Better Luck Next Time! // Creepypasta x lucky reader

Ch47

Disappointment. He isn't mad at me, no anger lacing that face where tears prick at his eyes.

I can't breathe, my heart squeezes inside my chest, I don't want him to see me standing before him covered head to toe in blood.

... Don't I? Maybe this is a good thing, now he will admit that everything was my fault. Now he can stop tripping on my heels as he runs after a mess he wants to clean up.

"Your hurt...", he states quietly, his gaze shifting down my body to examine the cause of the blood that coats my figure, his expression remaining stoic even with the realization that not all of it is mine.

I don't know how to feel, he is annoying, always trying to point me into a path I can't seem to follow without getting lost. Yet, he tries, he tries harder than anyone I have met within this short mundane life.

"Pretend you didn't see us...", I can't look at him, my fist ball tight at my side, I know Helen is looking at me, silently watching everything play out, without judgment to my merciful plea, knowing he has no place within the conversation.

My heart breaks with the doctor's rejection.

"I can not do that (y/n)", he closes his eyes, his brow twitching as they crease together. He swallows the lump in his throat, trying to meet my gaze with wet eyes.

I say nothing in return to his rejection. Understanding, that's what this is, nothing could have changed the outcome for either of us.

Helen understood as well, he shifts, ready to raise his weapon with intent to kill. Yet he hesitates, for my sake or not his finger flinches off the trigger. With that spared second Dr. M had a gun of his own trained on us instead. On me specifically.

I don't know if the idea of 'taking me out of the situation' had crossed his mind, yet I find myself staring down the barrel of a gun once more. He looks more crestfallen when I remain undeterred in the face of death.

"Why (y/n)?", he breathes out a shaky breath, "you act as someone who has given up on living. What has gone so wrong for you to wish for the end?", his hands shook, "why do you hate yourself so much?"

I bite my lip, debating my words before I speak, "I just... I don't want to be me anymore."

His eyes close, "I understand that you miss your mother dearly, but this... You have so much (y/n), why do you insist on it not being enough?"

I take a step forward, offended with the sudden inclusion of my mother, the doctor flinches at the slow, short step, yet remained stationary even with the sweat dripping down his back.

"Because I knew. I knew she was going to die, and I did jack shit about it", my teeth ground together, dragging my words through a clenched jaw, "I could not go one day without something going my way regardless of what led up to the situation. I heard her on the phone with you doctor, I was ten years old, she was so scared of me, she knew there was something different about me."

He understands, I know he does, he had been the one to evaluate me after all, but he can't wrap his head around the implication of foresight. The luck had known that my mother had feared me, known the stress it had begun to take on my body and mind, so, luck got rid of the cause and then tried to make up for the new trauma that occurred because of it.

"I have won the lottery", I sigh with scrunch brows," I graduated from a high standing college, I have saved a life, took a life, no consequence, only reward. It's all... boring." I close my eyes, avoiding the doctor once more, "and so undeserved."

I can see him reeling for a response, yet words do not leave his mouth when he tried to speak. Indeed, how does one respond to such a off handed confession.