Villains ➵ bill skarsgård a.u.

one

ADRIANNE

It's funny.

How usually people try not to think of creepy stuff when they're alone. They're lucky they get to even stop themselves, but to me; they are oddly unstoppable. It's pretty common; mutilated bodies, terrifying images of outstretched necks and mouths, the idea of being stabbed at any given time. I've once differentiated myself from my head, since sometimes we tend to have different opinions on stuff. Like for example such things I've mentioned.

Peculiar but true. Although I haven't told my Aunt and Uncle. In fact I have not told anyone for that matter, fearing of their possible responses. They'd sent me off to a Mental Facility if they found out and as much as I want to isolate myself from the rest of the world, I don't want to be different from it ether. I've had several problems before regarding the specific images running through my head. I wasn't really great at dark rooms, nor remote places. That fact was five years ago, and so far thankfully I've learned to live with it.

Whenever I get out of the safety of my house, it has been my habit to bring along something my Uncle Greatly disagreed to; an Army Knife, Georgie gave me on my first birthday that I joined their crazy, yet approachable pact. Grief eating me alive as I caged myself underneath my blankets at night, I've grown to learn the fact my parents weren't coming back from that business trip when I watched the television that morning about a couple's car crashing into a bay. And I wasn't really that immensely close to my cousin, so I had to improvise if I didn't want to become a certified loser.

Statistically speaking, I am. But at least I'm the kind if loser that has a life. Or at least that's what I call it. Jumper calls it a fucking miserable life, but at least it's a life. And I'm pretty lucky enough to even have a bed in Marianne's home, otherwise I would've been walking around the streets and sleeping underneath the storm. Might as well lay in the middle of the road to get run over. So you could say even if I'm not fully accepted by my cousins, I could care less. For all I know they do the same to me and to be perfectly honest, I appreciate their frigid attitudes to me.

Sometimes they would bring along boys in the absence of their parents for something at work, and I'd be laying in my bed, listening to moans, groans, and the headboard hitting the wall persistently. I mean, it's impossible not to hear. Our rooms are practically one wall apart and I have no right to afflictions whatsoever. Not that I would actually complain if given a chance. They could be somewhere right now in a dumpster and I wouldn't bat an eye. That's the only bad thing Georgie thought me; the art of not giving a fuck she said.

I thought she was kidding the first time I heard it, but then oh well, I guess I was just genuinely raised a prude by everyone in my family. And who would've known that prude would see the light of the outside world, ever? Especially with such a chaos inside my head. It's like constant war in there, it's neverending. The only time I get to put an end to it is if I'm high as shit on whatever drugs Jumper has to offer, and if my Uncle ever finds out about that, he'll kick me out as well. Like, who would want a deranged druggie in your cute little suburban home?

Coincidentally, one of my cousins, Ella. Her boyfriend's a part of our pact. He hangs out with us a lot, but I never really talk to him. He's usually really high to function and I'm surprised Ella even found him attractive. He's a fucking lunatic. He tried to molest Jumper once when she didn't want to give him a pill. Everytime I remind her she just says it's been three years and it doesn't matter anymore.

To me it does. It fucking does on every level but what do I fucking know? Everytime I think, my thoughts would be automatically corrupted by petty fears. Most of the time my instincts are unreliable.

°°°°

The dinner table was quite silent today, I didn't know what was going through their heads. Uncle Ron was as usual talking about his day at work, her wife responding with hums and eyebrow lifts to seem enthusiastic. Although, Ella Ericka were acting weird. They kept staring at their plates like it contained spilled guts or something even though Aunt Marianne's cooking was heavenly. The mashed potatoes were creamy in my mouth along with the gravy and I didn't hold back when I shoved more into my mouth. I've almost forgotten to drink before I choke myself to death, and so I did.