Bullying | {MrBeast x Pewdiepie Fanfiction}

Chapter 3 (Pt. 2) - Cute Southern Accent

I took a deep breath and walked slowly up the cobblestone path to our front porch. I was dragging my book bag along on the ground, surely wearing holes into it. The summer breeze blew through my air. The wind chimes hanging on the porch lazily knocked together gently, creating a calming melody to sooth my ferociously beating heart.

I walked up the steps, mentally preparing myself to be yelled at the moment I opened the door. I was somewhat relieved but equally mortified when I saw a note on the door written in Kayla's chicken scratchings.

"Dear Jimmy," I read the note out loud. "Came home early and sent mom and dad to Hell on accident. Brb."

I huffed out a sigh of relief and unlocked the door. I pushed it open and was immediately confronted with a sight that truly came straight from Hell. The living room was a mess. All of Dad's fancy old vases were shattered and strewn out all around the floor. On the floor along with the ancient porcelain was more broken glass that I couldn't figure out where it came from. Books from the bookshelves were scattered around the room, and a few of them had pages torn out of them. The pages of literature were shredded, and some of the smaller pieces were still flying around in the air. Furniture was knocked over, tables were turned. Our retarded landline phone with a cord was dangling off the hook, gently swaying as the late summer breeze blew into the house. Sitting in the corner, munching on what I could only assume was a sewer rat, was a small demon. It turned to me and hissed, blood slowly dripping from the corners of its mouth. My lip curled in disgust. "God, where are your manners?" I asked. "Use a plate, you animal."

I rolled my eyes and looked at the phone again. The light was flashing on the answering machine, meaning some old person left a message. I pushed the button and listened to the message. My heart jumped into my throat when I heard my principal's voice addressing my father, asking him to call her back when he had the chance to discuss my behavior and mentioning that I left school early without being dismissed. I quickly deleted the message and prayed to whatever God may or may not be up in the sky that my parents hadn't heard it first. I put the phone back on the hook to stop that annoying dead line ringing and stormed up the stairs to my room.

I felt anger consuming me as I recalled the events of earlier that morning. I still couldn't believe that asshat Pewdiepie tried MURDERING ME. What pissed me off more about it was that my parents probably wouldn't believe me if I told them. They truly believed Felix was a really good guy because he donates like a million dollars to charity every year. BIG. DEAL. I bought a homeless guy a house; I don't want to hear about Felix's charity. Doing good deeds doesn't make you a good person! Right? I think? Whatever, I'm too pissed off to really think about it. Fuck Felix. I had a lot frustration built up, and I needed to let it all out.

I felt my phone miraculously vibrating in my pocket despite it being fully submerged in water. I took it out and looked at the caller ID. It was my best friend Chris calling. My heart beat with joy as I slid it to answer and held the phone to my ear, getting a little shock from it but braving through it so I could hear his cute southern accent. "Hey!" I said cheerfully, feeling somewhat happy for the first time that day.

"Hey, Jimmy!" Chriscross Applesauce responded gleefully. "How's your first day of senior year going, buddy?"

My mood immediately crashed. I flopped backwards onto my back and stared at the ceiling. "It was horrible," I responded in agony.

"Oh no," Chris replied with a small sigh following. "What happened?"

I shifted my weight uncomfortably on the bed. "I don't really wanna talk about it, especially not over the phone."

"Well, you're gonna talk about it, and luckily you don't have to do it over the phone because I'm at your house right now, and I'm walking in as we speak." There was brief pause. The silence, though short lived, was torture. "Why does your living room look like a tornado went through it, and why is there an imp eating a squirrel in the corner?"