Terrorforming || Yandere!Harem X F!Reader

Ashamed

When you walked out of The Ark at the end of dinner, you saw an ambulance driving away from Camp Bethel, undoubtedly carrying Delilah inside.

Chaeyoung and Louise walked by your sides back to Temperance, each holding one of your arms like you were a patient being escorted. It was probably for the best because, when they let go once you were inside the cabin, you collapsed to the floor.

No matter what they said or did, you just sobbed and wailed, completely inconsolable. Elizabeth stood by, looking on like a fallen angel, silent but scornful. Her presence did more harm than good. You felt marginally better when she finally left.

"It's alright, Y/N," Louise cooed while Chaeyoung dug around in the chest of drawers for your pajamas. "We've got you, and you've got us. It's all going to be alright."

You just shook your head, too upset to string together a response. Eventually your well of tears dried up and your throat became too raw for you to force cries out of it anymore. By the time it was lights out, you had grown tolerably quiet again.

You barely slept that night, just laid in bed wide awake, imagining and reimagining... Poppy and her missing eye. Salome being stung near to death by bees. Delilah coughing up blood. One time was a chance, two times was a coincidence, but three times? Three times was a pattern.

Why you, though? Why your friends in particular? It felt like you were being punished, but why? You hadn't done anything wrong!

Did you have to fear for Louise and Chaeyoung too?

You didn't feel like you got any sleep. It felt like you blinked and suddenly Elizabeth was by your bedside, shaking you.

"Get up. It's time for mass," she said unsympathetically.

You wrenched your shoulder out of her grip, curled further in on yourself. "I'm not going."

"You know that means-"

"I'd rather starve."

She let out a huff, tried to disguise it as a small sigh. "Fine. I'll be back to escort you to counseling in a few hours."

"Just leave me alone."

"Y/N, you have to--"

"Leave me alone!" You shrieked before pressing your face into your pillow like you were trying to smother yourself. She'd probably love that. She'd probably be fucking ecstatic to have you out of her life, out of her hair.

She left without another word, and you were alone for the first time since you came to camp. It felt good. You should skip service more often.

You must have fallen asleep, because you awoke some time later to a dip at the foot of your bed.

"Go away," you muttered without looking to see who it was.

"I missed you at the chapel today," Nurse Thorne said in a measured tone.

"Yeah, well, the feeling's not mutual."

"Rude. I'm worried about you, Y/N. It's not healthy for a young girl to want to spend all day alone in bed."

"Could we talk about this later? Your voice is driving me insane," you replied harshly.

"I'll tell you what... You don't have to talk. You just have to agree to listen to me --really listen-- and I'll tell you how your friend Delilah is doing."

You turned over in bed so you could look at her instead of the wall. "Start with what you know about Delilah's condition."

Nurse Thorne gave you a forced smile, patted your side like you were a misbehaving pet. "Fine. Judging by the chemical burns in her mouth and throat, the doctors believe her celery juice was spiked with drain cleaner. Luckily, she didn't swallow much. Still, it poisoned her liver. She will be forced to attend dialysis three times a week for the rest of her life to clean her body's blood, since it can no longer do it on its own."

Irreparable damage. Just like Poppy and Salome.

"Say what you need to say," you told her. "Then get out."

She let out a huff, just like her daughter. Or maybe her daughter let out a huff just like her. It was a chicken and the egg debate.

"Y/N, I think you need some help discerning God's voice from Satan's lies. Do you know the difference between shame and guilt?" You said nothing. She asked you to listen, and you aimed to do the bare minimum. "The distinction between the two can help us on our spiritual journey to become more like God."

She laughed a little before continuing, "I know repentance can feel daunting at times. There are many voices telling us different things. There's the Spirit inviting us to change and repent... Then there's Satan professing that repentance isn't possible.

"You see, shame is character-based. It makes you think you're a bad person... Whereas guilt is action-based. It lets you know that you did a bad thing. Shame leads you to want to shrink, hide, and disappear. Guilt identifies an action that you regret, prompting you to change for the future.

"Social sciences have proven that shame attacks your character, asserting that, at your core, you are worthless." You were beginning to wonder whether she really was a real doctor if she was quoting social sciences. "Instead, guilt reminds you that your actions are not in line with your values and identity. This realization often prompts you to change those actions and become better.

"Church doctrine is clear on how God wants us to feel. Our inherent worth as children of God means that we are never worthless, even when we have sinned. The Spirit's voice will never encourage you to hate yourself, rather reminding you of your eternal worth as a child of God. The voice that says you are worthless and unlovable will always be Satan's."

There was a long pause. You felt obliged to fill the silence. "So you're telling me to feel guilty, not ashamed?"

She hummed at you with a creeping smile. "I wouldn't say that. I would say the Holy Spirit is working through me, calling you to repent."

"And if I refuse?"

That little smile disappeared like it was never there to begin with. "I cannot force you. But, Y/N, the first step to changing is admitting you did something wrong..."

"I didn't do anything wrong," you asserted, lurched up from your bed to glare at her.

"That's not true--"

"No, fuck you! Go fuck yourself, Nurse Thorne! I didn't do anything wrong!" You screamed at the top of your lungs.

"Y/N, language! Be good, now. Don't make a fuss," she said in the stern, condescending voice of an adult that thought they knew better.

You would not be quiet. You would not hush your voice a single decibel. You wanted to scream, wanted to pound your fists against something, someone.

So you punched her.

Your first hit landed on her stupid mouth, made her lower lip swell and split. She reeled back a little, cradling her injury, when you hit her again. Your fist fit right into her eye socket like a circular block fit in a circular hole.

That's when she scrambled away. You didn't pursue her, allowed her safety in distance. Still, you shouted every expletive you knew at her until she ran from Temperance like the hounds of hell themselves were nipping at her heels.