★ Diva ★

Chapter one

Dear Diary, I don’t wanna be s̷̳̅old to one direction

~~~

Dear diary, or old notebook or whatever,

Life here is strange, I've learned. By here, I mean this house with Y/n. Yes, Y/n. Not ‘your name,’ but genuinely Y/n. 18 years in this house, you would think I'd be used to it. I curse myself every day for deciding to read that shitty creepŸ̸̦́pasta story before bed in the spirit of nostalgia. Fuck nostalgia and fuck this stupid ass house.

Normal in this house is practically nonexistent. And really, I’m not one to talk; I'm not the epitome of normal either but, come on. I thought after dad left died things were supposed to be better. Not Y/n going off the deep end even more. Yeah, I may have been worse when I was younger, and we had way more bodies to bury, but that's not the point. The point is, everyone is crazy. Especially my twin sister. I swear I’ve had to bury like three people just this week, and no, we aren’t going to talk about the few I contributed.

They were bad people anyway, so it’s fine, but what’s not fine is my sociopathic sister murdering people and me having to go into that dark, spooky ass forest to hide the bodies. I swear the trees are watching me, and I keep seeing these freaky-looking guys outside. I swear they look like the proxies, but it’s no way because I refuse to believe I got stuck in some stupid early 2000’s creepypasta fanfi-

A loud knock startles you out of your writing, nearly making you drop your purple glitter pen. You let out a loud groan, burying your face in your diary, already knowing who it is.

You sigh before lifting your head back up to answer the door, a truly arduous task if you say so yourself.

“What!?” You call out viciously. It seems you really can’t get a second of peace in this damn house.

The door slams open, knocking against the wall with a hard thud.

You wince.

That’s definitely gonna leave a mark.

“That’s another thing Mom’s gonna bitch about.” You think with a grumble.

Then Y/n’s happy ass comes bursting through the door.

You slam your diary shut and quickly shove it back under your pillow before she can pester you about it.

“What do you want, Kool-Aid man?” You ask dryly, the ever-present irritation that follows her presence already there.

Y/n rolls her eyes as she walks in and flops on the bed like she owns the whole room and everything in it.

Her annoying smile finds its way onto her face. You already know she’s gonna ask for some bullshit. She turns her head your way, and you resist the urge to kick her off the bed.

“Do you want to come with me outside?” She asks with a smile, her hands lazily fiddling with the corner of your comforter.

“No,” You reply, already turning around to grab your phone to do anything else but be roped into her shenanigans.

“Pleaseee,” she drawls in her annoyingly high-pitched voice, scooting closer to you presumably to grab your phone out of your hand.

“No,” you scoot closer to the edge of your bed and away from her. Putting in your phone's password and opening tumblr.

“Why nottt?” She blabbers even louder, scooting closer once again. This time poking your back. You resist the urge to bend her finger back, irritation bubbling up.

“Because,” You hiss, dropping your phone on the bed and shoving her back. She’s regrettably still on the bed but at least a little further from you. Until she scoots back up.

“Because whyyy? I’m just going around the corner to the store, it’s not even that far.” She whines, giving up poking you for throwing her limbs out across the entire bed and taking up as much space as possible.

You huff a loud, annoyed groan. Rolling not just your eyes but your entire head to convey just how much you really don’t want to go. She's gonna end up killing someone, and you’re gonna have to clean it up again and hide the body, and you just want one day. One day of normalcy before you go back to killing and cleaning.

“And maybe to dad’s grave,” She says sheepishly, retracting her boney arm and leg from over your body and turning to face your back from where you’re nearly leaning off the bed, phone back in hand.

She creeps closer, putting her hands on your shoulders before shaking you lightly back and forth.

Like that would magically make you want to go with her.

“I’m not going to dad’s grave. I don’t even know why you made a grave for that bastard, all he did was hit us and drink all day.” You mutter bitterly, scrolling fan art on tumblr and attempting to ignore the involuntary shaking.

You’d never admit it, but you kinda missed seeing creepypasta fan art on your dash, that's how you found out what universe you were in.

What do you mean there's not a Slenderman wiki page, or Ticci Toby?

It puzzled you for the first few months before you reluctantly put the only pieces together that fit. You went to sleep one night reading old creepypasta fanfics for the fun of it, and now you’re ignoring your annoying twin sister named Y/n.

“Well, yeah, but I feel like he still should get a grave.” She pouts, resting her head on your shoulder and looking down at your phone.

“You didn’t even kill him. I should get to decide if he gets a grave or not.” You grumble, you’re still not letting go of Y/n deciding to give that monster a grave, tapping at your phone aggressively.

He hit you, her, and Mom for years. Locked you and Y/n in the basement for days on multiple occasions, and yeah, maybe it did make you really good at lock picking, but there aren't many upsides to being locked in a basement for the majority of your childhood while your mother watched and laughed.

And well, mother dearest wasn’t laughing for long. Since that bastard would turn on her, too. You really should have killed him earlier. You’re jostled out of thought by the shaking getting more aggressive.

“What.” You glare at your sister.

You really aren't in the mood. You just want to be left alone so you can get back to complaining in your diary, your favorite hobby besides scrolling tumblr.

“You spaced out again,” She says, not phased in the slightest about her homicidal brother glaring at her like she’s going to be the next one on the chopping block.

“I know, I’m trying to ignore you.” You reply with an exhausted sigh, dropping your phone on your bed yet again and staring at the white walls like they’ll save you from your bothersome sister.

“You’re not doing a very good jo-” your foot kicks out, and your sister goes tumbling right off the edge with an undignified yelp.

“HAH!” You throw your head back in laughter, the thump of her falling was almost as loud as the thud when she threw your door open, payback.

Her head pokes up from where she’s laid out on the floor. Her hair a mess atop her head, and you can’t stop yourself from pointing and laughing at her pitiful state.

Your sinister cackles fill the room. Your sister huffs before her hand reaches out lightning fast and drags you down with her.

Now it’s you making the undignified yelp as you crash to the floor. You make sure to use her as a landing pad in retaliation. She dramatically shoves you off and cackles sinisterly, rolling around, pointing and laughing at you like a possessed hyena.

You’re not about to be laughed at by this fool, so you once again push your leg out and kick her. Unfortunately, this only serves to make her laugh harder. You cross your arms with a petulant frown still laid out on the floor and huff. Her laughter eventually dies down with a gleeful sigh.

You glare at her.

“Sooo, you gonna go outside with me?” She asks for what feels like the millionth time, playful smile shining bright like she didn’t just drag you off your bed and laugh for five minutes straight.

You flip onto your stomach and lie starfish on your floor.

“If I can’t see her, she can't see me,” you think to yourself as a last-ditch effort.

“No,” You enunciate every syllable, maybe then it’ll get through her thick, persistent skull.

Maybe that's why she never got brain damage when she was knocked against the floor as a child.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to go by myself with this…” She drawls out the words longingly and sighs, flipping something in her hand.

You watch her out of the corner of your eye.

You turn to get a better look and… is that your phone!

“You little shit!” You shout as you scramble up from the floor to lunge for your phone.

She’s just the slightest bit faster than you and books it out of the room. You follow her out and down the hall. Both your heavy footfalls, shouts, and laughs echo through the dingy house. The usual floorboards creak when Y/n runs down the stairs and nearly trips before laughing harder and dashing to the front door, grabbing her shoes in the process.

