Mixed Feelings: A Michael Afton x Reader Story.

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙮 𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙧 - 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚

Note:

- chapter contains strong language!!

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Sunday flew by: just a boring day of being scolded and glared at by my mom. My dad was never the one who could bare telling me or B/N off. He would always teach us lessons and scold us in different ways, rather than a slap or an insult. Just like the beast who's married to him, and happens to be my biological mother, does.

I awoke early in the morning. I could hear small groups of birds singing quietly in duets outside my- partially opened- window. The morning haze, behind the mountains, flowed through the glass. Along with it, came a cold, smooth breeze: making a soft 'whoosh' as it pushed under my window. The sunrise casted onto my floor- waking me up with its light.

I turned, peering at my alarm clock: 6:25 AM.

I had approximately two hours and five minutes until I had to leave for school. I could try falling back to sleep, and risk reliving those same nightmares, or I could get up and be productive.

A sigh escaped my nose as I realised my fate, and I sat up- rubbing the sleep away and yawning. My finger tips poked at the corners of my eyes- removing gunk gained during my slumber.

No one was awake yet, I had the house practically to myself, if I was quiet enough. It was actually quite nice: not hearing my parents either crying or arguing. They seriously need to either fix their marriage or get a divorce- there's no in between.

Do I think they would get a divorce? I think it's okay to dream. And if the miracle happens.. I'm picking dad.

So here I am: 7:20 AM, Monday the 5th of November, staring sadly in the mirror at my lazy outfit and messy hair do. Who needs hairspray and makeup anyway? That shit doesn't matter. I have a reason not to care anyway.

I wasn't looking forward to school. Being bombarded by a stampede of eager news reporters and teenagers asking me "what happened?"

I couldn't even try and run away. There would always be another reporter or teen wanting to know the story.

I couldn't really blame them: another missing child, during the recent streak of the same cases. And this time, the missing child happened to be related to your classmate. Anyone would want to at least know some of it to tell to everyone else wanting to know.

But people were treating B/N's case as some trend to talk about. Some breeding ground for horrific, untrue, rumours.

I grabbed my backpack and set off downstairs, plopping it on the couch whilst I made a hot drink. Eventually, footsteps pitter-pattered down the stairs and my mom strode in wearing a robe and slippers.

"Morning honey," she said blankly, starting to make coffee. "How'd you sleep?"
"Not too well." It's not like I have to lie to fit her needs.
"Oh.. I guess that's too bad." Bitch.

I know it's never acceptable to call your own mother a female dog, but in this sense, can you blame me? The way she's been treating me has been so draining. She's mostly the reason for this fucking depression.