lighter ||eren yeager x reader||

Chapter 1

TW⚠️⚠️:drinking, abuse, depression, manipulation.

(Y/n)'s POV
The front door creaked audibly as I shut it behind me. I flinched at the sound, cursing silently underneath my breath.

I lock the door slowly, taking small steps into the house. The smell of liquor filled my lungs as I started up the stairs. I never did make it to the top. I was yanked backwards by my hair, sending me tumbling down the steps. I let out a sharp shriek as my head bounced off the floor, blurring my vision.

My fathers face came into focus, sneering as he towered over me. His breath was overpowering and smelled as if, if one flame even so much as neared him, he would be burnt to a crisp on the spot.

He gripped the collar of my shirt, pulling my closer to him. "What makes you think you can just stay out at all hours of the night?" I heard his knuckles crack as he clenched his free hand into a fist.

"I didn't think you would care." I spoke quietly, so I was surprised when he responded.

"I was worried sick," he ridiculed. And with that he brought his fist down, connecting it with my right eye. My gasp was cut off almost immediately as his foot met my stomach, driving his boot into my gut repeatedly.

My arms instinctively wrap around my stomach to shield it. I drop my head on the bottom step, peaking at my father out of my left eye. I watched helplessly as he raised his foot behind him, swinging at me, tenfold. The last sound that I heard was the crack of my head ricocheting off the wall before everything went dark.

I shoot up, gripping my stomach almost immediately at the sudden movement. I taste salt and slowly bring my hand to my cheek. Tears. I grimace in disgust, taking my time to wipe them off my face.

My whole body ached as I move stiffly off of my bed. I shuffle across the wooden floor to my bathroom. Peering at myself in the mirror, I'm repulsed by the sight.

Fresh cuts and bruises joined my older ones, painting most of my face a dark purple and blue. I might've actually forgotten what my actual skin color looked like if not for the few photos in my house. Ones that I was happy in. We all were. One big happy family. Pathetic.

I trace my calloused fingers across a deep cut, spreading from my mid-forehead down to my eyebrow. I sure as hell wasn't going to go to the hospital to get stitches. They ask to many questions. "How'd you come to get this nasty cut?" "What about the other ones that you have?" Etc. I just couldn't risk it. Too much was on the line as it is.

I turn on the cold water, cupping my hands underneath the faucet, letting the water overflow slightly before splashing my face. My cuts stung but I ignore it as i grab my toothbrush. I part my chapped lips, slowly moving the toothbrush back and forth.

I stare blandly at myself, my eyes barely slits as i bend down to spit. I wipe my mouth as I move out of the bathroom, grabbing the first hoodie I could find. I pull it over my head, breathing in the musty smell it held. It most likely was on my floor for months, much like all of my other clothes. It sickened me how filthy my room was but I never had the motivation to clean it. It was my own doing. Oh well. That's all I ever said nowadays, if not nothing all.

I pull the hood down over my face as I sling my bookbag over my shoulder, shuddering at the pain that shot down my arm. I peek my head outside of my door slowly, looking around and listening intently for any movement downstairs. None. He had most likely already left for the pub.

I step out, shutting the door behind me before heading down the stairs. I grab my keys before exiting the house. I fumble with them in my hands as the wind blows my raven hair into my face.

To my vexation, my keys fall, causing me to bend down to grab them. I curse under my breath, my knees still felt raw from last nights tumble down the stairs.

Suddenly another hand reached down, grabbing the keys before I could. I immediately flinch away, expecting my father to be standing there, looking down on me as always. Instead it was a boy, around my age. His dark brown hair was tied back into a bun, and his green eyes peered at me through the few strands that escaped.

I realize the look on my face, fixing it to be one of unfeeling. I take me time standing up, brushing off my hands before snatching the keys from his hands. He starts to open his mouth, most likely to introduce himself but I didn't give him the chance. I spin around heading the opposite way towards my car.

It was a simple car, it was black excluding the orange-brown rust around the edges. It was old, being my mothers car from when she was younger. My father had given it to me after she passed, most likely to emotionally hurt me due to the reminder of her, but I actually enjoyed the car. I didn't let him know that though, he would just get rid of it and then what? There was barely anything left that was hers. That's what my father wanted of course. He didn't want the constant reminder of her, I understand that.

That's why I tell myself that it's okay that he hates me. That he hurts me. It's just punishment. A well deserved one. I looked too much like her. That's why he hurts me until neither one of us can recognize who I am. It's my fault. Why do I have to look like her? He has every right to hate me. To hit me.

I grip the steering wheel with one hand, turning the key in the ignition with the other. I check my rear view mirror before backing out of the driveway.

I keep one hand on the wheel, holding my phone in my free hand. I glance down at it every now and then as I drive. To my discontent, I had a couple messages, only from my father.

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2 messages from dad 20 minutes ago
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I tap on the notification, peering down to read the text on the screen.

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Dad
I'm sorry sweetie. Don't hate me. 2:45 am

Yoi brtter be baxk homs on time woth my liquor, or yoire in fur it. 7:27 am
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I sigh, tossing my phone into the passenger car seat. Just the usual. An apology, then a drunken threat.

I pull into the school lot, parking my car in the back row before stepping out. I grab the rim of my hood, pulling on it to cast a shadow over my face before grabbing my bag, slipping my phone into one my sweatpants pocket.

It barely felt like my first day of my junior year. I hadn't really had time during the summer to process any of it. It's not like I had anything to look forward to when I went to school anyway. I had moved here five years ago and hadn't managed to make one friend.

Sure, at first I tried and things had started to go well at school but my dad started drinking soon after we arrived so I thought it better to distance myself from everyone else.

I lock the car doors before heading towards the school.