Rest Now: A Wilford Warfstache X Reader (Complete)

Chapter Three

   Wilford Warfstache Point of View:

   (Y/N) fell asleep soon after taking her pills, her head against my shoulder. I had watched her for a while, then sat next to her, waiting for her to calm down, when she had fallen asleep. I wrinkled my nose when her head had first laid on my shoulder-physical contact not my most favorite thing in the world-but my body relaxed. Her breathing was deep and even, and soothing to me.

   I leaned my head against the wall and looked up. What's wrong with me? It shouldn't be like this... I should be pointing a gun to her head right now, scaring her to half-to-death. Not... letting her use my shoulder as a head rest!

   I sighed. "The hell have I gotten myself into?"

(Y/N) Point of View:

(WARNING!!! Suicide... I understand your feelings with this. Know that.)

   My dream was filled with my old house, and of the arguing between my Dad and Mom, and of the things my Dad did to me... but it was like I was watching the whole thing. Just front row seats to my own horror story. Then, I saw myself, leaning against my wall, under my window. I was staring numbly at my door, my hands placed loosely at my sides. In my right hand, my scissors were open, and my left hand was empty... and fresh scars shone brightly with blood on each wrist.

   I reached out to myself, then stopped, remembering what I was thinking at the time:

   A play thing... That's all I am. I'm not cared for as a daughter, so why should I continue on? I could tell... But I don't have the heart to tell Mom, or have her know in any way. Sorry, Mom. Trust me, it's better off this way. Just trust me...

   I watched as a tear slipped down my own face, then everything went black. I blinked, and I was in my room. I laid in my bed for a moment, focusing on my breathing. Was it all a dream? Wilford? I thought. I turned, and got out of bed, then padded out into the living room.

   "Wilford?"

   "Kitchen!"

   Oh. So it wasn't a dream. I blushed, remembering my actions. I went to the kitchen to see Wilford making something. His jacket and hat were on the bar stool by the counter and his shirt sleeves were rolled up. He had black suspenders holding his pants up. Normally, I would have cringed at the outfit, but he rocked the look.

   I cleared my throat. "So. Um. Thanks about la-"

  
"You're still my hostage. Last night doesn't change anything. You are not allowed to leave, you are not allowed to talk back, and you are not allowed to ask questions. You will follow every instruction and order that I give you, is that clear?"

   I paled, and nodded. "Y-yeah."

   He nodded. "Good. Now, where is the mustard?"