I Don't Get Paid Enough For This (William Afton x reader)

Guilty Conscience

The call came on your day off.

You were in your apartment, which was almost strange now, it felt quiet. The aftermath of the news story was hazy, almost blurry. You wanted to keep up with the news and any developments in the case as if you were waiting for them to discover some form of mistake or evidence that you left behind. William didn't let you watch it as he claimed that it would drive you crazy with paranoia.

You didn't leave his house for a few days, you didn't want to be alone. Alone was scary. You stayed in the spare room, at times, listening to the muffled sound of rock music coming from his son's room and yet you only ever caught glimpses of him and only every so often heard the arguments between the two. It was strangely comforting. You hated the silence as it gave you time to think through what was happening.

They found the body. You were completely fucked if they found out and it was driving you insane. At night you would stare at the ceiling and see yourself in handcuffs or behind bars and it terrified you.

William kept a close eye on you and even closer eye on you at night. You often tried to stay quiet as your body moved back and forth along the sheets as you prayed that the music was loud enough to conceal your fucking. Temporary comfort. Yeesh, you really have no shame. Giving that kid all type of trauma by getting fucked by his dad in the other room, that's crazy.

A few days passed and you were still left completely blind to any developments in the case. You went to work as normal and kept your cool as instructed by William. You could still feel that brutal anxiety taking over your body every second though and no amount of acting could get rid of that. The physical toll was killing you with your arms and back constantly aching as your exhaustion felt permanent no matter how much sleep you got.

After a few days you went back to your apartment. Not to stay or anything but rather to grab a few things before returning back to his house. Some clothes and a few other personal items, nothing special of course.

You pulled some of your clothes out of your closet, shoving them messily into a rucksack. The silence of your apartment was off putting as you took a minute to lean your head against the wall and closed your eyes for a second. Your body ached with exhaustion and a dull throbbing pain that you were practically used to at this point. You felt terrible, in a moral and physical way.

The sudden sound of your phone ringing practically gave you a heart attack as you stood up straight, your body quickly becoming rigid and tense. Calm down. Breathe.

You took a breath. It's just a phone call, calm down. Act normal. Or rather more normal than you usually act.

You slowly approached the phone as the loud and obnoxious ringing continued. Taking a quick second to compose yourself, you picked up the phone and held it up to your ear as you let out a forced casual tone, "Hello?"

There was silence on the other end for a second before the voice of a woman spoke up in a light and professional voice, asking if they reached the right person.

"Yep, that's me." You responded, ignoring the sudden feeling of dread coming over you again, "...who exactly is this?"

The woman's voice responded in that same professional tone, "My name is Officer Burke, I'm with the Hurricane police department."

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

You wanted to throw up and throw yourself out of the window, praying that either you broke your neck or at least got a chance to run.

But you couldn't do that, so instead you took a breath and responded in the steadiest tone you could manage, "Oh, uh, how can I help you?"

Should you have said Officer at the end? Would that make you more suspicious? Is it more suspicious to not call her officer? Is there even a right answer?