𝘽𝙪𝙗𝙗𝙡𝙚𝙜𝙪𝙢 || １８+

009 . .

TW; 

Use of knife, almost dead experience and blood.

(Feel free to skip!) 

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Or not.

As soon as I set one step out of my room last night, I immediately regretted my decision. The only living things in the neighborhood were drug dealers and bats. When I glanced at the other side of the street I immediately spotted a weird man with a hoodie sitting at one of the wooden benches near the park, the park where me and Jonathan always walked Stassie. He smirked at me as if he'd known me. Maybe I was just imagining things and was the only thing going through his mind the taste of my lips and the way I sounded when I would scream his name.

I'm so delusional.

And he's a pedo.

I shrugged my shoulders as I sat up in my bed, putting some stray strands of hair behind my ear, making my vision less blurry. When I glanced around my room, I noticed nothing weird, except for my door to be open again. I glanced over to the door, nothing suspicious coming up in my mind. My mind acted as if I was drunk, and I did not like it.

It's just a door, Avery.

The only thing that was actually usefull about being an overthinker was the fact I could also have reassuring thoughts. This was one of them. A rare coïncidence the voice in my hand finally had something useful to say after all this years of non stop bullshit. For now, it felt like the only good option was to set my thoughts aside and make sure I was gonna find those files, and I already had a strong feeling to who got them. I walked up to my wardrobe and gathered a nice outfit together, consisting of a sweater and a flared jeans before I walked out of my door. My heart almost stopping to beat when I saw Jonathan ironing one of his shirts.

"Christ, Jonathan!" I looked at him with wide eyes, causing him to raise his eyebrow in response. Ofcourse he was clueless, he always was. "What's wrong? You seem tense." He stopped ironing his shirt as he walked up to me, now stopping only a couple inch away from me. He placed his hand on my forehead, feeling my temperature. I wasn't feeling like I had a fever, I was just fucking stressed about the sudden disappearance of the files. I brushed his hand off. "Don't. I don't feel sick, I'm just stressed." I muttered back, causing him to take a step back and narrowing his eyes. "Why so?" He said in a colder tone, now looking down at me. I swear I could notice some annoyance in his gaze, but I ignored his attitude, he's probably just not a morning person. "The case I started to look into that was Shayla's, well, the files are all gone." A muscle ticked in his jaw as I spoke those words. I raised an eyebrow in response to the way he tensed, but he shoved the thoughts aside. "Who did it?" He said in a sharp tone, demanding me to say it. "I don't know." I snapped back in a frustrating tone. I wasn't in the mood to socialize, I had business to do. "Let me help you find it, I hate it when people try to stop you from doing what makes you happy." His tone softened, but his eyes could cause people to drop dead right infront of him. So dark, yet he tried his best to keep a friendly composure for me.
"No need, I'll have a strong feeling who it is." I answered in a reassuring tone in an attempt to calm him down a bit more. I patted his stiff shoulder before I made my way downstairs.

While I walked downstairs, I pulled my phone out of the pockets of my jeans, now tapping in his number.

"Hello?" Tyson's voice spoke through the line, he sounded more amused hearing from me than yesterday.