#commet

Rodrick Heffley x reader

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Warnings - Underage drinking, mention of abuse, mention of mental illness, mention of murder.

|| Rodrick Heffley throws a Halloween costume party, but things take a turn when alcohol gets strong and memories make their appearance ||

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IT WAS supposed to be fun, the feeling of being young and foolish, dancing without care of the silent eyes watching. Something to take your mind off of the burden you carry, to make your shoulders feel lighter.

But it all changed when you found yourself alone, moving your hips and arms on the dance floor, the red solo cup held tightly in hand. The deep breath of realization had been a jab at the heart, you looked around, eyes blurred and struggling to find your blonde friend, Tracy you had came with. The girl off to the side of the house, back pressed against the wall, her arms by her side as another girl kisses her like no man would.

You’re brows frown at the sight, your drunken eyes stumble at the bright light above the two girls, You practically let out a laugh, though feeling of being alone hadn’t suppressed, you still watch your friend make out with a stranger, the sting in your eyes had made a appearance, not from the jealousy of the situation but the odd feeling of being lonely.

But you ignore it. To push it to the side like you do with everything, you bring the cup to your lips, lipstick long gone from sweating, only to find the drink empty, before disappointment had filled your lungs, the reality of being on the dance floor hit harder. Your stubble in your heals, wincing when being touched by others, your body craving need of fresh air like it was a life line.

You gasp when the headache set in, holding your head you made the brave escape from the dance floor to the back door.

The route was simple, it was a clear path, but the bodies and the surrounding tone of rock music blasting was making it all the more difficult. Getting pushed and pulled was painful, already feeling the bruises that tickled you legs.

Once you gently pulled yourself self past the last drunken man you gasp out with a rage that was worsening by the second—a rage that filled you to death, the feeling of being in a fathers body had vanished the headache that was once painful.

The doorknob was cold, colder than expected—the type that sent shivers down your back, weakening the grasp on the door before even opening it.

And the wind and breeze of the autumn air had cooled your raising heartbeat, the heartbeat that distracted you from uncomfortably, but also the feeling of mimicking the one man you hate.

“Oh—what’s up!” A loud, raspy voice had appeared on the left, not giving you even a moment to reconnect with yourself nor the autumn trees and leaves that flew by. The boys voice only weakens with confidence when you don’t reply. “Wh…whats? Up?”

You could hear his voice crack, the way he scratches his neck, the hair on his forehead blowing back and forth do to the wind.

“Hey, Rodrick…” You swallow your own thoughts to breath out his name, you didn’t even have to look at the boy to know it was him. You could tell by his awkward tone and goofy laugh that screamed he was uncomfortable.

You were familiar with the Heffley family. No, you weren’t a band with the oldest son. No, you didn’t have a school project with Rodrick Heffley. No, not even a babysitter for manny. And no, you weren’t just a friendly neighbor. You simply know the Heffley’s because they know you—everyone knows you.

The girl who’s dad’s in jail.

Girl with a murderer for a father.

“H..hi..” The boy does a wave, odd from the fact he was close and you weren’t even looking. He turns his face to the trees your own eyes were looking at, trying to see what was so special about the dead leaves. Trying to grasp what it was that made you not turn to say hello.

But something in his tone told you he was scared, scared of when you’re gonna lose control, go insane let loose just like your hereditary genes. You wince at the thought, the idea that people won’t grieve with you but fear you.

They don’t understand that you lost someone who’s still alive.

You’ve seen Rodrick around, walking into classes—driving like a maniac, giving a poor presentation on his summer reading. You know Rodrick, you listen to his band—even though the band name is trash, you look his way in the hallway, not for any reason. Rodrick Heffley just has a face that makes you want to know more.

And so when he sits on the patio steps, you follow. When the boy lights a cigarette, inhales it like it’s some sort of miracle drug that will cure all pain, he hands it to you after—his hands shaking with more than alcohol. But you take it anyway.

“Thanks for coming…” He blows out the smoke, watching him act like a lost dog, terrified without it’s owner. He’s reaction was not so different than you expected, not when you have a title of murder in your blood line. You look at his side profile, you watch him carelessly, before looking back at the trees.

You stumble upon words that were meant to stay inside your mind, the truth spilling out from your lips, too late to try and stop. “I don’t bite..” You cough out a plead. You whisper, almost trying to tell yourself it’s not a lie. A small cry for help with the one person who wouldn’t get passed the first round in a spelling bee.

Maybe that’s why you were so okay with telling him.

After your words hung in the air long enough for the wind to carry them away, you carefully gave the black haired boy the cigarette back, placing it in between his two open fingers that made a piece sign.

Walking back to the door, the small—meaningless company had been pulling the trigger of danger multiple times, but you didn’t walk away—not until you felt the boys breath grow cold. But the company wasn’t bad, it was needed.

Because even though the Heffley boy was scared, he knew you weren’t going to bite—he knew you weren’t even going to bark. Because as you grab the frozen doorknob once again, you hears a whisper,

“I know…”