arson is my middle name | m. afton

two

you ask me what i want from life
i said to make a lot of money
and feel dead inside

Younger Hunger
Dead Inside

•••••

  My tired eyes stared at the spreadsheet of numbers before me.

  They blurred, twisting into a numerical soup that left my head reeling. The cup of coffee on my desk that had been drained, refilled and then drained again did nothing for me - even caffeine couldn't shake this heavy weight of exhaustion that had seemed to swallow me whole.

  I was dead tired, suffering the consequences of a broken night's sleep as I sat in my office and tried my damned hardest to finish the accounts I was set to complete. It shouldn't have been this hard. It was the same song and dance everyday. And yet, the numbers cruelly mocked me, turning malicious and teasing circles before my bleary eyes.

  Pushing myself away from the desk, I rolled on the wheels of my chair with a groan as I hung my head back. It'd been a long while since I'd had such an unsubstantial slumber - waking at twenty minute intervals, brain firing scenario after scenario. I was bordering on crying as I grew frustrated from my inability to slumber and the faces that would show behind my eyelids. I couldn't even settle myself into counting sheep.

  I dropped my hands over my face and closed my eyes. They were strained to the point of painful and the brief reprise had them aching in some strange sense of cruel relief.

  I knew exactly why I was like this, and I loathed to realise it.

  It was the Pizzaplex. It was him; because the two - the Aftons and Freddy Fazbear's - would forever be intertwined in some sick sort of eternal duet. I couldn't think of one without being reminded of the other.

  I dragged my hands down my face and sunk my teeth into my bottom lip. God dammit. Why did I send in my CV? Accepted or not, it was a step in a direction that I never should have considered, opening a gateway to repercussions that would do nothing but hurt me. I should've been staying away from anything that reminded me of him.

  That's why you never left Hurricane, huh?

  I mentally smacked away the seething, self-deprecating voice that had somehow slithered its way back into my consciousness. But it was right. I should've left. I should've packed up my shit and skipped this sorry ass of a town the first chance I could.

  I didn't, though, and this was where it left me - my sleep haunted by a pizzeria-fun centre amalgamation. How pathetic was that?

  My fingers fiddled with the locket on my neck as I busied myself with worrying over my job application. No matter how many times I tossed the locket away from me in a fit of rage, it always found itself flushed against my sternum again.

  Just like it belonged there.

  Just like a parasite.

  "Y/n."

  I was pulled from my thoughts as a head poked around the open entrance of my office. I perked up, trying to look like I had been doing my job. The locket fell back against my chest with a small thud.

  "I'm going out for lunch," my boss said. "Make sure you get those accounts done within the hour. Corp needs them back a-sap."

  He left before I could digest this new information, shutting the door to my office behind him. As I did, I felt my expression darken into a look of despondent weariness. My hand found itself at the base of my throat once again, fiddling with the chord as I looked around my office.

  It was drab. Boring. Dull. Just as I had grown from over the years.

  I turned back to the computer and forced my vision into focusing. I requested a new coffee and the assistant that entered my room didn't bother hiding the worried look on his face. He was probably concerned that I was ingesting enough caffeine to warrant a heart attack. He had a right to be.

  I couldn't pick which would be the worst outcome - work or death.