Troubled Teens [Donnie Darko x Reader]

Part 1

When your parents had informed you and your siblings that you were moving to Virginia, you weren't surprised. Your siblings weren't happy, younger than you and scared to leave their friends behind. But you, you were excited for a fresh start, and you were used to your parents switching professions and moving away out of nowhere.

After a long road trip, cramped in between your two younger siblings in the backseat, you arrived in your new town.

Middlesex, Virginia.

It doesn't take very long for your excitement to die down. Long streets of houses that all looked the same. Old people that all looked like they'd had the life sucked out of them. Dreary, dreary town.

The house they had chosen looked the exact same as the other five after it. But it was nice enough.

You grabbed a box out of the box of your dads truck, stumbling into the house with it in your hands.

The inside of the house was nicer than the outside. And at least it would look homely when your family was fully moved in. Especially when your brother gets comfortable enough to track mud around with his friends.

You made your way upstairs taking a glance through every empty room. The master would probably go to your parents. Your brother and sister would fight over whatever room they picked so you figured it shouldn't matter if you took the second biggest bedroom. It wasn't huge, but definitely not small. Cozy. Big enough for a dresser, a bookshelf, your bed. That was all you needed.

No furniture.

The moving company had told your father it would take them at least a day to get everything to Virginia, so you'd be stuck on the floor with a blanket and a thin pillow. Outstanding living conditions.

After putting the box in the middle of the room, you go back downstairs to see your parents outside talking to some neighbors. Your brother is pestering your sister in the unfurnished living room, undecorated and bland. Moving boxes from the truck line the front entrance, and for a minute you feel bad that you didn't help but then you think about your parents telling you that you couldn't bring everything because "you're brother and sister have more stuff to bring", and the bad feeling fizzles.

You brought in your own box, so you had done your part as far as you were concerned.

Making your way outside you observed the people stand on your front lawn next to your parents. A man and a woman, middle aged, same as your parents. The woman, a blond, stands in a mid-thigh length dress, tight to her body, with a pair of cheetah print heels on. And the man, probably her husband, is wearing a pair of gray slacks and a plain white shirt. He's wearing a pair of brown, suede shoes.

They're outfits, body languages, the way the woman moves her hands around as she speaks to show the giant, oversized jewel on her finger. It's all screaming rich suburban citizens. They want your parents to know they're rich without having to say they have money. The woman wants your mother to know that her husband spends more money on her, but she can't hide the fact that her husband loves his money more than her behind her finger.

And the men, you realize as you get closer to them, are conversing about golf. There are no hidden messages, the man really is just telling your father about the golf course in town. There is no boasting about his expensive car that he can't drive in the winter time. And no brag about his oldest son playing varsity football, because he knows that he paid for his son's spot.

He doesn't use his wifes method of bragging to hide their problems. He simply says nothing at all. And it almost makes you respect him more than his wife, but then you remember that she's bragging to hide their problems. And the problems probably all stem from him. So he loses your respect just as fast as he had gained it.

"Oh! Alice, Dave, this is our daughter y/n." The man, Dave you now know, smiles. It's an almost creepy smile, it makes your stomach churn. Alice, the woman, has a much sweeter smile. But you know that behind her toothy grin and the red lipstick on her lips, she is dying to get back into conversation about her family's accomplishments.

"I was gonna take a walk. Check out the neighborhood," Your dad kisses your head, a fake act of affection so he can pretend your relationship is better than it actually is.

"Be back by 6, hun. I don't want you out and about after dark just yet." Your mom waves you off and you give her a smile as you walk off down the street.

The street looks the same on both sides, all the houses look the same. There are kids running through sprinklers, kids chasing each other around their yards, kids jumping on trampolines, and rich kids swimming in the pool their parents paid for but never use.

You're distracted. Not paying attention to where you walk.

It's only when a boy on a bicycle just barely misses your walking body that you come back to your senses. Your eyes find him quickly, he's turning his head to look back at you. His black hair is messy, like he just woke up. His white long-sleeve and pajama pants combo doesn't change your opinion. Nor does the fact that he has no shoes on.

When he sees you, a crooked smile appears on his face, but his head is turned back around to maneuver his way into the backyard of the house on the corner.

He was kind of cute. Only lived a few houses down. Seemed decently sweet by the way he smiled.

By now you've gotten bored of the streets around you, turning back around towards your new home.

The yard is empty again. The house lights are on.

When you walk inside you can hear chatter from the kitchen, which you follow to see your family standing around the kitchen island picking out two boxes of pizza.

"Oh honey, your home. We've got pepperoni, and Hawaiian, your pick."

You take a slice, it's taste matches the rest of the town, bland. But you eat it anyway before excusing yourself to go upstairs to unpack your few items.

A stack of books you refused to leave get rid of. Polaroids you had taken with your friends. Your pajamas. A locket your grandma had given you before she died. Bottle of perfume. Chapstick. A poster of The Evil Dead, your parents hated it. And your CD player at the very bottom, along with a small stack of CD's.

It was all you had from your old home. All you could take.

You find a place to plug in your CD player, putting on a Tears For Fears CD at a low volume. You put your poster up on the wall, above where your bed will go. Finally, changed into your pajamas, you lay on the ground of your empty room wrapped in your heavy blanket and shitty pillow under your head.

As you lay, staring at the ceiling, you feel your brain drifting back to the boy you saw earlier. What a strange kid. Who bikes with no shoes on?

It doesn't take very long for you to fall asleep, as you think about the dark haired boy.