Cursed [Yandere!Golden Freddy x Reader] {ON HIATUS}

Seven | Hey, One Question: What The Hell?

Chapter Seven, Day Six

07:43 AM

        Work hadn't even crossed your train of thoughts; since the incident you hadn't a single thought about making a return. 

Crisp morning air and the canvas of sunrise evoked a pleasant start to the morning. Sat in the quiet coffee shop, you nursed a cup of hot (drink of your choice) whilst having a read of the newspaper. In the cafe was you, a couple having breakfast a few tables over, a man with a briefcase ordering a black coffee, and - quite obviously - the barista.

The serenity was enchanting. If you could have stayed there all day and ignore your heaps of responsibilities, you certainly would have.  

However, you had a job to do as well as some foggy information to clear up with your boss. 

Fitzgerald had been the one to find you that misty morning. You couldn't quite muster up enough energy to form half of a decent sentence as you sat on the cold floor of Freddy's. Knees to your chest, eyes watery  and goosebumps across your exposed skin, he crouched by your side. Having took the circumstances into account, Jeremy knew something was wrong the moment he laid his gaze upon you.
Two quick phone calls later and you were in the back of an ambulance.

Your mother met you at the hospital, arriving swift minutes after you had. The second she found out her sweet daughter was alive and well was the instant she jumped into her car. According to your mother, who trembled with unbearable angst, you had been missing for thirty-seven hours.

Unbeknown to not another soul aside from yourself, you hadn't completely snapped out of the drugged trance you were under that night at Freddy's. You weren't all there; your mind was clicking in and out of reality as if to mimic a faulty light bulb in desperate need of being replaced. You had not the faintest idea of how to distinguish the difference between what was reality, and what happened to be fake blurs crafted by your spiralling mind.

Tearing your hazy gaze from the cooling contents of the cup, you turned your attention to the inner details of the cafe. It wasn't anything special: merely an ordinary, local coffee shop. There were few, simple pictures hung up on the wall, showcasing modern art and fractions of naturally coloured scenery. The floorboards were greying with age, the wood worn down with the many people that had walked across them. In most corners and placed on almost every table and counter top were small plants, vibrantly green with life. Sun poured in the window by your table, casting its shallow rays over the chair, menu, and rim of your white cup.

A soft melody caught your attention. You snapped your head in the direction of the source, a little startled by the overwhelming nostalgia such a simple hum had caused.

That smooth, simple rhythm was coming from the barista himself. Focusing on him, the dirty blond with his back turned, mugs clinked as he filled them up with coffee for the customer at the till. You didn't mean to stare for so long; getting lost in the comfort of an old tune cloaked you in a warm embrace delivered by dèja vu. Crossing your lips was a hint of a smile.

After finishing your drink, the metal of the chair scraped against the floor as you stood up. Slightly, you pushed it back in, cringing at the sound it made and the sheer loudness of it that filled the cafe.
A man looked up from his newspaper and shot a glare at you. Dusting your cheeks was a blush, thus you practically sprinted to the till.

"Excuse me," you said. Having not quite heard you, you cleared your throat and repeated yourself, in which he turned around and pulled a lazy smile.

A dirty rag in his hand, he raised a brow at you. Dropping the cloth beside the coffee machine, he stepped forward, hands resting on the counter as he eyed you steadily. "Yes, miss?"

Much like his gentle humming, his voice was velvet, smooth, low and deep. To your ears, it was like hearing an angel sing. The existing blush spread further across your face, darkening as it did so.
To stumble over your words, and to stand there blushing without managing to produce a single sentence had you in a bit of an awkward place. However, a deep breath and mental cursing gathered up the peculiar depleted courage. "What song were you just.. singing- humming, even?" You asked. "I recognise it but I can't quite put my finger on it... It's gonna annoy me if I don't know," you added, followed up by short notes of forced laughter.

His face dropped in several shades of colour, paling to the point his skin looked almost exactly like the white washed wall behind him. In any other circumstance you would have laughed, pointed it out and made a joke, hoping to brighten up the other person and get along just fine. Yet, something deep within spiked in your stomach, nudging and hinting at that move to be a bad one.

Delightfully, you listened to your gut instinct.

"Just a song, a nursery rhyme that I just remembered, that's all," he finally answered after drawn out moments of his gaze flickering to and fro the counter, back and forth from the metal milk jug to the packets of brown and white sugar slotted neatly into a silver jar. "Anyway..." He swiped off a speck of dirt - a crumb, to be exact - from the marble counter top. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

Great.... That was a waste of time.

"No," you said. Setting down your empty cup, the insides mucky with the residue of the drink, you flashed a tight lipped smile and nodded your head. "Thanks." With those minor parting words, you hurried out of the shop.

Hit with a rush of wind running over your face and through your (h/l) hair, you shivered and pulled your jacket tighter whilst folding your arms over your chest. Dashing home was your main goal sat at the forefront of your mind; until you felt relatively better, your mother advised you take things one tiny, baby step at a time. Trauma could be hard to handle, consequently lead to a worse mental state if not handled and accessed properly.

When she mentioned baby steps, she quite literally meant thinking through the process of exactly what was going to happen next to keep yourself present - remaining in the moment, per se. So, this meant thinking about precisely your next move; your next breath; the next time you blinked or stepped forward or lifted a hand.

Returning home was a short walk away, considering you were briskly pacing down the street, past the junior school and through the park to get back to your house. Your mother's house, really, taking into account that workings at Freddy's was your first job since dropping out of college.

Upon entering your house, your grandparents, aunt, and her children (your three, annoying excuses for cousins) were waiting on the sofa. Clearly, waiting for you, as their faces brightened as you approached the living room. Truth be told, you would rather it just be you and mum, then have dad's company once he got home from work. Having guests and family crooning over you felt too much, especially as your stomach knotted and swelled, your eyes wet with a waterfall of oncoming tears.

_-_--_--_--_-_

[WORD COUNT: 1330]

Good evening folks! After a small revamp of my account, I have been blessed with motivation and inspiration to continue this work. I had a reread, and realised that if was fairly decent. Plus, I'd like to have a completed FNaF work that is a relatively good example of the skill I acquire in writing in 2019/almost 2020. I hope you've enjoyed!