Philophobia (Yandere! Sugawara X Reader)

| Part XXXVII : And The World Goes Blind |

━━ 🏐 🏐 🏐 ━━

A couple hours passed.

There was still no sign of my mother, who I can't seem to bring myself to unclaim. I didn't know if she was asleep or doing things no middle-schooler could comprehend. There was only this room and two bodies that that filled it. 

I didn't do anything but sit there. The only time I moved or spoke was when the mutt scarfed down her meal-- of which she'd been deprived of-- and readjust. 

The cement pressing against my thighs was beginning to become uncomfortable after a few hours. Plus, I was beginning to notice a change. 

There seemed to be a shift in tide. Similarly to the wind from a blast that is thrusted forward, only to be suctioned back. Only in my case, it wasn't a change that I wanted to be a part of.

The dog, quite frankly, was pleasant company. Up until this point. I think she was beginning to grow hungry again. I mean, it has been a couple of hours. Or has it been days?

Have I... been counting the hours, which has now turned to days? Have I been slipping in and out of consciousness? What is time?

... I'm beginning to lose my mind. I was certain. I then looked towards the dog, exhaling.

I was one billion percent sure that she was too. I have to leave. She's well aware that those poor shambles weren't enough to cage her for good. She and I both knew.

By then I'd been shuffling. If one could even call it that. Because every time I moved my thigh or shuffled where I sat my legs hurt. I could barely even reach a centimeter before my body seized and tensed up from the pain.

I couldn't take much more of this. I knew I couldn't.

A crown of defeat was being lowered on my head, as well as the negative emotions that came with it until—

Click.

The door sounded from my left, and thus two heads turned. Except, the mutt quickly became disinterested after seeing the woman behind it. Like it didn't care whether or not it'd be touching grass again. I began to realize that being abused was not foreign to her.

I felt bad.

...I think. Did I feel bad?

Now it was me becoming distracted. Not disinterested; but distracted. This question was beginning to bother me, but I kept my tired gaze trained on my mother, who had been slowly approaching.

Do I pity it or not?

If it died now, would my heart bleed?