Evan Peters Imagines and One Shots

Sweet but Psycho Pt. 3

I got home and hopped in the shower immediately. I had dreamed of this moment since kindergarten; Tate would be playing in the sandbox alone as I sat and watched him on the seesaw- never letting anyone else sit on the other end; I would watch him as I bounced on my one end, but he never came over to sit, and that's when I realized that Tate was different than any boy I had ever met, he didn't need friends or anyone to live his life- he was good just being by himself- and that is how I fell in love.

I admired him- he was everything I could ever ask for as the years passed. He continued to make me want him even more. He never cared to get along with teachers, principals, or even his mother- as I witnessed him cuss her out at a Parent Teacher Conference- all he needed was me. I was his missing piece. It all made sense- why wouldn't I be? Of all the attempts anyone had made, I was the only one who hadn't tried to befriend him. It was in my face the whole time, and I was too dumb to realize I was his destiny- his muse. He had finally begun to see it also.

I hopped out of the shower and quickly slipped on a black dress I kept in the back of my closet. It was my mother's- the same dress she had worn when she met my father. He and I were cleaning out her stuff one day- he insisted that I throw it somewhere- so I threw it in my room.

I admired myself in the mirror.

"Goddamn it, Y/n," my dad slurred," I thought I told you to throw that damn dress away- you look just like your mother- just beautiful."

He could barely walk straight as he stumbled into my room with a bottle.

He made me sick as he was the complete opposite of Tate. My father needed people- specifically me and my mother- to live his life, even after he cheated on her because he 'needed' to feel love from someone else as my mom suffered from Post-Partum Depression. Just looking at him made my blood boil... I hated that man with a passion.

"I'm going to a friend's house, Dad," I answered.

"Dressed like that," he scoffed.

He grabbed onto my arm.

"Dressed like what," I questioned.

I forcibly shook my arm to get him to release me. After releasing his grip, I walked past him and grabbed my book bag.

"Dressed like a hooker," he responded, "You look like a slut."

Even when she wasn't here, he still found a way to insult her through me.

"A slut who's going to go get knocked up and then leave her husband alone to raise their 5-year-old daughter."

"It's better than looking like a sorry alcoholic bum who can't accept that he's the problem in everyone's life," I taunted, "Especially in his wife and daughters."

"What are you trying to say," he argued.

"Dad, you need help! Child protective services already say that if they catch you like this again, they're going to take me from you," I continued, "Are you even going to try to stop drinking, for my sake... You have already lost one woman in this house. It seems like you're trying to lose another."

I was already prepared for any bullshit argument he would try to start today. I had been saving up cash since I was 12 to get away from him- little did he know that I had at least six grand stashed in my piggy bank. I never left it alone, though I always knew that with the right amount of liquor, he would go through my stuff and steal everything to buy more booze- so I had it in my book bag, where he'd never look.

I jumped as he threw his bottle and glass shattered onto the floor- his face grew red as he glared at me.

"Listen here, you disrespectful little bitch-you're on my last nerve," he threatened, "I don't know where you get your goddamn attitude from, but just know I can take it from you at any moment; I made you don't think I won't destroy you."