Despite your best attempts, you end up smiling as you chase your bothersome sister down the stairs with your runaway phone. She fumbles with the locks for a second, and you take that opportunity to pounce. You launch from a bottom step to the middle of the living room, saving you precious seconds as you run and launch yourself into your sister.

Tackling her to the floor with a prideful grin.

She crashes to the floor with a yelp, arms suspended mid-air, reaching for the door as she falls. You two rumble and wrestle around on the floor. Her holding onto the phone with all her might, and you trying to pry it from her.

Your smile is wide, victorious, and smug as you wrestle the phone from her grip and stagger up. You’d always been the better one at takedowns. She huffs and looks away, still on the floor with her arms crossed. Being a sore loser.

“Looks like I win this one!” You cackle and emote a number one before pointing at yourself with your thumb, then back at your sister with a thumbs down.

She snarls and tries to grab your ankle to pull you down again, but you jump out of the way just in time with a mocking laugh.

“HAH!” You stick your tongue out at her childishly, but you don’t care.

You got your phone back, that’s all that matters.

“Bitch,” Your sister mumbles under her breath, pouting.

“What was that L-L-Loser?” You laugh, holding a L out in front of her.

She sighs before looking at you with sad eyes and a pout.

“Does this mean you’re not going outside with me?”

You know exactly what she’s doing. Trying to guilt you into not celebrating your win.

Doesn’t mean it doesn’t work, though.

You sigh, rolling your head back before you stand over Y/n with your hand outstretched.

“No, now come on before I change my mind.” You shake your outstretched hand with a raised eyebrow saying what are you waiting for.

She breaks out into a wide smile and takes your hand with glee. Seemingly completely forgetting about her previous loss. You pull her up and notice she weighs a little less than you remember. You wonder if Mom is taking food away from her again. You make a mental note to buy her something at the store.

You solemnly think about your poor wallet, and the 5 dollars left from the one bald guy you killed.

“Yay!” She exclaims before grabbing her shoes she dropped in the scuffle and ties them on, her seemingly ever-present smile still on her face. You wonder how she can be so happy after everything.

“Well, I’m gonna go get my wallet. I’ll be back.” You turn away when you realise you were looking too long and jog back upstairs to your room awkwardly.

_____

You slow down as you pass where your mom dad’s room was is. You shake your head, sighing through your nose as you blink the red away, your hand resting on the wooden doorframe trembles.

The feeling of your dad’s guts in your hands is a feeling you won’t ever be able to forget.

You move your hand to push open the doorhandle-less room.

You scan the room with squinted eyes. You know your mom hides her alcohol and drug money in here somewhere. You move further into the room, cautious not to move too many things out of place, she probably won’t notice, but better safe than sorry in this house.

Except when it comes to the money, you're taking all of that money.

You need it more.

You move to the nightstand, it still has bloodstains. You open the drawer and jackpot! Found the exact thing you were looking for. You open the cigarette pack and slip out two ten-dollar bills. You put the cigarette box back where you found it, slam the drawer shut when your eyes accidentally catch the bloodstain on the baseboards, and speedwalk out as quickly as you can.

You hate going into that room. Nothing but bad memories in there.

When you get back to your room, you shut your door and press your back against the cool wood. Your head hangs in your hands as you get yourself back together. You take a deep breath in before you open your eyes and power on. You really don’t know if you're gonna be able to visit that evil man’s grave.

You move through your room, changing into shorts, a shirt, a few bracelets, and some slides. It’s unfortunately way too hot for anything more, even though you wish you could put on your favorite jacket that matches every outfit perfectly. You grab your wallet and slide it into your pocket, and almost forget to grab your headphones before leaving your room to go back downstairs, where Y/n’s waiting by the door.

She apparently threw her hair up into a messy bun, not surprising. She’s always been the more peculiarly dressed...one out of the two of you. She has on a baggy black and neon blue galaxy shirt, and for some reason, leggings? You’d have to be positively insane to wear leggings in this heat, but you guess that’s why y/n’s wearing them. You don’t even bother looking at the rest of her eyesore ass outfit.

You can only hope today isn’t the day you get sold to one direction.

“C’mon, weirdo, we’re leaving,” you say as you grab the house keys off the table, open the door, and step outside.

“I’m not weird, I’m just not like other girls.” You hear her reply behind you. You cringe so hard you have to close your eyes for a second and take a breath. You decide not to dignify that with a response.

The moment you step outside, you’re glad you did.

The fresh air clears your foggy mind and puts your heart at ease, and with problem number one beside you, you don’t have to worry about her doing anything stupid.

___________

The walk to 7- Eleven was fairly uneventful. Y/n ranted your ear off about some new conspiracy theory. You mostly tuned her out and focused on watching your surroundings. You’d been feeling way more paranoid than usual, and you know it’s not because of the killing you’ve been doing. You hid those bodies perfectly, thank you very much. You think it’s those damn people in the forest who watch you hide the bodies. You hope it isn’t, but you think the proxies are watching you.

You just pray Y/n hadn’t caught their eye.

You mentally roll your eyes at yourself for that thought, who are you kidding, of course they noticed y/n, she’s Y/n for gods sake. Maybe this is why she’s been so into conspiracy theories lately.

You watch your surroundings like a hawk. The bushes up the street, the beginnings of the forest on either side of the road, the street, the crackhead on the other side of the street, but you’re caught off guard when you hear the words “Marble Hornets”.

Your head snaps to Y/n, an undoubtedly wild look in your eye.

“What did you say?” You ask, trying to push the urgency out of your voice, you wouldn’t want to scare her.

You're supposed to be brave enough for the both of you. You take a breath and calm yourself down.

Maybe you should actually listen next time.

Y/n looks at you with an eyebrow raised in concern, before she huffs.

“You weren’t listening, were you?” She asks plainly.

You smile sheepishly in response.

“Whatever, I was saying my friend Amy gave me a copy of these tapes she found at the local community college. They had them in their junk room, and apparently, they were made by that one guy who went missing. I was telling you me and her were going to have a sleepover at her place and watch them.” She explains, and this time you actually do listen.

You have a few concerns, more than a few really. For one, despite you wanting as much alone time as possible from your crazy ass family, you’ve been keeping a close eye on your sister.

Ever since you saw those fuckers in the woods for the first time 3 weeks ago, you’ve been on edge.

But now that she has those tapes, fuck no.

Y/n is absolutely not going to Amy’s place alone.

What if she watches those tapes and someone comes and gets her?

What if you’re not there to stop them?

What if this time you’re not there?

What if this time you’re too late?

It won’t be like last time, you won’t be too late ever again, you won't, you promised yourself that. Now, just to figure out how to get her to say you can come with her?

Before you can open your mouth to say something, she beats you to it.

“You spaced out again,” Her brows furrow, whether in irritation or concern is a mystery to you.

“You’ve been doing that often. Should I be worried?” She looks you over, like whatever's wrong could be physical.

“No, I’m fine, don’t worry about me, Y/n.” You say with a small smile, you reach over to ruffle her hair like you did when you were kids, and she yelps and tries to dodge out of the way.

You laugh and catch her anyway, ruffling her hair and messing up her messy bun even further.

You pull away with a grin. Looking at your handiwork as Y/n does damage control. Hands flying to her head, trying to keep her messy bun from toppling off her head.

“There, now that's a real messy bun.” You shoot finger guns at her.

“You’re a jerk.” She mutters, still attempting to fix her stubborn bun.

