| Confessing To An Obsessing | William Afton X Reader |

| Chapter twelve

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old habits
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Tw: abuse, alcohol

5:32 PM

"Here you go, ma'am!" I said in my best "waitress" voice, trying to be as cheery as possible. "Thank you!" she replied, and I went back to work, determined to please all the customers.

But then Aria walked up to me, presumably coming back from her break. "Hey, N/N. Mr. Emily said you could go early," she said, stuffing her phone in her pocket.

"Is he sure? I mean, it's really packed in here," I looked around, seeing nearly all the booths and tables filled.

"Yeah, he said it's no trouble. So I'll see you tomorrow, Y/N." She patted my shoulder, giving me a radiant smile. "Okay, if you say so. Bye, Ari!" I replied, walking past her.

As I walked down the hallway, the commotion of the main dining area slowly-but-surely diminished, giving me space to breathe. I wasn't a fan of big crowds; I never had been.

I entered the employee break room and opened my locker, quickly taking off my apron and grabbing my bag. I fished out my headphones, trying to do so as quickly as possible so that I wouldn't have to run into anyone.

I speed-walked out the door, hurrying to make sure no one tried to stop me. When I got outside, I started rummaging through my bag, trying to find where my headset was. At last, I found it. I plugged my headset into my phone and started walking home.

AN UNHEALTHY OBSESSION
the blake robinson synthetic orchestra

They call it creeping, I say loving, it's the only way for me
Filling out papers, signing waivers, but I stay outside his reach
I name your mother and your father and the first pet that you keep
I know your favourite place to dine at when your cheque comes in each week
I know you do your wash on Sundays and you separate your whites
And that your car needs a new tire 'cause last week I laid those spikes
I've got a million polaroids with all the dates penned in red ink
I sneak a walkie-talkie in your room to listen to you sleep

I finally arrived at the doorstep of my house. Usually, it was quiet when I got home, but this time was different. There was screaming. I opened the door to be met with my parents arguing. My mom pushed past me and stormed out the door.

"What the hell?" I went to my dad, and when I saw him, it hit me. My dad was drunk. Memories came flooding back, reflecting onto me one by one.

he used to hit me and mom. i can still hear my moms painful screams. I wanted to cry, I was in disbelief. I stormed up to my room and flopped onto my bed, crying. I didn't want to go back to the days where my dad was drunk. Having the memories flood back was pure torture. It was horrific.

My thoughts were ever so rudely interrupted by my dad storming into my room.

"Who the fuck dyouthink youare?! Youwhooore! You do not storm away like that from me! Sit up!" He slurred his words, and me not wanting to disobey him, i sat up but i was immediately slapped in the face.

More tears threatened to spill from my face, which only egged him on more.

"Stand up!" he demanded, making me freeze up. I honestly didn't want to, but he would make me pay for it. So, I complied.
Something hard immediately shattered upon hitting my face, covering my face in two liquids: Blood, and alcohol.