I'm Trapped In Kamisama Kiss. [Tomoe X Reader}

Storm

You gazed towards the door, stumbling forward you'd extend your hand towards the agape door, before hesitantly your fingers curled back against your palm as you swallowed the lump forming in your throat. Your hand would lower to your side. 
Your eyes darted around the room, as you took another extended breath. 
"Helloo?" You'd call now, the 'hello' elongated and stammered through. 
You'd sniffle out now, rubbing your left eye, in your dreary state you didn't mind your heart thumping against your ribcage. 

You'd pace forward now, your (H/C) swishing against your cheeks. You'd stop-short in front of the door, inhaling, you'd grip the edge of the door frame, using it as leverage, you'd pull your head outside of your apartment. 
Nothing. 
The sound of the roaring storm could be heard, you'd hesitantly look both directions, before yanking your head back in your apartment. With your left foot, you hooked the bottom of your door, side-kicking it shut in a swift movement. 
You'd then turn on your heel, eyes scanning your unpleasantly silent apartment. 
You'd now cock a brow, circling your apartment. Your hands gripping tight, into rather large fists, your nails digging into your palms. 

You'd narrowly dodge tripping over old laundry you had left sprawled across your floorboards, by doing a quick skip over it.

Every now and then, you ducked your head to gaze under tables and the alike. 
Finding only empty space, and the occasional pile of trash you could've sworn was a person, only to be terrified of nothing. 
The ideologically of someone intruding in your apartment, was too far-fetched for you. Because you where the main character, the main character doesn't die. 
Do they? 

You'd quickly hurry across your apartment, having successfully spooked yourself. You dived over your kitchen-counter, grappling the closest thing you could in the five-ten seconds you had of sliding over the buttered-up surface. Before crashing down onto the floor, with a loud thump. 
Ofcourse, a few curse words where exchanged once you did land. 
You now had a cucumber. You'd gaze at the cucumber, for one, maybe two seconds. Before gazing up again. 
You now had a cucumber, repeated in your head. 
Level up! New weapon acquired: A Cucumber. 

You'd groan now, shaking your head. You where a fucking retard. Chances are this entire situation could be avoided if you had of thought, first. Before making any rash calls. 
You could've left your apartment door open in a tired state? 
Maybe your EX-Boyfriend, Ron, could have barged in. You never did take the spare set of keys to your apartment away from him. Though, the thought of him in your apartment uninvited at this time wasn't exactly all that reassuring. 

 Having both disgusted and spooked yourself all at once:
You'd roll, trying to shove yourself up that way. Your knees moved up, into your stomach, and you'd extend your hands over the floor. Your hands, however slid across your kitchens tiled-floor, struggling to find a grip, you'd eventually slip. 
Your breasts hit the tiled floor first, then your face, then, soon slipped your knees from under you, causing you to slide forward. Now, you where sprawled over the floor, groaning in agony. 
What a successful attempt. 

You'd roll over now, onto your back, clutching your nose. Which was now spurting blood all down your face, onto the tiles, staining your shirt. You'd clutch your nose with one hand, your other hand busy, clutching your weapon: The Cucumber.  

You'd hear slowly approaching footsteps, against your floor. The vibration could be felt against your back as they got closer, and closer. 
You'd groan louder now, not even making an attempt to rescue your dignity. 
The footsteps, which seemingly appeared out of thin air, would halter, then restart, the pattern of click-clock growing more and more abstracted, the footsteps appeared confused. They sounded confused. If footsteps could even bear emotions, these footsteps would be that of confusion. 

They'd grow closer, before finally stopping.