𝚆𝙴𝙱𝙲𝙾𝚁𝙴.𝚎𝚡𝚎 | m!yanderes x f!reader

010/ lost...

TW: domestic violence, mention of suicide

// Tuesday, October 31 – 6:17 PM

Dear Diary,

How are you?

I hope you are well. Or, at least, I hope you are doing better than I am. You probably don't have a soul but I wish you are happy in your own way. You deserve it, above anyone else.

I'm okay, thanks. Just tired.

I don't have much of an appetite anymore. I ate half of dinner today but couldn't stomach the rest, which made Mum mad.

It's my favourite dish. It takes hours to cook, and Mum was exhausted after coming home from work to do all the house chores Dad left for her, yet she made it for me. Even though she did overtime in her shitty full-time job, even though she was emotionally drained from the argument with Dad earlier, she did it anyway. Maybe cooking was a distraction for her. But she said it was because she was proud of me for finally coming out of my room.

However, once she saw my unfinished plate, she lost it. Suddenly, I was the worst, most ungrateful child in the world.

She was screaming at me, telling me I had to eat it all even if I felt sick b̶e̶c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶ I̶ s̶h̶o̶u̶l̶d̶n̶'t̶ w̶a̶s̶t̶e̶ f̶o̶o̶d̶   b̶e̶c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶ i̶t̶'l̶l̶ m̶a̶k̶e̶ u̶p̶ f̶o̶r̶ t̶h̶e̶ p̶a̶i̶n̶ i̶n̶ h̶e̶r̶ h̶a̶n̶d̶s̶ f̶r̶o̶m̶ a̶l̶l̶ t̶h̶e̶ s̶t̶i̶r̶r̶i̶n̶g̶ a̶n̶d̶ c̶u̶t̶t̶i̶n̶g̶   b̶e̶c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶ n̶o̶ o̶n̶e̶ l̶o̶v̶e̶s̶ o̶r̶ a̶p̶p̶r̶e̶c̶i̶a̶t̶e̶s̶ h̶e̶r̶ i̶n̶ t̶h̶i̶s̶ f̶a̶m̶i̶l̶y̶   because that's what good children do. I didn't have to like it, but the least I could do was finish my plate. That's all the thanks she needed.

But I couldn't do it.

We were the only ones at the dining table. I was staring at my plate while Mum kept yelling until all of a sudden, she stopped. I looked up right when she grabbed my hair and began shoving spoonfuls of food into my mouth. I almost choked a few times but she didn't care.

My teeth burn. I could do nothing but hear the clatter of metal on bone. The spoon's edge cut my lips from how forceful she was being. I was too scared to move. Crying didn't help either.

She only stopped when she noticed the blood on her fingers.

I don't get it. What was the point in making that dish for me? Was it really reward? Or was it a test to see if I still loved her?

...

I̶t̶'s̶ D̶a̶d̶'s̶ f̶a̶u̶l̶t̶. I̶t̶'s̶ b̶e̶c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶ o̶f̶ H̶I̶M̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ s̶h̶e̶ w̶a̶s̶ s̶o̶ a̶n̶g̶r̶y̶. S̶h̶e̶ w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶n̶'t̶ h̶a̶v̶e̶ d̶o̶n̶e̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ t̶o̶ m̶e̶ i̶f̶ i̶t̶ w̶e̶r̶e̶n̶'t̶ f̶o̶r̶ h̶i̶m̶.

W̶h̶y̶ d̶o̶e̶s̶ h̶e̶ s̶a̶y̶ s̶u̶c̶h̶ h̶o̶r̶r̶i̶f̶i̶c̶ s̶h̶i̶t̶ a̶l̶l̶ t̶h̶e̶ t̶i̶m̶e̶?̶?̶ H̶o̶w̶ c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ h̶e̶ c̶a̶l̶l̶ M̶u̶m̶ t̶h̶o̶s̶e̶ t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶s̶?̶ I̶ h̶a̶t̶e̶ h̶i̶m̶. I̶ h̶a̶t̶e̶ h̶i̶m̶. I̶ h̶a̶t̶e̶ h̶i̶m̶ I̶ h̶A̶T̶E̶ h̶i̶m̶ I̶ h̶a̶t̶e̶ h̶I̶M̶ I̶ H̶A̶T̶E̶ H̶I̶M̶. K̶y̶r̶i̶o̶s̶ s̶h̶o̶u̶l̶d̶'v̶e̶ s̶e̶w̶n̶ H̶I̶S̶ m̶o̶u̶t̶h̶ s̶h̶u̶t̶. T̶h̶a̶t̶ w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ s̶o̶l̶v̶e̶ m̶o̶s̶t̶ o̶f̶ m̶y̶ p̶r̶o̶b̶l̶e̶m̶s̶.

W̶h̶y̶ d̶i̶d̶ h̶e̶ m̶a̶r̶r̶y̶ M̶u̶m̶ i̶f̶ h̶e̶ h̶a̶t̶e̶s̶ h̶e̶r̶ s̶o̶ m̶u̶c̶h̶?̶?̶?̶?̶?̶ S̶h̶e̶'s̶ n̶o̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ b̶u̶t̶ a̶ s̶l̶a̶v̶e̶ t̶o̶ h̶i̶m̶. H̶e̶ u̶s̶e̶s̶ h̶e̶r̶, u̶s̶e̶s̶ h̶e̶r̶, c̶h̶e̶a̶p̶e̶n̶s̶ h̶e̶r̶, s̶u̶c̶k̶s̶ t̶h̶e̶ l̶i̶f̶e̶ o̶u̶t̶ o̶f̶ h̶e̶r̶ l̶i̶k̶e̶ a̶ l̶e̶e̶c̶h̶ t̶h̶e̶n̶ e̶x̶p̶e̶c̶t̶s̶ h̶e̶r̶ t̶o̶ k̶e̶e̶p̶ s̶m̶i̶l̶i̶n̶g̶ a̶n̶d̶ a̶c̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ c̶u̶t̶e̶ f̶o̶r̶ h̶i̶m̶. T̶o̶ t̶a̶k̶e̶ i̶t̶ a̶l̶l̶ a̶n̶d̶ f̶o̶r̶g̶i̶v̶e̶ h̶i̶m̶, l̶i̶k̶e̶ t̶h̶e̶ g̶o̶o̶d̶ l̶i̶t̶t̶l̶e̶ w̶i̶f̶e̶ s̶h̶e̶'s̶ s̶u̶p̶p̶o̶s̶e̶d̶ t̶o̶ b̶e̶.