“Hi, jerk, I’m __” You say with a bright smile, grinning from ear to ear.

This might be your first real smile in months.

“You didn’t even say the joke right.” Y/n rolls her eyes, her own smile on her face.

You nudge into her with your shoulder.

“Doesn’t matter, so can I crash your little sleepover?” You question slyly, silently praying that Y/n’ll say yes.

“Hmm, how about no?” She chirped, a mocking smile splitting her face.

“Asswipe.” You mutter, wondering how the hell you’re going to convince her.

You two haven’t hung out together doing something fun since you both were 13, and not for her lack of trying.

Maybe playing that card actually will work on second thought.

“Well, why not, sister dearest?” You question innocently.

She looks at you with a deadpan.

“When’s the last time you wanted to hang out with me, not out of obligation?” She questions with a raised eyebrow.

You mentally wince, well, when you put it like that…

“Now?” You try, smile still firmly in place.

You ponder clasping your hands together in the perfect picture of sincerity to sell it further.

“Yeah right, what do you really want ___?” She asks, bitter humor lining her tone.

You debate telling her the truth, but quickly discard that option.

Telling Y/n that proxies who work for a creepy, faceless man who runs a mansion in the woods is stalking us and most likely wants to recruit us to join his freaky, murderous boy band; and I’m worried that if I take my eyes off her, they’ll snatch her up and I’ll never see her again, and I wouldn’t be able to live with it or forgive myself.

See too many words.

“I want to hang out with you. I know I haven't been the best brother for well, years, but I miss you. I miss hanging out with you. I know it’s selfish, but I hope you miss me too.”

You’re surprised to find that you actually mean it.

You look at Y/n, trying to gauge her facial expression, decipher the meaning. You’re pleased to know you can at least still read her if nothing else.

She’s the one who looks away this time.

She chews on her lower lip and fidgets with her necklace. You hope you didn’t mess up your relationship so badly that she doesn’t even want to try to hang out. You refuse to consider the option.

Thankfully, she responds before you can continue to overthink.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try. I’m glad you want to hang out with me again, even if you are 5 years too late.”

She smiles at you, something rare and vulnerable.

You smile back.

____

The walk to the 7-Eleven felt like it took forever and some change. Maybe it did.

You two stopped a few times when you were talking after all. Or maybe it’s because you feel like you're constantly being watched. Either way, you’re glad you finally made it out of the heat when you did.

The cold air of the 7-Eleven feels like salvation as you grab one of the baskets.

“Ah, this is so much better,” You let out a dramatic sigh of relief.

“Tell me about it. I thought I was going to melt out there.” Y/n dramatizes as she heaves herself to the freezer aisle.

You watch amused as she yanks the door open and sticks her head in to cool off.

“You know you’d be much cooler if you didn’t have that stupid outfit on.” You lean nonchalantly against one of the freezer doors.

Her head pops out of the freezer, indignation written all over it. You hold back a laugh.

“My outfit is not stupid! It’s fashionable! You’re the weird one with your studded belts and all black outfits!” She huffs before sticking her head back in the freezer.

You debate going over there and closing the freezer door just for the laughs.

“Uh, no, I’m normal. You’re wearing leggings and a baggy shirt in 90-degree weather.” You banter, walking over to one of the freezers with frozen fruit in it.

You snag a small bag of assorted fruit before walking over to the frozen meals.

You’d have to make sure mom didn’t take this; you bought it after all, so she might not. After all these years, you still don’t understand why Mom takes food away from only Y/n.

“Well, at least if it rains, I’ll be prepared!” Y/n exclaims with so much confidence it hurts.

You briefly wonder what she would do without you, shaking your head as you pick up a frozen pizza and check the date.

“Unless you’re gonna use your baggy ass shirt to cover your head, no, you're not. Sorry to break it to you, sis.” You drawl with a smirk.

Continuing to pick up food items you can hide in Y/n's room so she has something to eat. You can’t wait till the university dorms open so you can take Y/n and get out of his hellhole.

“Asshole,” she mutters under her breath.

You ignore her. You've been called that so many times it may as well be your middle name.

“You know what, I’ll use you as an umbrella!” She walks over and snatches the ramen cup right out of your hand, and you scoff.

“Yeah, sure you would! Your twig arms would so totally be able to lift me and use me as an umbrella.” Condescension and sarcasm drip from your words.

“Also, give that back,” You reach over to grab the cup noodles out of Y/n’s hand.

She dodges out of the way with a playful smile. That same smile that she gets before she becomes the most annoying person in the world.

“C’mon, we’re not doing that here, give back the noodles.” You sigh, holding the basket out for her to put it back.

“Nope! I’m gonna buy it myself,” She chirps instead, skipping away.

“With what money?” You raise an eyebrow in confusion and huff in irritation.

This is why you don’t go places with her.

“Uh, my money?” She continues skipping, you walk behind her.

Long strides, easily keeping up.

“Um, no. Put it back in the cart before I don't buy you anything.” Irritation lines your voice as you try to snatch the cup noodles away again.

“You wouldn’t do that.” She smirks knowingly and continues her exasperating routine of dodging around.

“Watch me.” You mutter under your breath, nearly grabbing it this time.

“Ok!” She suddenly stops and turns around, cup noodles hidden behind her back.

You sigh. Why does everything always have to be so difficult with her? Why won’t she just let you buy the stuff?

You hold out the basket again and shake it for good measure. Like shaking it will somehow goad her into putting the noodle in and stop making a fuss of something so small.

“Why do you even care so much? It’s just a cup of noodles.” She smirks as she whips the cup noodles from behind her back and starts inspecting it while dodging it out of your grip.

You can’t say, “I stole 20 dollars from mom’s drug money so I could buy you food she can’t take away. I worry you don’t eat enough. I’m worried you’ll get sick again.”

So instead, you deflect.

“Because I’m the oldest and I said so.” You hiss as you finally wrestle the cup noodles out of her iron-glad grasp with a shout of victory.

“Hah!” You point at her with a victorious smile and a skip of your own as you put the noodles in the basket on the way to the next aisle.

She pouts but gets over it quickly, like all things.

You decide to grab a few more items before walking to the register, Y/n trailing behind you. You hand the basket over to her to set the items on the conveyor, her favorite part.

The man in front of you finishes up his transaction fairly quickly when he catches sight of you.

He seems strangely familiar.

You don’t think much of it; Maybe he has social anxiety.

What does catch your attention, though, is his jacket.

You can’t really make out the color. Maybe yellow, or tan, perhaps dark beige. It seems every time you look at the damn thing, it changes. You squint your eyes at it, trying to catch a definite color.

You were going to compliment his jacket. But on second thought, the lack of decisiveness this jacket has really pisses you off. You know what fuck this guy and his oddly familiar and indecisive jacket. You turn back to your items and step up when the strange man and his magic mood ring jacket leave.

You watch the cashier ring up your items, eyes glancing from the items being scanned to the price that’s jumping higher and higher. You watch anxiously as the last item rings up and puts your total at twenty-three dollars and forty-seven cents.

You knew you should have calculated the items before getting to the register, but you didn’t want to be outside longer than needed, especially with y/n here. The ever-present feeling of being watched has been especially intense since you walked in, and not just because of the cameras.

You let out a nearly soundless sigh before reaching into your pocket, but you're stopped by a small hand grabbing your arm. You look over at Y/n, confusion written on your face.

