lip, taking a cautious step forward.

“you look like you’re trying to compute a million things at once right now inside that little head.” he shrugged off the sweater draping over his work shirt, tugged off his tie and kicked his shoes off besides your bed. you laughed sarcastically at his words but bit your tongue from replying with a snarky comment. “did you know that one of the brain’s primary functions is to collect and process sensory information? it’s kind of like there’s a little guy in there, sitting at his desk and filing through every bit of information that gets thrown at you throughout the day.” your eyes were still shut but you felt a dip in your bed as his voice grew closer to you.

“when there’s too much sensory input, it can make the brain think there’s danger, sending off signals to the body to escape. that’s when your fight-flight-freeze response gets triggered. aka that little guy’s desk is suddenly on fire and every file has been thrown all over the place and the little guy, well, the little guy is running around screaming for help.” you feel two arms wrap around your waist and maneuver your body until you felt your head resting against the warmness of his chest. soon enough you also felt slender digits running through the locks of your hair.

“you seem to resort to a fight response i’ve noticed. your body feels like you can overpower the danger your brain thinks you’re in. resulting in intense feelings of anger. which can lead to irritability.” you feel him tracing shapes, the same ones he made on your arms earlier that morning, deep into the small of your back. he always did the same movement pattern and you always wondered if that was intentional or just a coincidence. “do you wanna talk about what’s going on in here?” he poked an index finger to the side of your temple. you shook your head. “okay. we don’t have to. but i will ask about it later, is that okay?” you nodded this time.

you didn’t realize it when it was happening, but the combination of spencer pulling you into his arms and his soft voice spewing factual information at you was enough to make your head feel almost empty. your body was melted against his, curled up in his touch. you let out a shaky breath, slowly raising your head, resting your chin on his chest as your eyes opened. “how did you do that?” you whispered, soft hues scanning his face as he just smiled down at you.

“a magician never reveals his secrets, my love.” you rolled your eyes, laughing quietly as his hand lightly brushed your cheek. he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. your lips twitched in thought, a tiny frown suddenly taking over your features. spencer tilted his head. “what is it, baby?”

your eyes fell to focus on his chest, your finger tracing over the fabric of his work shirt. “do you think i’m scary? like… when i get upset?”

“scary?” he repeated, voice in small disbelief that you’d even feel the need to ask. “no, i don’t think you’re scary. i think you’re beautiful. and i think your mind can be pretty mean to you sometimes. but that’s not your fault. hey, look at me please.” you let him guide your head back up, eyes meeting each other again. he smiled at you and it made you feel warm. “why do you think you’re scary?”

your shoulder shrugged with an exasperated sigh. “because it’s what i’ve been told my whole life. when i get too overwhelmed and i just feel nothing but anger i… i feel like i can get mean and i hate feeling that way. like, i always get too snappy and i always say something that’s gonna hurt someone i care about and i…” your breathing hitches. your lashes quickly blink, trying to fight any tears from spilling yet again. “i’m so scared i’m gonna get that way with you and you’re gonna leave me.”

he was shaking his head, thumb swiping underneath your eyes at the few tears that betrayed you and fell down your cheeks. he sighed out your name. “i don’t think you understand just how much i love you. if you think i’d leave you at something so silly like that. you know, i started reading up on borderline personality disorder after that night i met your parents. i wanted to understand it more. i wanted to understand you.” he continued wiping away your tears as they kept falling.

“i can’t even imagine what you go through inside your own head every single day, but i can acknowledge how hard you’re trying to cope with it. i see it all the time. i see it in the kindness you like to spread to strangers. i see it in the way you push yourself to learn new things and the way you stopped beating yourself up if it doesn’t turn out perfect. i see it in the way you love me, and more importantly in the way you’ve allowed yourself to let me love you back. you’re such a beautiful person, my love. it’s okay to have bad days and it’s okay to let yourself be a little mean sometimes.” he laughed quietly, noticing the way your lips were fighting a smile. he leaned in and pressed a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth. “as long as you just communicate with me when you’re feeling bad. that’s all i ask.”

you sat there for a moment, admiring the way his big brown eyes stared at you. your eyes fell for a moment before picking back up with furrowed brows. “i snapped at my coworker today.”

“the teenager?” you nodded. “ah,” spencer’s hand resumed circling around your back as he hummed. “they’ll forgive you, i’m sure of it.” there was a pause and then a small hum coming from his throat. “are you hungry? hm? let’s order some food.”

he ordered you your favorite pasta dish from your favorite italian restaurant and you fell asleep in his arms in the middle of coraline again. he couldn’t help but admire you resting so peacefully in his arms and continued tracing the words ‘i love you’ over and over again into your back for the rest of the night.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fanfiction #౨ৎ ﹕mazzy’s fics ( s.r x reader. ) .ᐟ #first time i posted this it didnt show in the tags ...#who wants me gone ALREADY.

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stellar-constellations · 3 months

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Star Patient: Chapter 6 (ONGOING SLOW BURN 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, chapter 9 (in the works)

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.

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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, chapter 9 (in the works)

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