Hopelessly Devoted ~ Garroth x F!Reader

Ch 26: Rain on the Black Parade

Green light: this is actually a fully edited chapter that fits into the revised plot.
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"I need to start my shift before it gets dark. Stay inside while I'm gone, alright?" And with those words, Garroth set out for the guard tower.

You folded your arms in reluctance and huffed towards his back as soon as he was out of earshot. Stay inside where? You didn't exactly have an accessible home at the moment. Your solution was to wander outside aimlessly instead, while mulling over what Aaron's return meant for you. There was no longer a need to village hop in search for him. You'd gotten your closest bond back, and now possibly a permanent town to reside in. Phoenix Drop might be home.

Back in front of your house, a flock of birds flew south overhead as the clouds frowned with the sorrow of a little kid whose playtime was about to be ruined by bath-time. What you'd thought was the gloom of a storm passing around you rapidly approached as an encroaching grey sky. For you, the matter meant a lot more than your outdoor activities coming to an end. Rain came with strings attached, and on the aglets of those strings followed trauma.

Brendan fumbled around on your roof, frantically trying to pick up the board he had been nailing down. "I'm getting outta here while I still can!" He held held the board above his head in one hand to shield himself, using his free hand to slide down the ladder. Katelyn, preoccupied with reshaping her plans around the weather, couldn't catch Brendan before he escaped—which angered her that he was moving so quickly now, and not earlier.

Katelyn crossed her arms above her head as if in an evacuation drill, promptly chasing after him. "Brendan, you're not getting out of this!" she hissed through clenched teeth.

Gone as fast as it had come, a flash of light illuminated the shaded forest clearing that bordered your front door. Rolling thunder drummed in the distance, seemingly with no end.

Even before the onslaught set in, your thoughts raced in an anxious downpour of what was to come. You knew how your body would react. You needed to find shelter, pronto. If you had just listened to Garroth . . . You hated him for being right.

In search for cover, you made a mad dash to your front door, breaking the seal of the tape barricade, which only hung with the strength of a sticker that's been peeled off of a few too many surfaces. Thunder cracked overhead, rain instantly pouring. You crept tensely around the area, your legs now crumbling under the weight they were used to carrying, and almost collided with your couch, which had collected an array of fat, wet droplets in its fabric. You stumbled towards the wall to grab it and sat yourself down in the corner on your hardwood floor—that had somehow worn down as if long-since exposed to the elements—hugging your knees and pulling them tightly into your chest. Amongst the forming puddles, a stray hammer lay discarded on top of your slick floorboards underneath a gaping hole in the roof.

Your body shook violently, which you tried to combat by burying your head further into the crook between your folded arms and chest. It was no use. A spray of water splatters consistently flicked at your ankles. Your house was exposed to the elements. Raindrops pelted your wood flooring in progressively louder thumps, to the point where each one stung upon making contact with your skin.

You wanted to regulate your breathing, but involuntarily couldn't. Any effort to steady your intakes of air only sharpened them. Dilapidated imagery—that of crumbling village houses—floated across your view while you fought to keep your eyes open to avoid unconsciousness.