“I can put some stuff back.” She says, guilt all over her expression.

She lets you go and reaches over to grab her favorite candy to put it back.

You saw her sneak the candy in the basket; she’s not that sneaky. Well, not to you anyway.

You let her put it there; she deserves something nice after the month she’s had. Mom’s been really hard on her lately. You being away at your part-time job undoubtedly made it worse.

You grab the candy from her and put it back on the counter.

“No, it’s fine, I have money for it.” You pull out the two ten-dollar bills.

Thankfully, you still have the five dollars left from that one bald guy.

You give the money to the cashier, and she smiles at you before telling both of you to have a good day.

You give her a smile back.

“You too, and stay safe. There’s been a real concerning amount of murders lately.” Y/n grabbed all the bags before you even finished your sentence.

Already speed walking to the door.

You give a short wave to the cashier, Olivia, her name tag reads. You look her over again before catching up to your sister.

The heavy evening heat slams into you the second you leave the air-conditioned store. Y/n’s already halfway down the street with both hands full of bags. You sigh and shake your head as you speed walk over to her.

“So, you gonna let me carry a few bags?” You slink up behind her.

“No.” She replies, re-adjusting the bags in her grip.

“Oh, c’mon, your hands gotta be hurting carrying all those?” You purr convincingly.

“And in this heat, pssht, you may as well hand some over,” You curl your hand, beckoning forth the bags.

Y/n sends you a distrustful side glance and side steps away from you, continuing on her journey.

“You just want to steal some of my candy.” She says, curling her lip up at you.

You gasp, your hands fly to your chest in offence.

“Oh y/n, I would never.” Mock sincerity drips from your words.

Her neck snaps to look at you with an air of disbelief.

“You ate them last time!” She cries in indignation.

You have to hold back a chuckle at her expression.

“Ok, ok, I admit that,” You shrug.

“But! I’m a changed man.” You raise your hands in surrender.

“Changed man, my ass!” She huffs, still not relinquishing the bags.

“Ok, ok, how about this, you keep the bag with the candy and give me the rest.” You offer with a sly smile.

“No! I did that last time, and you snuck them out of my bag!” She whines.

“No, I don’t remember that, actually. Why won’t you let me be helpful, sister dearest?” You put an arm around her, deflecting.

“Helpful? You and helpful in the same sentence?” She scoffs, but she doesn’t lean away.

“Yes, me and helpful in the same sentence! You remember Mr. Lupiffigus!” You steal a few bags from her hand discreetly.

“Oh, please, I had that kill!” She squawks, trying to grab back the bags you took. You chuckle and dance out of the way.

“No, he had you. You were about to be the kill.” You say matter-of-factly, skipping ahead of her and walking backwards.

“No, I wasn't,” She rhubarbs, squinting at you.

“Yeah, you were.” You sing-song, laughing when she tries to swing one of the bags at you and misses.

“I would have dodged the shotgun,” She pouts, clearly still peeved about the situation.

It’s kinda funny how she refuses help so often, even when she clearly needs it. Kind of like now with the bags.

“You would have been Swiss cheese,” You chuckle.

When you turn back around to bump Y/n with your shoulder, you pause in confusion when you see your house in the distance, Mom’s car out in front. You thought you were going to see Dad’s grave?

Well, not that you’re not grateful, but you were hoping for some time to plan how you were going to sneak these groceries past Mom.

“Wait, I thought we were going to see Dad’s grave?” Your brows furrow in confusion.

“We were, but it’s wayyy too hot out here.” Y/n laments, throwing her head back with a groan.

“You wouldn’t be as hot if you didn’t have that goofy outfit on, just saying.” You shrug, simultaneously trying to figure out how the hell you're gonna sneak these bags past that woman.

The house keeps getting closer and closer, and you’re no closer to a solution.

You decide fuck it, no sneaking.

Screaming match here I come.

“I don’t know why you’re acting like my outfit is the worst thing in the world. It’s not even that bad.” She looks down with a sigh.

“Sure it’s not. You be you, Y/n.” You feel a little guilty. You didn’t mean to make her upset.

“And you might be right, it’s not the worst thing in the world. I mean, have you seen what Ms. Jenkins wears?” You stage whisper, judgment lining your tone as you slander the old lady across the street and her awful outfits.

Y/n giggles, laughing into her shoulder as she looks across the street, then away.

Speak of the devil, there she is.

Across the street, four houses down from yours, sitting on her porch with her hideous dog, is old Ms. Jenkins.

You don’t know what’s worse, her frumpy, unsightly attire or that mangy ass dog.

You curse under your breath as she notices you both from where she’s anchored in her rickety old rocking chair.

That lady seriously gives you the creeps.

“Oh, young ones!” The old crone shouts from across the street.

You suppress a shiver as her beady grey eyes pierce through you and lock onto Y/n.

Yeah no.

You grab y/n by the shoulders and place her firmly out of the creepy lady’s sight. She’s been trying to lure Y/n into her lopsided, dilapidated, decaying house since you were children.

She even tried to get you once.

It was not fun.

“See, that’s what happens when you don’t eat your vegetables.” You murmur to y/n, a nostalgic smile on your lips as you recall the fibs you used to tell to scare her.

“I’m too old to fall for that now ___,” A matching smile on her face.

“Yeah, but apparently we’re not old enough to not be the next Hansel and Gretel, so we better move.” You throw your arm over Y/n, keeping her close as you both speed walk down the street to your house.

It’s not like the old bat could get up and grab y/n from you anyway, but it makes you feel better.

As you walk down the street, the grotesque mutt starts to howl.

Not bark.

Howl.

The crazy old witch just laughs and rubs the violently howling dog, bubbly foam leaks from the corner of the dog's mouth.

“Ah, hell no.” You laugh nervously as your brows furrow.

You walk impossibly faster. Practically dragging Y/n along as you fish into your pocket for the keys. You shove the grocery bag dilemma into the far recesses of your mind as you focus on the pressing matter of not being kidnapped or cursed.

Y/n does her best to keep up, clearly not wanting a repeat of the last time the old bat got her claws on her.

“Oh, kiddies! I finished the scarf for Pluto! Don’t you want to see it!” She yowls as her creaky rocking chair screeches with every violent lurch she takes.

Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard.

This is another reason I didn’t want to come outside.

“No thanks, Ms. Jenkins! We’re booked today.” You yell out with a polite smile, hoping she wouldn’t insist.

“Oh, no, I insist! You kiddies will just love it!” She croaks, then squeals out a haunting giggle, rocking back so far you have the brief hope that she’ll fall.

You swear you hear the ungodly sound echo.

The grizzly dog -if you can even call it that- pants heavily, sputtering and heaving like a bad exhaust, or maybe a broken engine.

You gulp nervously.

Your house is just a few steps away now, and you’ve never been so happy to see your ratty porch steps.

You’re so happy you could cry. You damn near yanked Y/n up the steps, ignoring her abrupt yelp. She’ll be fine.

“Maybe next time!” You call out.

A genuine smile on your face at getting away from that disturbing hag.

You slam the key into the door and book it inside.

Y/n stumbles out of your grasp, panting. Maybe you could have walked a bit slower, you think sheepishly.

Your eyes widen as you remember Y/n’s still holding the bags. Mom would pitch a bitch of all bitches if she saw all this is Y/n’s.

