twelve, reality

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...

It doesn't make any sense.

You're certain you saw something. Even if it wasn't what you thought it was.

Sure, it was out of your peripheral, so you're not totally positive, it was more... the sinking feeling in your gut that you were going based off of. You were sitting on your couch, legs tucked up to your chest as you let your thoughts get the best of you.

You were just so afraid. Running off to the cops was obviously something Kruger didn't want, and he made that clear. But you did it anyway. Of course. But now...

Now you have no way to contact help.

Why'd you make Jean walk away? He's the only person you have right now, and you insisted he leave. Like it was instinctive or something.

Whatever. All you know is that you're almost certain you saw blond hair. In your foggy mind, something's screaming at you. And one thing is for sure.

You need to get up. Lounging around felt too much like a sitting duck.

You stand up, a sheen of sweat already glazing over your skin. You walk over to your staircase, glancing up at them, but you hardly see a thing. You hang onto the railing as you peek down the sectioned-off part of your house.

You couldn't make out much, so you found yourself walking further down, hand on the railing until you couldn't reach anymore and were gradually getting closer to the least liked part of your home. The last breath you took was still stuck in your throat, holding it there as if waiting for something to jump out and tackle you.

When nothing happens, you continue down the path, walking past your bathroom and now fully submerged in the darkness.

For some reason, you have the sense that nothing's in your control and you shiver solely from that feeling. You furrow your brows as you get closer to the back door and windows, realizing as you get closer...

That it's light outside.

But it's somehow pitch black in here.

You want to look around, but your gaze gets closer to the blinds on your back door until you peek through them.

It was odd, because one, you didn't quite know what possessed you to be down here, and two... it was light outside, but nearly pitch black in here. It just gave you a really weird feeling, like you were being gripped by the sharp talons of trepidation.

You had nothing with you, you weren't even sure if you were just checking around your place like you found yourself doing often these days. You had no weapon, no protection. Everything felt blurry. Something felt... really wrong.

You peeked through your blinds, but nothing or nobody was there. And now... sweat trickles down your forehead and you whip your head back.

Whisps of a warm breath hit your neck and your body freezes, your heart kicks into overdrive, and you timidly turn around. Your eyes must be bulging by how hard you're trying to see. Like a dumbass, your hand reaches out for something, anything.

Not only couldn't you see for whatever reason, but you now feel like there's another presence in the room with you and they're close.

Whether they're human or an apparition, you have no clue.

And either way, it doesn't matter, because you have no weapon. No means to defend yourself. At this point you're too afraid to do anything, so despite yourself and your pride, you back up until you hit the door, and sink low.

Back in that same cowardly position you were before you let your eyes trick you and lure you down here. You think you shut your eyes, but you can't tell. In the back of your mind, you know the door to your pool room is to the left of you. A place to run to, maybe?

When you open your eyes, a silent scream leaves your lips, because now, you can see everything.

And he's here.

You urgently try to throw your body up in gear to get it moving, but you can't, your body just won't move. You think you're crying, but shit, it could be sweat. You're so hot.

Next thing you know, you're pinned against the wall, unable to shout, unable to cry, unable to even try to fight. His face is menacing. His lips curl into a devilish smirk like he just knows you're rendered incapable.

That familiar ball of red, hot anger curls in your chest, and twists dangerously with urgency, as he pins you tighter and the words you've been dreading ring through your head.

Time for your punishment, Y/n.

Your eyes pop open and you thrust into a sitting position as you pant, sweat dripping down the side of your forehead, and even trickling down your chest.

You're not sure what's more daunting... how realistic that damn nightmare was... or the realization that you're still alive to have to go through this shit still. This is only getting worse. Every time you take a step forward, you leap about a thousand miles backward. It's infuriating.

Your chest heaves and you shift as you try to slow your heart rate down. You place a hand on your chest and stroke it slightly with your thumb, itching for some sort of comfort.

You will the words, 'you're fine', in your head about a million times before you finally gain the courage to get up and wipe yourself down. You feel disgusting.

You slowly toss your legs off the side of your couch and stand when you feel your feet hit the ground. But you're quick to move from the couch, just in case that sea serpent is chilling under there today.

Walking past your staircase is very hard for you because right now, nothing feels right. But you do it anyway, trying to keep your calm but you'd be lying if you said you didn't rush a bit to get to your bathroom. Once inside, you promptly locked the door behind you and immediately huffed out a sigh of relief.

You decide to wash your face really quickly and just let your heart race settle.

You sigh softly as you rinse off the suds. You hardly use your phone, but now more than ever, you wish you had it. You could send Jean a text. Sure, maybe he wouldn't get to it now, this late at night, but at least he'd see it in the morning.

And if it was super bad, you'd call.

Dammit, you're in a tough spot right now mentally. You still don't feel comfortable driving, like, at all. Which is a big problem for obvious reasons.

After a few minutes, your eyes start to feel droopy again, and you figure trying to get some more sleep couldn't be a bad idea. You rub your tired eyes and cautiously open your bathroom door. A part of you is pissed. Why are you walking around scared in your own home? You hate that he's kicking you out of your own place.

You step out and walk down to your kitchen to get some water first. You look around, realizing all the lights are on. You're pretty sure you forgot to cut them off when you accidentally fell asleep on the couch, but your paranoia is making you re-think everything.

You open the fridge and grab the jug of water you had getting cold. You grab a glass and pour some, immediately taking a sip, not yet realizing just how thirsty you are until something in your throat clears and the water cools your throat refreshingly.

A certain peace and comfort falls over you for a second as you finally start to calm down.

