Voided Mind || Frank Morrison x (Killer!) Gender Neutral Reader || dbd ON HOLD!

Prologue

{tw; mentions of alcohol, abuse}

      I sigh and put my pencil down, writers block creeping up on me like the asshole it was. I stood, pushing my chair from it's place at my desk, and walked down the hall to see Brandon sitting in the living room and watching TV, as he does always. I frown slightly and walk slowly to the kitchen, not wanting to alert him of my presence. Of course, this house being old, one of the floorboards let out a screech of an alarm. Aware of my exposure, I stand there, still and unmoving, like a deer in headlights. It felt as though I stared at an empty grave with a tombstone reserved for me.

      "What are you doing Y/N?" his words were laced with obvious intoxication.

      "Oh, nothing, just going to see if we need anything from the market!" I stuttered out, nearly choking on my own words.

      He glared at me for what seemed like an eternity before going back to the static, "Bring back more beer while you're out."

      I let out a breath I had been holding. Safe. For now.

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      I look down at the list I had made, happy to get some fresh air. Walking down to the market square earned me some looks, however; like always. I always wore a mask (like a prosthetic) to hide my bruised and swollen face, despite there barely being no diagnosed reason to wear my mask. I sighed in contempt upon entering the store, feeling freed for the first time in a while. Though, that feeling went away as soon as my eyes caught the old 'Missing Persons' board, reminding me of the misery I felt back in highschool. A group of old pictures still hung there, even after people had long forgotten or lost hope. Joey, Susie, Julie Kostenko, and Frank Morrison. Frank... It had been so long since I'd last seen him. I missed him. Sometimes I wondered if maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't be in the situation I'm in if he was with me then... If all of them were there, even. I sighed and slightly shook my head, now's not the time, I can't take to long here.

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      I felt the weight of the bags taking it's tole on my arms, it now getting to be a bit of a struggle to keep walking and carrying them. I'm not usually this weak.. I guess the past events have taken a tole on me. I winced and set down the bags at our front door on the front porch, going to open the door. It opened before I could touch the handle. Fear coursed through me as I was yanked inside and flung onto the couch, hearing the bags be sent on the hardwood floor and the door slam.

      "You're late."

      I couldn't stop myself from quivering, "I.. I am?"

      Wrong answer.

      He grabbed my arm so hard, I felt like it was going to snap in half. I cried out as he flung me across the room again, my body aching from hitting the wall. He stomped over to me, kicking me hard in the gut. I groaned and worked to crawl away, only to be hoisted over his shoulder then thrown into the kitchen. I screamed in pain, even when knowing it'd just anger him more. He started towards me with his swiss army knife. I had to think fast.

      I got up and grabbed the closest thing to me. My dad's old hunting knife. As he got closer, I swung it at him and slashed him in the chest. He fell over in shock and I got on top of him, holding the knife to his throat.

      "I am just so sick and tired of your bullshit!" I screamed at him, about to slash right through his adams apple when a black fog like mist clouded my vision. Then I blacked out.