“Geez, could you have walked any faster?” Y/n whisper-yells, sending you a dirty look.

“Didn’t want to end up dog food.” You shrug with a smirk, whispering all the while.

You grab the bags from y/n’s hands, and she thankfully lets you easily as she fidgets with her necklace. You put the bags down nearby as you slip off your slides.

You catch movement out of the corner of your eye while you’re bent down and sigh through your nose. You close your eyes, mentally preparing yourself for the battle that is speaking to your mother.

The lady stomps and drags herself from the grimy kitchen doorway to the living room as you raise back up to your full height, eyes dark and determined. Dealing with this bitch is always a nightmare, even more so when she’s in a mood, like now.

“Where were you mistakes at? What's all that?” She spits, her arms crossed over her chest, stance tense.

Her blackened, yellow teeth grind together in a snarl. Only serving to highlight the white line of powder above her lip.

“Getting food. Something this house doesn’t have.” You retort, tone clipped and cold.

You debate telling Y/n to go upstairs, but even speaking to her will put unwanted attention on her. You sigh, shaking your head. You see your mother out of the corner of your eye, powering up her outrage to yell, nag, and bitch.

“I give you a roof over your head, you ungrateful little shit!” She barks out, spindly arms thrashing around her.

“Fucking barely! This house is falling apart! Kinda like you. Maybe lay off the crack once in a while!” You gesture to the house wildly.

You’re just so fed up with everything here.

Especially her.

“Well, I guess I’m just the worst mother ever then!” She cries, tears welling up in her eyes.

You feel Y/n quivering behind you.

It only serves to anger you further.

“Yes, you are! You’re the saddest excuse of a mother figure a person can have!” The utter bewilderment that she could think of herself as anything near a good mother almost pushes you to bathe the house in blood.

Y/n puts her hand on your shoulder as the argument escalates. You can practically feel the anxiety radiating off her, but you just can’t stop. This feels like the one chance you’ll get to lay out how you really feel on the table. You can’t pass it up.

You shove her hand off.

“You have no idea what I put up with, raising you!” She screams, trying to yell over you.

“Nothing! You put up with nothing! You were out getting FUCKED every night while dad beat us half to death!” Your voice rattles the house.

“I did everything I could to protect you from him!” She competes with your voice, spit flying from her lips.

“No! You sat there and laughed like the demented bitch you are! Then cried when he hit you, too!” Your teeth clench together so hard you can feel your heartbeat in your jaw.

You shake in anger. How fucking dare she say she protected you?

“Don’t you spea-” She starts, outraged.

Her eye twitches. You can’t tell if it’s from the drugs or fury.

You're livid and hot with rage when she points her bony finger at you. But she knows better than to get in your face, especially after Father.

“I’m talking! You don't get to cut me off!” You stab your finger through the air right back, your footstep forward thunders through the house.

“I can’t believe I raised someone so disrespectful.” She hisses, a deep, disgusted frown tugging at her wrinkled face.

“You should! Look at you! Oh, but you wouldn’t know that because you were high and out all the time! You didn't raise me, I raised myself! I raised Y/n! When you weren’t fucking home to do it!” Your chest heaves as you seethe.

“You didn't do shit!” Your mother shouts back, eyes narrowing to slits.

“I did everything! I did everything you didn’t do!” Your fists clench and unclench.

Entire body shaking uncontrollably.

“Everything you were too fucking high to do! I can’t believe you actually think you protected us from anything!” The half-laugh, half-scoff that forces itself out is painfully bitter.

In your rage-induced tunnel vision, you don’t notice Y/n behind you, clenching her fists, gearing up the nerve to say something for once. You're so consumed in your argument, you nearly forget about her.

“Stop fighting!”

Her high-pitched cry cuts through the screaming match.

Cuts through your rage for a second.

Cuts the entire house in half, and silences it in a way that it hasn’t been since that fateful night.

It’s like the house is frozen in shock from the unexpected outburst. Frozen in shock like the rest of you. The silence felt like the kind in the wake of a devastation, before a second wave of chaos, before something worse took over.

And everyone in this hell house knows silence doesn’t last, no matter how great.

“Shut up, you little bitch no one was talking to you!” She screams as a new, dark type of fury awakened in her that only happened when it came to Y/n.

It seems mother found her voice first. Your stance hardens.

It took everything in you to stop yourself from closing the gap and letting her feel what childhood was like.

“Don’t fucking talk to her like that, you good-for-nothing crackhead!” Your voice cracks with how much rage is filtered through it, face twisted in raw vitriol.

You push Y/n behind you as your mother somehow gets enough nerve to take a few steps forward.

She might still have the confidence to hit Y/n, but she wouldn’t dare try it with you.

Y/n presses her head against your back, clutching the fabric, subtly trying to hold you back if you do decide to lunge.

“I can’t believe you actually consider that thing your sister!” She glares, hatred spilling over from her gaze and infesting every word.

“How can you call her that? That’s your daughter, you fucking monster!” You’re going to lose it, you realise in a moment of clarity.

You feel your control slipping, your anger threatening to take over. Your chest heaves like air is too thin to fill your lungs with anything other than venom to spit.

Your anger a knife you're more than willing to use. Your anger a shield, because no one will call your sister a thing and live with it.

“That creature isn’t my daughter!” She cries in outrage, shrill scream bouncing off the walls.

That’s what did it. The passion and hate in her voice makes you sick.

You can’t stand it.

You begin to take a step. But your foot doesn’t even hit the ground before Y/n yanks you back with all her might. You can feel how desperately she doesn’t want it to escalate this time.

You shake with anger, jaw clenched, face so twisted in anger you barely look like yourself. Your gaze hard and hateful where it was trained on the woman across from you. You couldn’t fight her like you so desperately wanted to, so you chose the next best thing. Y/n might not like it, but at least it wasn’t an escalation.

“Then I'm not your fucking son!” The enraged words seared your throat and ring in your ears.

The shout bounces off the walls, and you boil with rage. Your glacier stare follows the woman. Her face falls for a glorious second. The closest thing to heartbreak a heartless monster like her could manage, before a matching icy expression overcomes her face. Sour look pinching at her face at all the wrong spots.

She looks as evil as she is now. It’s fitting.

“I should have aborted you.” She hisses, pale cracked lips curling around every syllable like she still has the ability to hurt you with words.

She lost that power a long time ago.

“I wish you had.” You spit out with just as much fury and vitriol.

“Well, you’re gonna get your wish.” Her gaunt face twists into an uncanny smile full of vengeance.

“I’m selling you.” She says in her sweetest voice, but the sound comes out all wrong.

Sweet and that horrid woman aren’t things that should be in the same room as each other. Ever.

It sounds like a creature pretending to be human, a mimicry of something she can’t fully understand.

But the tone isn’t the only thing that strikes you still.

Selling?

You?

“What?” You breathe out, confusion muddying your anger and unease.

“You heard me, brat,” She said it like a curse.

“I’m selling you and that bastard sister of yours.” She says with a sleazy smile that looks completely and utterly wrong on her withered face.

You refuse to believe that your life has come to this.

Seriously, being sold, of all storylines. Being sold?

Before you lose your shit, you just have one more question.

“To who?” You and Y/n ask nearly breathless, you don’t notice that Y/n moved from behind you until her small hand grabs your violently trembling one to still it.