Silence follows as you lean forward against your counter, but it lasts all of, what seems to be five seconds. A low thump is heard somewhere in your house. Too low to make out where, but it has you jolting all the same. You whip your head to peer outside of your kitchen, but it does nothing to reveal the inevitable.

You reach for a knife on instinct and just as you do a much louder thump vibrates throughout your house, competing with your beating heart that's flying a thousand miles a minute. You yelp this time, nearly fumbling your weapon.

You look around.

You doubt your kitchen is the best place for a brawl to go down. Maybe your living room? It's closest to the door.

You shuffle out of your kitchen anxiously, hating the terrible sinking feeling twisting inside of you. Maybe you're tripping and it's just a ghost or... or your house settling in some weird way.

Funny, you're welcoming the ghosts now. Better them than Kruger.

The knife in your hand might just snap before you actually get the chance to use it for protection, with how hard you're gripping the handle—your knuckles nearly white. You position yourself near your front door, the old wood like a passage to freedom and safety.

Though, you have no clue what you're gonna do once you get outside.... but you'll just have to cross that bridge when you get there.

Your thoughts are clear when a muffled ringing is the next thing you hear. Familiar ringing.

What?

Was all of this a dream? Did you really still have your phone, and everything was just a terrible nightmare?

Part of you felt relief at the thought, but something didn't quite feel right. You slowly make your way back to the couch, searching for the source of that consistent ringing. You lift up your cushion pillows and tucked behind one of them is a phone.

Right off the bat, you know it's not yours. Though, ...the ringtone is the same. You hold the screen up to you, and either, you're going completely fucking crazy or the ID says,

Anonymous
is calling...

Knife and phone in hand, you back up until you're by the door again. You glance up from the phone and look up the stairs from where you stand. If you don't think this through, you're going to start hyperventilating.

Why would... wait, you don't even really know if this is Anonymous, it could...

No.. if it was someone you didn't know, the ID would be Unknown. But then there's the question... who the hell put this phone there? And when?

A shiver jolts up your spine. It couldn't... be Armin,... could it? Why would he be calling?

As soon as that question comes to mind, the phone stops the call and the screen flashes on. You're startled by the picture that was displayed.

Because the person that was displayed looked awfully frigging familiar.

It was you. Sleeping.

This picture was taken today. Your body is tucked in on itself as you sleep, subconsciously making sure your limbs aren't dangling off the couch due to whatever monsters live rent-free under there. But the worst part about this damn picture...

Is that an arm emerges from behind the camera and... caresses your face, seemingly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

The phone vibrates suddenly again and the ringing startles you out of your stupor.

Anonymous
is calling...

You hang up and quickly put the phone down on your coffee table as if scared it was about to blow up. But it doesn't matter, the person just calls again. You sniff, trying to keep from crying, and rush over to it. You go to the contact and block whoever the fuck it is.

It's silent for a good few minutes and you deflate a bit in relief, a shuddering breath leaving your lips.

You can feel your body trembling but you try to keep it under wraps by walking around a bit, making sure to stay near the door. After another minute the phone rings again and you think you're going to lose your mind. This is too much.

"Fuck," You say aloud, going over to the phone again. "Stop," you mutter, your entire body shaking. But, of course, it doesn't. Part of you nearly slammed it against a wall or even better, stomped on it, but instead, whatever possessed you, answered it.

Adrenalin? Yeah, ... you'll blame it on that.

After a long second, you swiped accept, and snapped, "What??" Your eyes fleeted around your room as you waited for some kind of response.

"...Hey, baby," A voice murmurs on the other end. Your brows furrow, but some small part of you feels a little relief. It doesn't sound like Armin.

You can't even find yourself to say anything. You know what he's calling for. And you're terrified.

"What's wrong, Sweetheart, ... do something bad?"

You squeeze your eyes shut at that, mainly to keep the tears at day, but also to send a quick prayer to whatever entity in the sky that gives a fuck. You swallow, before finally gaining enough courage to squeak out, "Why won't you leave me alone?"

You're pissed, yeah, but you're also the biggest coward you've ever known.

A light airy chuckle is heard on the other end, the deep sound seeming to reverberate around the rim of your ear from through the phone. "Why would I leave you alone?" The question's enough to make you pause. "Now, listen to me," he says. "Put the knife down and walk your pretty ass upstairs."

Your brows pull in and your pride wells up, and with that bit of backbone you've always sort of had, you say, "No." In fact, you bring the knife closer to your chest and look up the stairs. "Are you up there?"

Instead of answering your question, he says, "Fine, bring the knife, baby, you won't do anything," you can practically see the smirk on his damn face and you scowl.

In your mind, you know this dude is only human, but you're still so afraid. The best thing for you to do is walk out of the house. If he's upstairs, there's no way he's getting to you before you run out.

And there's no way you're willingly walking up those stairs and right into his trap.

"Well?" He says impatiently.

Without thinking you say, "Why don't you come down here?" It was more so to stall, but you don't know if that was the smartest thing to say. Also, you don't even have shoes on, you can't drive, you wouldn't get anywhere outside.

Bringing the fight down here might just be the smartest option you have right now. But either way, you have no time to second guess or think it over.

"Oh?" He murmurs. "You sure?" He asks and again, you're thrown for a loop.

"Scared?" You taunt. Again, what the fuck is wrong with your mouth? Your brain is screaming at you to shut up.

He laughs again. "Oh, baby. This is going to be fun."

LilReaper_

Originally written 08.10-18.24

Published 08.18.24

Total words; 2468

this took me over a week to write 😭

having two stories AND a contest thing out is CRAZY, lowkey i was just bored... now I GOT LOTZ to do LMAO

also, next chapter i release will probably be on B:UD so.... lol.......

love you guys 🫶🏾