Better Luck Next Time! // Creepypasta x lucky reader

Ch33

I sit up gasping, clutching my chest with sweaty palms. the support of the bed no longer beneath my body.

Before me is the familiar void, an endless blackness.

"The delicate one may be on to something."

Zalgo's voice is uncharacteristically soft, a deep hymen that whispers without a form, perhaps soft is not the best way to describe it, he sounds tired, exhausted.

I am unable to see the entity unlike last time, leaving me alone in the dark with the feeling of unsettlement.

"Do you truly desire an ending to your life? Or do you simply wish for the end of the you that you detest?", he attempts to hide his exhaustion, his words teasing.

I am unable to respond to his question, I don't know the answer.

He chuckles at my silence, "You remember do you not, your purpose, once it is completed you will be free of your burden."

"Are you saying my purpose in life is to free a bunch of homicidal lunatics from an institution?"

"Perhaps, the Gods tend to get bored, I would not put it passed them to trample over one's existence for there own amusement."

I can tell he is smiling, that condescending smirk he owe so enjoys flashing.

"Lets say I don't want to die", I glare through the darkness challenging, "dying is hard, scary, but I will tell you living is a hell of a lot worse."

He hums, a long drown out sound.

I sigh, staring at my fingertips, seeing the curse that is invisible to the naked eye, "Regardless if I have this luck or not, I only realized I was luck after my forth attempt on my life, it has nothing to do with my misery, it just gets in the way."

Zalgo laughs, falling into a coughing fit at is oddly wet.

"I must go, my intentions where to remind you that our deal stands, it can not be changed."

He left without a goodbye, the void vanishing with him.

I felt the sensation of falling, it is startling but quick, suspending my form off the newly placed wooden flooring. The scenery opening to a bright room, a kitchen poorly kept, the sink filled with dishes, the floor covered with unwiped crumbs, two people arguing heatedly in the middle of it all.

And the only remaining memory of the man I called a father.

Though I am within close proximity to the two their voices are soundless, mute, at the time I could not comprehend what they could have been saying, a veg memory of incomprehensible moving lips, the angry expressions, the red faces, no doubt he is the one I inherited my anger issues from.

A glimpse of movement peaked from around the arch way, small and bare, no older than a toddler in a diaper, it's no mystery who this child is, I am not ignorant enough to not recognize myself. Oddly I didn't look scared by the loud noise of the altercation, staring blankly ahead.

"For the last time, what I do with my money is none of your business woman, if you are lacking funds get a fucking job!", my body shook at the sudden inclusion of the masculine voice, so unfamiliar yet equally nostalgic.

My mother is breathing heavily, her rage evident with her shaking fists, "We are behind on our bills, the company says they will cut our electricity at the end of the month! You can't keep gambling away our money!", her eyes widen as she notices the small form around the corner, she takes a deep breath, her expression easing, "we have a child to support, I do not have the patients to humor you and this destructive addiction."

The man spits on the floor, earning a disgusted look from the person before him.

"Fine, you want me to get a job, I will, but once I do I want you out of my house and out of both me and my child's life."

My mother storms passed my veiled form and out the back door, her composure high and free, as though a rock had been lifter from her shoulders.

The man left in the kitchen stood unfazed, disgusted by the disrespect from the one he once called his wife.

"Wretched women."

The small version of myself frowned, there is no way I being so young at the time could understand his nasty remark, but I am sure I knew it was not a nice thing to say. I myself found myself glaring at his remark, though it happened so long ago nothing could be done about it I am sure I would have clocked him in the jaw should I have run into him on the street.

I flinched as the man whipped his head my way, I can't tell if he is looking at my younger self or me directly, but the act is flinch inducing.

"You repulsive little thing."

"WAH", I fell out of bed, tangling myself in the thin blankets. I felt around my body in a panic, running my fingers over my skin in relief.

Back. I am final back.

My fathers' words resonated with me, I believe it was around that time my obsession with my mother began, a strong, confident woman who worked tirelessly as a single mother, she provided everything for me out of her own pocket, I was special to her, just as she was special to me.

I wanted to giver her everything, just as she had, perhaps I became to overbearing, to much of enigma for her to handle.

Regardless, I returned her kindness with a coffin.

"Are you ok?"

I nod, wiping a drop of sweat from my brow.

Helen kneeled to me, helping me unwrap myself from the fabric and part of my uniform in the presses.

"... Nice scar."

I was confused for a second, brining my hand to my shoulder to feel the raised blemish.

Ah yes, I had been shot at some point, haven't I?

With a smile I thanked him, continuing to probe the tissue with fascination.

Helen helps me to my feet, he clutched my hand tightly, his beautiful blue eyes shown with determination, "are you ready to officially start this?"

I give him a smirk, determined once more for a different reason, "hell ya."

I can not wait for this to be over.

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Getting to the climax guys, I am so exited to finish up this book, but also sad, I am sure most of you will like what I have planed, be ready for a guy punch.

I feel like I keep jumping back and for from past to present tense, can someone let me know if they notice this, I don't want to confuse people because of this.