“Some guy named Zalgo. Figure you should know your new owner's name.” Her spindly arms cross her chest, in some amalgamation of what’s supposed to be pride.

That name hasn’t struck fear into you since you were 12 and stupid in your first life. You didn’t think it could still strike fear into you, until now.

In a strange change of roles, Y/n is the one who speaks up. Hand still clasped in yours.

“What! You can’t just sell us! That’s insane!” She shouts, voice nearly breaking into hysteria as she gestures between you wildly.

“Well, I did,” was the venom-laced response that broke you out of your stupor.

“You’re a sick bitch. Selling your kids, that's a new low even for you.” You snarl, masking your fear with anger.

Y/n can’t be the only brave one, after all.

“You’re not my son anymore, remember. It was only gonna be your whale of a sister, but a two-for-one deal wouldn’t hurt.” She barks out a laugh at her own sick, lame ass joke.

“Yeah? Well, in that case, good fucking riddance.” You growl, enunciating each word like you can turn it into a weapon to hurt her as much as she’s hurt you all your life.

Your eyes ablaze with fury as you tighten your hand around Y/n’s, pick up the bags, and turn to go upstairs.

“Pack your bags while you're at it! Your new owner will be here any minute!” The bitch cackles.

The only motivating force not to argue with her further is the threat of the imaginary timer running out, ending you and Y/n in Zalgo’s grasp. You stomp up the stairs, ushering Y/n with you and speed walking into your room, mind running a mile a minute.

This time, you made sure to walk at a manageable pace. You only let Y/n’s hand fall out of your grasp when you slam your door shut behind you. You drop the bags and lean against your door, head lolling back as you aggressively rub your hands down your face.

You close your eyes and take a calming breath in and out before reopening them and seeing Y/n standing in front of you, concern wrecking her expression.

Fuck, you're so tired.

“We’re not going with him. We can’t, just trust me.” You beg silently with your eyes for her to go with it and not put up a fight.

She either really didn’t want to be sold or took pity on you. Either way, you were thankful when she nodded seriously.

You dragged your body off the door so she could leave to pack.

“I jinxed it. I fucking jinxed it.” You laugh humorlessly to yourself, hysteria threatening to creep up on you.

“Fucking one direction would have been better than the horrifying demon! I can’t believe this is actually my life.” You mutter to yourself as you move about your room.

Trying to gauge how much you’re gonna stuff in the bookbag you punted in the corner the second summer break started. You sigh as you start to shove your clothes and accessories in the bag. You grab your charger, diary, and some other items. You grab a random pair of shoes and slip them on. You’re finished packing in less than 5 minutes. You don’t have much you want to keep with you after everything's all said and done.

You sigh quietly to yourself. You have to go back in that fuck ass room.

“Whatever the money’s worth, it.” You mutter, steeling yourself as you briskly walk over to your room and open the door.

You quietly make it down the hall, avoiding the creaky floorboards that seem to be everywhere. You don’t hesitate this time. You’ve been in this room too many times today. Your eyes systematically avoid all the blood stains that wouldn’t come out, no matter how many times you’d been forced to clean them.

You make it back to the drawer with the decoy cigarette box. You grab the whole thing, not even bothering to take the money out first. You close the drawer as quickly and quietly as you can before you slink out of the room and back to yours. The memories of that room will haunt your nightmares for days now, you think to yourself bitterly.

Hopefully, she’ll be joining Father dearest soon.

Once you're back in your room, you do a quick once-over. Making sure you aren’t forgetting anything important.

Your eyes widen when you realise you almost forgot your favorite rock. It’s a stunning red and black marbled oval.

You remember the rainy day a scrawny little 7-year-old Y/n came back to you, all scraped up. You expected her to be crying, already prepared to go in through the back door to sneak the first aid kit past dad, but instead, she had that bright grin on her face and gave you a rock. A beautiful, precious rock that you would die for, live for, do anything for.

You named it sunshine.

You place sunshine in your bookbag, nestled between your softest clothes.

You sling your bookbag over your shoulder and finish your quick once-over. Finding everything else satisfactory, and moving over to the bags of groceries.

“Thank fuck we got these today,” You think as you begin to take the items out of their plastic bag and move them into a tote bag you’re pretty sure you stole from Y/n.

A quiet knock sounds on your door before it’s pushed open.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when Y/n finally steps into the room. You’re glad she knocked, you might have accidentally hit her with the grocery-heavy tote bag if she didn’t. That would have just been the cherry on top of the shit sunday this day has been.

You’re glad to see Y/n has her bag packed and her shoes on, glad that you’re on the same page still.

“We’re leaving. You got everything?” You ask just to make sure.

“Yep, got everything I’m taking with me.” She says with a weak smile on her face.

That sight pains you as much as you hate to admit it. You sigh before getting up from where you were crouched with the groceries and hold the bag out to her.

“Still wanna hold the groceries?” You smirk, wiggling your tote-bagged fingers.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Y/n accepts with a small, genuine smile breaking through.

“Alright, we gotta sneak out the back, you remember how to do that right?” You tease, your hand resting on the doorknob.

“You might be crazier than I thought if you think I could forget how.” Y/n smiles playfully, and you open the door and take the first few steps down the hall.

You both avoid the creaky spots on the floor before you get to the stairs.

You grimace.

Most steps on the stairs are the creaky ones, but you didn’t get this far by not getting creative.

So you step carefully on the first few steps before you put one leg over the railing, putting most of your weight on that unstable wooden slab, and you slide down when you can’t step on a stair.

Y/n follows your lead, having a little more trouble due to the grocery bag. But you have faith that she’ll manage. You make it down first and keep watch as Y/n slowly and quietly makes her way down.

Your eyes widen when you see that bitch ass lady come in from the front porch.

Thankfully, she’s walking in backwards, must be a symptom from doing all that crack. Y/n notices her too and tries to descend faster.

The second Y/n’s feet hit the ground, you both move. You snag the car keys off the miscellaneously stained table and slink into the bathroom to hide behind the wall.

Not even a second after you hide, she finally looks inside the house.

Y/n hides behind the kitchen wall, and you can see her vaguely from where you are, even with all the junk in the way.

You hold your hand up in a sign for stop. Y/n gives a thumbs up. You two made a secret sign language when you were kids, and in situations like now, you couldn’t be more grateful.

You watch with bated breath as the woman you unfortunately have blood relations with moves over to the grimy table and digs into the front of her pants, grabbing out a little baggy full of white powder. You nearly gag at the sight when she brings the bag to her nose and sniffs it with delight. Your disturbed frown deepens when she runs her unsettlingly bony fingers across the plastic baggy, then dips it in her finger.

“What the actual fuck.” You think to yourself, watching in morbid fascination.

You tear your eyes away from the sight and take a breath before you do the undoubtedly most risky move you’ve done all night.

Fucking this up means plan A: Sneak out quickly, quietly, and drive far away is busted. That means plan B: Kill everyone, and dip will have to suffice. You hope it doesn’t come to plan B. You don’t know if you two can get away with another murder in this town, especially with all the other killings going on.

You think it has something to do with the people in the forest who have been watching you and Y/n.

You nod your head to the side at Y/n, signalling her to move to the other wall, the wall that leads to the back door. She dashes across easily, making not a sound. You look back at the lady, and she’s none the wiser. But you’re not surprised it was pretty far away from her, and she’s not paying much attention to anything else but cutting up her crack lines with a stolen credit card.

