Imagine/one shots-Timothée Chalamet

Sober

This chapter may become confusing y/n trauma reflects the on Timotheé as her father so there's a weird flashback like thing where she's in her mothers shoes and also going back to her pov and overdose on a drug trigger warning ⚠️

I saw the way he started looking at her, the way my blood boiled like water in a pot on the stove when she was able to make him smirk. They way I couldn't peel my eyes off him when he walked away with her away from the crowd, I know he could feel my stare but he didn't care. Nights I'd spend by myself waiting for him to come back home, I'd wake up on the leather couch with a bottle next to me. The alcohol brewed anger more and more I was forced to sleep with the fact that he was having an a affair.

All I wanted was him to look at me but he didn't even acknowledge my presence. I look deep in the mirror as I hear his hushed laughter in the masters.

"Stop I'll be there tonight."

I grab my pills and down it waiting for it to hit me. I can't stand the fact that I don't want to hurt him back, I can't stand how I even let it get this far. I squeeze the counter holding back tears. I wish he saw what he was doing to me so I wouldn't be in this position . I fix my hair and sigh.

"Hey Y/n I'm gonna be busy." I hear Dad call out.

I sharply turn around and stare at my parents door. What the hell? I turn on the sink and splash water on my face to get me out of here in my childhood home. I open my eyes to drenched mascara and my face growing more pale of the painted nightmare around me. I push myself away the sink as I feel a sinking feeling in my stomach. The black and white tiles that used to be stained with my moms throw up. The shower that used to echo my fathers infidelity in the house he thought was empty. The wedding rings that collect dust on the vanity.

"Why?" I grit staring at the door.

He's the reason I found mom in the hands of death. Throw up on the tile floor and her not moving at all. I was only eight having to call 911 because my mom had no where to go. I hate him with my whole being for making me as a child see that.

I heard a thud in the bathroom which frighten me to death, thinking I was home alone. I slowly walked to the bathroom with my softball bat. I wrapped my finger around the sliver knob taking a deep breath, twisting the knob all the way. I knew it was bad my gut told me so, I barely got the the door open before I let out a bloody scream. Seeing Mom on the floor with a needle in her arm. My heart dropped and everything around me was a blur. The only thing I could focus on was that needle in her weak vein. My hysterical cries flooded the house. I dove to shake her, hoping her to snap out of it. She was hot as a burner.

I took the needle out of her arm and slapped it took on the counter with rage and sadness. I got two white rag and drenched it in blistering cold water. I wiped off the throw up and placed the rag on her head . I sat down against the wall and held her as if it was my last time with her . Her groans were getting louder by the second...

I lose the picture of what happend in my head and look down to the floor. If he had just kept his dick in his pants, we would've had a great relationship and I would have a normal life. The lights dim red and I can hear my heartbeat as the stutters of the lies my father spits out. He really thinks I'm fucking stupid, like I'm still the little girl that believed he had to got see his business partner at ten pm. I'm not my mother who will take this, I'm better than the girl he's fucking, I'm better than him.

"Bull fucking shit Timotheé." Push open the door and storm into the room.