Hopelessly Devoted ~ Garroth x F!Reader

Ch. 4: Midnight Crisis

***

Back home, your night cruised by delightfully uneventfully—which imbued your introverted bones with rejuvenation. The air inside held a stiff, static quality though, and you couldn't shake the feeling that you weren't alone. It was dark outside, but your intuition and sixth sense insisted on the existence of an unnatural presence, which—mind you—adults aren't supposed to be afraid of.

A sudden movement from outside caught your attention. You'd finally found a comfortable position in bed, so moving from it was last on your to-do list. Although, another part of you worried you might end up a goner if you didn't investigate. But then again, what if it had just been the wind and you ended up getting out of bed for nothing?

Your window clicked and slid half-way open on its own. A cool draft of air flowed through, whistling as it squeezed its way inside. The wind didn't do that. Well like, it made the noise, but it wasn't the force behind the window opening. Whatever, you probably already assumed that part.

The nose-curling paint fumes from your freshly coated walls slipped out of the slightly agape window, gradually dialing down in potency. As a last-minute choice, you armed yourself with a stray chair leg that hadn't been put together yet, planning to use it ruthlessly if the moment so called for it.

A dim beam of moonlight shone through the open window crack, illuminating a small area of bare floor in front of the curtains. You crept cautiously towards the window, chair leg held over your shoulder like a baseball bat, then utilized your highly trained, ninja-like skills to vanish from the window's line of sight. You twisted around and pressed your back firmly against the light brown wall.

Except when you finally peaked outside, there was nothing but the empty, forest-bordering pathway that had always been there, reflecting moonlight off of its gravel in shiny flecks. Relief coursed through your body, relaxing the tension from your muscles. It must have been the wind. You sealed the window tightly closed and double-checked the lock. After relighting a blown-out candle, you dropped the chair leg onto its original pile of other chair legs and crawled into bed.

***

When morning came around, you woke up in a sticky mess. What the . . . ? A creamy light brown ooze coated your bedsheets. You sat up almost immediately, frantically feeling around on your back, which was covered in the brown substance. It didn't take you too long to notice an indentation on the wall next to the window, the exact size and cutout of your back.

The substance was paint. You were sleeping in paint, your clothes were covered in paint, and your wall was lacking paint. The bare spot needed to be filled, but how would you explain? You covered your face in your hands, your cheeks heating up.

Instead of wallowing, you pushed yourself to start cleaning. You picked out your only other set of clothes, (casual wear), then pulled a basin out of your kitchen.

You stared coldly at the now-dry wall you messed up last night, as if to blame it for your own ill-brained actions. No way could you tell anybody. How would you explain? "Oh yeah, that? Pfft, I was just paranoid somebody was breaking into my house, then I rolled around in wet paint because I thought I was being stealthy, no big deal."

Everyone would think you were crazy. The wall would just have to stay.