You see Y/n analyzing the lady behind you, before she signals to you. Your eyes are set in determination and locked onto your destination. The kitchen wall.

You dash across it silently. Well, as silently as you can, with all the junk in the way.

You had to dodge over random crumpled pieces of paper just waiting to be moved, so it could make as much noise as possible. Not to mention the empty bottles on the floor waiting to be rattled around. You manage to maneuver around all the trash and junk at record speed, 18 years of practice paying off.

Until it doesn't.

That record-breaking speed caused a gust of wind to blow those bottles into each other, causing a loud clanking noise.

You inhale sharply through your nose as you notice the bitch slowly start to turn around to look in the direction of the noise. Not knowing if she would get up and look, you signal at Y/n to open the door and leave. You’d find some way to get the car keys to her.

But before you can come up with a plan for that, she vigorously shakes her head no and beckons you forward urgently.

You look back, chewing on your lip in consideration before you decide fuck it.

I wanna escape.

I don’t wanna be trapped in this house, and I sure as hell don’t want to be in jail. So you scurry over in a crouch to the back wall where Y/n is hiding just out of sight.

Praying to anything that’ll listen that the bitch won’t notice you.

You freeze, waiting with bated breath as she leans her sickly thin arm on the chair and scans the room with her dull eyes with as much clarity as she can muster.

“Just the damn rats again.” She grumbles before getting back to snorting her lines.

You’re so relieved you could cry. You decide to save the waterworks for when you actually get away, though. You and Y/n throw open the door, bags in hand, and book it to the car.

Really, what’s a little grand theft auto in the grand scheme of murders and child abuse?

Y/n’s smile is big, bright, and giddy; you can’t help that the smile’s a little contagious.

“I can’t believe it,” She says in a whisper, glee bleeding into her tone.

“Feels like just yesterday we were kids dreaming of this moment,” you reply, handing Y/n your bag to put in the back seat.

Y/n climbs into the passenger seat, door still open. So happy she’s unable to stay still. For once, you let a matching grin spread across your face, and you slide into the driver's seat.

What Y/n doesn’t know won't hurt her. This confrontation always had to happen, you tell yourself as your smile somehow widens.

You sigh, a happy sigh for once, as you slam your door shut and jam the key in the ignition. The engine rumbles to life with a sputter, cutting through the silence of the early night. You roll down the windows a bit to let out the hot summer air.

You don’t pull off.

Y/n looks between you and the steering wheel in befuddlement, like if she looks hard enough, you’ll pull off.

“Wha-, it’s so loud! She’s going to come outside! Why aren’t we moving!” She whisper-yells, panic lacing her voice, furrowed brows, and frown tugging at her expression.

You hate to see her smile vanish from her face and be replaced by such a negative thing, but some things are for the greater good.

“I think you should shut your door, Y/n.” You say calmly, like you're not waiting for the next shitshow to start.

She shuts the door, but not without sending you a dirty look and glaring you down while you stare ahead, waiting for the grind of the screen door to announce her arrival.

Then you hear it.

Then you hear her.

The squeak of the screen door almost masks the shrill yell that your Mother makes.

“What the hell are you two doing out there!” She squawks from the porch, anger darkening her hollow features. You can barely recognize the resemblance between you two anymore.

You don’t respond.

You don’t take your eyes off the forest that spans beyond the dirt patch that you call a driveway. The forest that spans behind your house. The forest that Y/n buried Father in. The forest that mother will never get the chance to see.

“He’ll be here any minute now! You won’t escape!” She cackles evilly from the bottom step of the ratty porch.

“Maybe. Doesn’t mean I won’t try though.” You think to yourself bitterly, face dark and grim.

Y/n looks between you and her now, expression twisted in anxiety, most likely fearing that she’ll come over to the car and do something.

“___ What are you doing! Come on, let's go!” She nearly begs.

Maybe you should do this quickly then, and stop dragging it out. For Y/n's sake, if no one else.

You sigh, head dropping back against the headrest. Your mother's yelling continues to drone on, muffled in the background.

Due to the windows being mostly rolled up, or your own cold indifference, a mystery to you.

You vaguely hear her yelling something about Y/n and brainwashing and how your new owner will clear it all up. Then you hear the bitch call Y/n a mistake.

You see Y/n’s face go crestfallen, almost in acceptance, and that breaks the spell.

Your gaze goes ice cold.

You yank the key out of the ignition and get out of the car. Engine stopping abruptly, and you slam your door shut. You walk over to the porch where your mother is still yelling. Your face hard and footsteps harder.

You walk up to her, ignoring the spittle that lands on your face from her ever-present shouting.

You get closer.

Closer than you ever got before.

She doesn’t even look scared. You haven’t flinched at her yelling since you were a boy, but you usually give some sort of reaction. Yelling back at the least. But you're so focused you barely hear it anymore. There’s nothing stopping you now.

You punch her right in the jaw.

She goes down, hard.

“I'm so fucking sick of you. I have been for a long, long, long time,” you hiss as you crouch over her with a twisted smile.

She’s sputtering, grabbing at her jaw, and staring up at you in disbelief.

Like she would have never expected you to snap. Funny, that's how father looked at you, too.

She gasps, horrified as you yank her arm back and ready the car key. She lets out a blood-curdling scream. It would haunt your nightmares if you had any heart for her left. But you don't, so when the sound fades, and rings in your ears, and another scream gets ready to leave her dry, cracked lips, you slit her throat.

A wide, real smile breaks out on your face.

Hey, what can you say? You don't like to leave business unfinished.

You leave her there on that rickety porch. Don't even finish watching the life fade from her eyes as she loudly chokes on her blood. You turn around and walk back to the car. You catch Y/n looking out the window at her with a smile on her face. Previous anxiety nowhere to be found, in fact, you’d even go as far as to say there's a new sense of peace around her.

The bitch reaches her arm out weakly for Y/n. She turns away completely uninterested when you open the car door and nearly hop into your seat. You wipe the blood off and put it back in the ignition; the engine rumbles to life.

A new sense of peace around you, too.

“Where to?” Y/n asks, a relieved smile on her face.

“I know a place.” A matching smile on yours.

You prepared for this. After him, you knew you’d snap again. It was only a matter of time.

You drive away, never looking back. Feeling a sensation of peace for the first time since you came to this universe.

_____________

The drive was quiet.

Light and heavy simultaneously. A sense of hope rising from the grief at the true end of childhood.

No matter how terrible it was, it was yours, both of yours.

You can admit that you’ll miss that old house that was falling apart at the seams and maybe even that creepy old bat, Ms. Jenkins.

But you won't miss hiding food for Y/n, or worrying if Y/n is being mistreated or worse while you’re at work.

You won't miss the screaming matches or stealing drug money that should have been used for you both in the first place.

You look over at Y/n, she’s gazing out of the window, facing away from you. But in the reflection, you can see the determination and acceptance in her eyes and know she shares the sentiment.

You watch it morph into awe and wonder. Like she’s processing what being free for the first time means.

You share that awe as you drive down the dimly lit, pothole-laden street that used to be yours. You turn the corner to pass that 7-Eleven you visited earlier. Marveling at how, in just a few hours, everything can change.

You continue to drive out of the town you’ve known your whole life.

Into the forest.

Out of the forest.

Into the town over.

Past the little playground, Dad used to take you and Y/n to before he got bad.

Out of the town over.

Over and over.

Until you crossed state lines.

