chapter eleven: let the games begin

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LET THE GAMES BEGIN

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LET THE GAMES BEGIN

tw: violence & abuse

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tw: violence & abuse

(y/n)'s house

you hovered at the foot of the bed, your father's presence pressing down on you like a boulder.

"um..." your voice cracked under pressure, barely louder than a whisper."we met at a friend's party. at the beginning of term."

he gave the dullest glance."oh, i see."

a few evenings later, you came home to find your father stretched out on his bed, tablet screen reflecting off his face. as usual, he didn't say good evening. as usual, you went straight to his side to massage his legs, a nightly ritual you'd never dared skip.

your fingers worked his muscles; your own shoulders coiled tighter with every knead.

"so, what happened to that other boy?" he taunted lazily."thought you two were in love."

a jagged jolt of anxiety zipped through you. earlier that day, he'd phoned the school to check on your grades, when some clueless teacher—oblivious and well-meaning—let it slip about your "new boyfriend." now, your father wanted confirmation.

"you mean, jean?" you questioned, feigning confusion.

"i mean, well, yeah."

you pressed your thumbs into his calves harder, hoping the subject would drop. the ambience between you became increasingly discomfiting; his satisfaction feeding off your discomfort.

"we were," you admitted carefully,"but we just grew apart."

his smirk widened, unsettling in its insincerity. 

he didn't believe you—not even a little. his fingers continued scrolling aimlessly, as though this conversation wasn't the one thing holding all the power in the room.

"you wouldn't be lying to me, would you, (y/n)?" he crooned.

your pulse stuttered. his question wasn't really a question—it was an accusation wrapped in faux sweetness. 

IF HAPPY EVER AFTER DID EXIST; levi ackermanWhere stories live. Discover now