Stay With Me ~ Yandere Masky x Reader ~

Chapter 8 ~ Talk ~

Trees swayed outside in the brisk wind, kicking up fallen leaves that were nothing but remains of what was once green and bright. It was bleak out, grey sky and beige grass. The air was cooler than it had been thus far and you could tell. It leaked through the crevasses and cracks of the old shack, whistling and moaning through the boards like a spirit trying to communicate with the living. The window itself leaked something awful, so you'd stuffed a spare blanket through what ever means you could to try and save yourself the trouble. Outside you could hear the dull thud and crack of wood splitting, rhythmic in timing. You listened with half interest at the consistency of the axe, blocking out the sharp and drawn out whistle of the windows moans.

It had been a little over a week like this now since Tim had snapped at you. You, sitting upstairs in your room, and him avoiding you by any means necessary. He would be gone more often now for whatever work he did while away. Days sometimes. He'd once left you food on the foot of your bed one time with a note saying he'd be back. No words spoken, just gone. With the door locked of course. It was more bearable now to sit and wait with what he'd given you, but it was nearly impossible for you to not get in your own head and deteriorate without being out of that room.

Stranger still was when he would be around. You would meet him downstairs and suddenly now you were serving yourself food, something you never thought he'd of even let you think of doing before. You didn't think it was his generous host behavior either, but more so a control of sorts. But now you knew where everything was. The silverware, dishes, cereal, even the cleaning products he kept everywhere around the place as if owning that much would somehow fix the years of repair the home was neglected of. The bathroom was spotless with the amount of roaming you did with nothing to do and your room had slowly started to become more of a room and less of a prison cell. But only by a fraction.

He would avoid you at all costs. You'd ask what he was going to be doing for the day and he would respond curtly. Not in a snapping tone or even with irritation, but with indifference. It was something you hadn't even remotely experienced from him yet. Quite the opposite it had seemed. Then he would find a task to do. Chop wood, stack said wood, take a walk, grab food, meet up with someone, go to work, ect. It was always like this now. You'd thought at some point you'd grow used to the silence and the way it enveloped your days now, but instead it was starting to eat at you. Days and days would go by with barely a handful of words exchanged between the two of you. If you tried to start, he'd shut it down.

At some points, you find something to start busying yourself with. Maybe the floor had become too muddy from his boots, so you'd find a flimsy scrub brush and start scrubbing. You had started this before realizing that you were also washing away some of the stain on the floor boards and quickly stopped. So then you would find another task. You'd re-arrange your room, moving a small desk of sorts with drawers up to your room that sat vacant downstairs for you to put your things away in. You'd fold up your clothes nice and neat and stow them away in a compact drawer. Occasionally you'd even take up the task of helping Tim. Boredom can do many things to a person, but helping a man you hated was one thing you never thought was an option. Even though you resorted to it, you found it to be entertaining enough. A person can only go so long with nothing to do before they will find things to occupy the mind. So you'd find his old clothes, dirty and caked with what looked like mud and take them upstairs to the tub. There was no washer or dryer out here (not something that entirely shocked you), but there was a bathtub. Tim had never told you or shown you this, but you'd caught him the one time in there washing a shirt in it in a soapy bath in the middle of the night. He had jumped nearly out of his skin and snapped at you to get out, now. You obliged, wondering what had set him off so bad. Maybe walking in a small room with his back turned to you was something he wasn't too keen of. At least you now knew how to wash your clothes at least...