“Welcome to Ohio.” The sign reads.

It’s deep into the night when you pull into another town. Y/n’s been asleep for around two hours.

Before, you both had been wide awake, looking around. Y/n calling out different color cars she saw, you saying forest every time you saw more forest, which was frequent.

By the seventh time you called out forest, she had started hitting you. You laughed every time she gave you a little shove on the shoulder. You debated pretending like you were losing control of the car, but decided against it.

You both had more than enough excitement for one night.

You drive through the town bordering Ohio, you wonder if this is far enough. If you drive far enough behind state lines that they won’t be able to get you. You sigh, and even your melancholic sighs don’t feel as heavy anymore. Your lips quirk upward.

You see a motel sign fairly quickly after you drive into town. Unfortunately, its neon sign said no vacancy. You let out a low noise of annoyance and continue on.

You really hope you find a motel soon, you would not want to sleep in your car after the day, week, month? you’ve had. You check the clock on your dashboard.

Three-thirty-five AM, what a fucking night.

______

You almost yell out in victory when you pass your 4th motel, and it has vacancy on its neon sign.

You immediately whip the car into the parking lot and find an open spot. You’re so joyful at finding a place to sleep, you forget to be quiet. Y/n’s sleepy groan cuts through the relative silence of the car, and you immediately freeze.

But she’s going to have to wake up sooner or later, so you reach over and shake her awake.

She jolts abruptly, gasping awake, and your brows furrow.

“You ok?” You look her over before looking back at her face.

“Hm, yeah, I’m fine, ‘s jus a dream.” She slurs, half asleep.

She then tries to open the door and get out, still buckled in her seat belt. You can’t help the laugh that spills out of your lips.

You laugh so hard you have to hold onto the steering wheel to keep yourself upright. Your chest heaves as you take in big gulps of air in between your loud cackles and giggles.

Y/n stares at you with a deadpan expression. She’s already unbuckled herself from her conundrum with the seatbelt and grabbed her bag and the groceries.

She heaves a heavy, annoyed sigh, rolling her head with it. It only serves to make you laugh harder as she comes over to the driver's side door.

“You need some here, there, grandpa?” She says sarcasm and mild irritation leaking into her tone.

It takes you a minute to catch your breath from your laughter. You hold out a finger in front of her and wipe your tears.

“Thanks, but no, I got it. Also, I’m not Gramps, we’re twins, remember?” The smile on your face from your earlier amusement firmly in place.

You’re never letting her live that down. You kinda wish you took a picture of that. You take the key out of the ignition, and the engine turns off with a loud rumble, almost in protest.

You wince, wondering how much more she can take.

“No, because you’re the older twin, supposedly.” Y/n teases, and helps you out of the car like she would an old man.

You send her a nasty side eye.

“I’m glad you realise my sibling superiority, but if I’m grandpa, you’d still be grandma.” You give her a mocking smile as you open up the backseat door to retrieve your bag.

She hovers behind you, presumably making sure you don’t leave anything.

”Oh no! Don’t tell me you forgot your knitting needles!” You mock gasp, free hand covering your mouth to sell it further as you closed and locked the car doors.

“Oh shut up, you must have left your-” Y/n gets cut off by a yawn.

You laugh, doubling over before you get cut off mid yawn, damn, contagious yawns.

“Yeah, let’s go book that room,” You mutter before walking off in the direction of the small reception building with Y/n in tow.

You fiddle with the cigarette box full of money. Around two hundred and fifty dollars stashed inside.

That should definitely be enough for a few days before you have to acquire more money.

You pull out a fifty and stick it in your pocket before shoving the cigarette box in the other. As you walk up to the glass door, you catch your reflection.

Man, you look like shit.

“Hey, Y/n, you look like shit.” You nudge her with your arm as you walk closer to the door.

“You look like shit, asshole.” She rolls her eyes and nudges you back before opening the door for you.

“Ladies first,” She teases, smirk on her face.

“Why, thank you, manly gentleman, that is so chivalrous of you.” You retort, a sly smile on your face as she gives you a dramatic frown.

Thankfully, there’s someone at the counter.

“A young guy, black hair, pretty lips, perfect,” you think.

He’s preoccupied with his phone. He barely notices you as you walk up. You clear your throat to catch his attention.

His head snaps up, before he fumbles an attempt at professionalism.

“Room for two, please.” You request, looking him over.

You notice his name tag displaying Dave in big bold letters.

Huh, you don’t meet many people named Dave. A small voice in your head says you don’t meet many people at all.

Dave said something, stupid voice made you miss it.

“Sorry, what was that?” You say politely with a self-deprecating grin, a light huff of air slips from between your lips.

“I asked, two queens or one king.” The man says, looking up at you from behind the counter.

“Two queens.” Your grin changes from self-deprecating to charming in an instant.

“Sooo, Dave? You get many customers here?” You question slyly, holding eye contact with him.

You see Y/n out of the corner of your eyes sigh, and put her head in her hands.

You ignore her.

“Uh, no, why?” You see his lips start to twitch upward, you continue.

“Well,” You trail your fingers across the granite countertop.

“You seem kinda loney dave,” You say sypathically, keeping eye contact with him all the while.

“I-I mean, I wouldn’t say lonely, but,” He stutters and trails off.

You’ve got him hook, line...

“Well, listen, Dave, I only have 50 dollars.” You trail on, caressing your finger against the granite and watching Dave struggle with which to focus on, your eyes or that finger.

“Could I book that room for a week, and maybe we hang out?” You question, pouting your lips slightly as you make yourself look as enticing as possible.

“Oh well uh- I don’t know. Um, it’d be at least 100,” He stammers, Adam's apple bobbing as he takes you in.

“But Dave, we could have a lot of fun together. I’d hate for you to be so lonely here all by yourself.” You lower your voice to a whisper, leaning in a bit more.

And sinker.

That last line was all it took for him to crack.

------

“Thanks, Dave,” You call out, a flirty smile still on your lips as you give him a wave, key in hand.

At some point, Y/n went to wait outside.

The second you step out, your smile falls flat, and your face resets back to its usual resting bitch face.

“Do you always have to do that?” Y/n whines as you both walk to room 212.

“Do you want to pay full price?” You raise an eyebrow.

No response. That’s what you thought.

You climb the staircase to the second level and unlock the door.

You stumble in, and the cold AC makes you realise just how hot it was outside. You both step into the room under the blessed AC, and you hear Y/n shut the door behind you.

“Oh, this is so much better.” You sigh happily as you flop onto one of the queen beds.

Closing your eyes to really take it all in.

“Tell me about it,” Is Y/n’s muffled response from the other bed.

You lie there a while before getting up to change into pajamas.

You’re way too tired to shower right now, and all you want to do is press your head against those fluffy motel pillows.

You don’t worry right now about the logistics of killing your mother, not disposing of the body properly, and driving her stolen car.

Worrying about that will come in the morning, after the shock of everything has worn off, and you both have eaten.

So for now, you decide to rest.

You deserve it after the day you’ve had.

End notes ~

Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

I'll try to have a consistent update schedule, but no promises, procrastination often gets the best of me 🥀

I've also decided to start adding discussion questions to my stories!

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What did you imagine Y/n's favorite candy to be?

How do you think the reader almost got caught by Ms. Jenkins that "one time"?

Who do you think the man at 7-Eleven was?

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