Broken Hands (Evan Peters x Reader)

Chapter 1: An Oddity

        You were still human, you had emotions, you cried, you were capable of producing hatred, which only seemed to be directed at everyone especially your father. He treated you differently, like you weren't his daughter, like you were the spawn of Satan. He believed you were no longer his little girl. 

        Yet on the other hand your mother made up for everything else. She loved you and you knew that it wasn't some charade. She loved you and it was obvious to you. While your father spat out his great hate for you. 

        They argued a lot because of this matter. You weren't at all like any of the other kids at school. You couldn't learn like them. With just the matter of picking up a pencil. It would shrivel and blow away as dust. It was useless, you couldn't learn even if you wanted to.

        Until finally your mother came home one day. In her hands she had multiple bags, which you later saw were full of gloves. You knew what these were for, she wanted to keep you from hurting anyone. 

        "(y/n), I have these for you." She called.

        You lurked in the shadows, as there were no lights on yet, the dark infiltrated the entire house. That was until your mom switched on the light. She smiled when she saw you. "Sweetheart, I've brought you something that may help you." 

        "Help me? It's more like keeping me from hurting anyone." You responded. "That's all I ever do isn't it?"

        Your mother gave you a hurt look. "No of course not..." She shook her head, you could tell that she wasn't in the mood for this. "Just...(y/n)...try these out please?"

        Your mother was tired.

        As always. She was always tired. 

        You only nodded, you didn't want to upset her further. "Just hand me them,  mom. I won't be able to touch the bag for myself you know." 

You padded your feet over to her, taking the first pair of gloves from her before they crumbled into ah between your fingers. 

        That was the signal for the next and one after another your mother handed you the fabric and every time, they disintegrated in between your fingers. 

        It was the last pair and once your fingers had gripped them, you waited for them to do exactly what the others had done but nothing happened. Your eyes widened not at all expecting this outcome. 

        Your mother smiled. 

        Immediately you slipped the gloves onto your hands, bending your fingers to see if anything would happen. 

        Your mother held out her hand. "Now let's see if they work..." She wiggled her fingertips but you hesitated. You didn't want to touch her in fear that you might hurt her. "Come on, (y/n)..."

        Sighing you stuck your hand out taking her in yours and surprisingly nothing happened.

        "See....there we go....We found the perfect thing for you...." She smiled.

        You were in awe. You could actually touch your mother without hurting her. When you pulled your hand away there was no red marks, no blisters, it was just her plain hand. You didn't hurt her.

        "How?" You asked her, looking down at the gloves. "How on earth are these working."

        Your mother shrugged. "I don't know...it might my the fabric." She sent you a smile. "You know what this means?"

        You already knew. You'd be able to do things for yourself now. You could eat, you could put on your own clothes, you could feed yourself. All these years, you could actually do things for yourself. You were no longer had to be treated as if you were a gigantic baby. 

        You smiled, and for the first time in forever you threw your arms around your mother, pulling her into a big long hug. This is what you wanted to be an actual normal kid for once and these, these gloves could make it happen. You could go to school and learn just like you wanted to. You could do anything as you long as you had these gloves.

        You pulled away from your mother. "Thank you..." That one true smiles of her reached her face again.

        "Well...now we need to clean this up huh?" She chuckled. 

        You only laughed and agreed. You could help this time, you wouldn't have to sit in your room any longer. You would possibly be able to have social interaction with people. 

        That was unless your father allowed it. 

        You had remember what had happened last time. It had ended in disaster, you and your parents had to move to a completely different state and after that, your father forbade you from ever going to school. You were home schooled, at least he tried to home school you. Half of the work you couldn't complete due to your abilities. 

        Your father had said it was useless for you, that you were never going to go out in the world, but your mother continued to try. You were intelligent and you caught on easily. Many of the lessons that were taught to you. You passed through easily. 

        You were seventeen years old and your father made you out to be some child. 

        You hated him. You didn't care that he was your father. You hated him.

        Your mother came towards you with the broom handing it to you. "And guess what you'll be doing soon?" 

        "What?" You shook your head.

        "You'll go back to school and you'll be able to do senior year. Senior year was always the best." She laughed as she watched you sweep the dust up from the wood floors.

        "But..." You began to say before falling silent as your dad walked in the door. 

        "Cheri, I'm...." He stopped in mid sentence, his eyes locking on you and then moving towards the broom in your hands. "How are you....?"

        You said nothing, you would get yelled at by him if you so dare spoke back to him.

        "They're gloves, Mark." Your mother told him. "All she needed was a pair of gloves."

        "Gloves? Gloves? You bought her gloves?" You could tell that he was angry, anything that involved you would set him off. 

        Whatever argument your parents had it was always about you and you hated it. You would disappear, you didn't want to listen to their consistent fighting that you were the source of.

        Your mother and father didn't notice you at all as you headed to put the broom away, cleaning would have to wait. You didn't want to be caught in the middle of this storm.