🧵 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒎 𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒐̈𝒕𝒆

9

the following morning, y/n awakens. she looks around expecting bright colors like what she saw in her other bedroom the night before but it's just her normal room: emptied moving boxes in the corner; cracks in the ceiling—nothing's changed. how sad.

she notices the button-eyed doll on the chair where she left it, where the other mother was sitting. she picks it up, and absentmindedly goes to scratch her wrist. she stops, she glances down, her heart skipping a beat as she spots the bandage there, its presence sending a shiver down her spine. y/n gasped.

"my cut..." she whispered to herself. for a moment, the teen is confused beyond all recognition. was it all just a figment of her imagination? a mere product of her subconscious? but the bandage...it felt too real, too tangible to dismiss as a trick of her mind.

with a groan, y/n threw off her bedsheets, a sense of urgency driving her as she hurried down the stairs.

as she reached the bottom of the steps, her eyes fell upon the corner of the living room where the small door stood slightly ajar, beckoning her closer. "holy shit..." y/n cursed to herself before approaching the door cautiously, her breath catching in her throat as she pushed the door open further.

but instead of the other world awaiting her on the other side, all she found was a solid wall of bricks, mocking her with its mundane reality.

relief flooded through her, mingled with a tinge of disappointment. it was just a dream after all, she reassured herself, letting out a shaky breath as she leaned against the wall for support. but even as she tried to shake off the lingering unease, a nagging doubt lingered in the back of her mind. what if it wasn't just a dream?

however, y/n knew that life was for the living and she couldn't keep daydreaming about this other world. it's better to just keep going along with her day until it's brought up somehow.

with that, she shakes her head and pushes the door shut as the kettle on the stove blows from the kitchen, derailing y/n's train of thought and whatever theories she had cooking up in her mind on why she dreamt of another world that doesn't exist. sighing, she stood up to her feet and made her way to the kitchen, where the steam billowed from the stovetop but it all came to an end when her father walked up to the kettle, turned off the flame underneath it, and poured himself a cup of coffee.

meanwhile, y/n fixed herself a bowl of cereal and just as she settled down at the table with her breakfast, her mom's voice cut through the air like a sharp knife. "your dad and i are going to be out for a few hours, so why don't you make yourself useful and do some chores while we're gone?" her mother asked, but y/n knew it wasn't up for debate. she had to do the chores. end of story. "when you're finished, maybe you can go say 'hi' to our neighbors," she suggested, but y/n acknowledged that her mother didn't care about them since she thought miss spink & forcible were dingbats and that mr. b is a crazy drunk. "oh, and while we're out, you're to have no visitors." she quickly added.

y/n felt a surge of frustration bubbling up inside her. she had been looking forward to a relaxing day, perhaps even catching up on some reading or taking a walk outside. but her hopes were dashed by her mother's words. keeping her disappointment hidden, the h/c-haired girl nodded quietly, her gaze fixed on her cereal bowl. she wanted nothing more than to protest, to argue for just one day of respite from her usual responsibilities, but she knew it would be futile. her parents had always been strict about their expectations, and she had long since learned to pick her battles.

so, as her parents bid her farewell and headed out the door, y/n let out a loud groan, her shoulders slumping in defeat. she couldn't help but feel a pang of resentment towards her mother's insistence on keeping her busy, even on her rare days off.

and then there was the matter of the boy next door. wybie lovat.

her mom still seemed convinced that there was something more than friendship between them, despite y/n's repeated assurances to the contrary. it was a frustrating and tiresome misunderstanding, one that she had grown weary of trying to correct.

but what was the real kicker was that neither one of her parents even bothered to ask just why the hell their daughter was wearing a bandage on one of her hands. 'looks like they really don't care...' y/n thought to herself, grimacing as she tried oh-so desperately to push aside her lingering frustrations about her life here and forced herself to finish her breakfast.

there was no use dwelling on things that won't change.