"(Y/n)! We're leaving for Italy now!" Your mother yelled. Damn. ITaly had been a very beautiful place. You visited it when you were younger, recalling memories of the exquisite food and culture. It was magnificent. The only reason you weren't going this time was because of your brother, Brock.
Brock was, in essence, a fuck boy. Everyone knew it, but no one paid attention to the fact that he was what he was. The day he came back from college, only about a month ago was the day things started to change between him and you. He would make... jokes. Sick jokes. About you and him. His words became twisted and even the night he started to try and do something you could smell the alcohol on his breath and how he was...
No. Nevermind. You couldn't remember now. It came in pieces, and you don't have the full puzzle completed yet. You knew something happened, but you never told your family. Besides, he was the star child of the family, the obvious favorite; a quarterback on the football team, number 11, and a fantastic volleyball player, number 1. He definitely liked that number.
"Okay mom, I'm coming." You replied casually, laying on your bed with your laptop in front of you. Your eyes moved away from the captivating screen of horror stories about ghosts and demons and other twisted things. You ran downstairs, kissing your mom and dad goodbye, not forgetting the goodbye nod to your brother. He's not someone you would kiss. You told your mom you couldn't go because of schoolwork, which was a big lie on your end. 'yeah, I just have to finish up some stuff for my maths class.' Lies.
Your family headed out the front door, carrying the last of their things with them. YOu watched as they piled everything from books to clothes to games to food into a silver car. It was supposed to be yours when your 16th birthday came around, but they "Never had the chance to give it to you."
Bullshit.
You watched the car leave from the living room window, sighing in contentment. Things were so quiet now. No bickering about the evening news, no horrible boy-scream-singing from your brother's room, no nothing. Everything seemed so distant, so desolate. It felt... great. You could always remember the thoughts you had in the back of your head, building and building with every unnecessary argument with your brother. But he wasn't here. You don't have to relive it in your head. But you do anyways...
"You're a little fucking slut, aren't you? that;s why you were going out with Ford, right? Because you liked what he did to you!" Your brother screamed at you, just loud enough to shake you, but not loud enough to draw the attention of your parents from downstairs.
"We aren't dating! We're close friends, but we don't date! And where would you even get the idea that we're having sex? And even if we were, why would that concern you at all?" You shouted back. He stepped closer. He was much taller, much more masculine than you, which resulted in him being much stronger than you as well. He put his one hand over your mouth, while his other gripped the top collar of your shirt, making you gasp.
"Because I don't like the idea of being related to a slut. He's a piece of shit, don't you know?" You felt anger spark in your veins, the blood coursing through you grew hotter. "You need something that can give you... more. Don't you know?" He smiled, a twisted, dark, deep smile. This... this was something that scared you. Instincts kicked in as you squirmed, moving your feet in attempts to hit him, but to no use.
"Adam! Can you help your father change the back tires on his car please? I'm doing laundry right now." The voice of a savior, your mother.
The glint in his eye was evil, and he let you go, leaving with his footsteps echoing in your ears.
Anger. This is what it felt like; Pure hatred, pure anger towards him.
That night you decided you couldn't take it, that you wouldn't take it any longer from him. Sneaking downstairs to the kitchen, you grabbed something. It was sharp and pointed, though not very big, but it would do the job. The knife's handle felt good in your hands. you felt powerful, like you could actually hurt someone. You took the item back upstairs, tip-toeing to the door of Adam's room. You breathed, letting the air slowly seep into your lungs. It felt like it was burning, then you thought again.
'My parents are going to be so upset about this. They'll kill me. They'll disown me. I'll have to kill myself after this too.' You thought to yourself, then shaking the entire thought. This was morally wrong. What were you doing? You're not insane. The shock factor settled in.
Stop.
That night, you didn't do anything, but stayed in your room the entirety of the next day, not opening the door for food or water or anything that would, on a normal day, draw you out. No. Instead, you stayed there, looking at the knife, figuring out the best place to hide it in your room, in case of emergency of course. it ended up in the bottom of your dresser drawer, covered by a surplus of jeans that you had owned. You wouldn't let it happen again. You swore.
+
+ou shook yourself out of the haze, coming back to reality. Everything is fine now, everybody is gone and there's no one here to bother you. Really. Everything is okay, and if not, it will eventually be okay.
thump.
I said... Everything is okay.
Crash.
Pots and pans suddenly crashed in the kitchen, causing you to jump in fear. The thump before, the crash... Someone was here. Run.
Your instincts took hold of you, running to your room as fast as humanly possible, then shutting the door, being sure to lock it sturdily in place. This can't be happening. It's too soon! Fear filled your eyes, leaning back on your bedroom door, but you felt pressure from someone on the other side.
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Hey guys. I suddenly dove back into the horror genres of creepypastas and satan summoning (That last one isn't true, I swear!). Sooo... I guess if you liked it sMASH THAT LIKE BUTTON AND DON'T FORGET TO SUBSCRIBE! Just kidding, but if you want something specific to happen in any part of this story, just message me or comment it below! I'd be more than happy to add whatever it is in! Thanks guys!
-J
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Axe-idental | Creepypasta | Ticci Toby x Reader |
Fanfiction"It's not an axe. It's a hatchet." He said, annoyance very evident in his tone. "What's the difference?" "A lot." ------------------ It's my first x reader, so cut me a little slack There should be trigger warnings in this story, but just in case I...
