The Boy In the Cell { Jeff the Killer x Reader }

He said something! And I hate it.

'There she is.' I fussed to myself as I caught up with my mom, watching her talk non sense to a patient who was facing the wall. She's sweet, and a bit too much at that sometimes, but oh well.

As 803, being the patient's number, retched blood on himself; my mother finally sighed and turned to me. "Hi honey, need something?" She chirped, seeming to instantly glow again.
Trying to ignore the foul sounds in the background echoing off the grimy walls, I asked her. "The kid with no name and stuff- do you know anything about him? He's down a few halls. Only kid there."

I watched her glance away for the moment, assuming she was thinking it over. However when she looked back to me she held up her hands, unsure. "Sorry hun, all I know is he won't talk to anybody. Maybe talk to him yourself?" She suggested. In which- personally, made me want to scream until I cough up a lung. "I tried thatttt!" I complained, taking another approach other than screaming. Probably best.

"Oh please, you need to be patient. Now- I need to get back to work." She giggled, causing me to just give an icy stare and finely matching scowl. "Fiiiiiine."
My mother patted my head and we parted in opposite directions. It took me a while to find his cell again, but when I had- he hadn't moved. Not the slightest. He only has a dingy cot, toilet and sink; so if I were him I'd be everywhere. Bouncing off the fricken cement walls.
I chuckled to myself, thinking. 'I hope he's one of those that refuse to eat and starve.' I mused, smiling like a dork.

As soon as I averted my amused gaze back to him, he was perched atop the bland little sink. Sitting there and swinging his feet.

"What are you doing?" I kept my voice quiet and rose a brow, having decided to try and get his attention again. But for once- he actually looked over. Just for a second.

"Exactly what it looks like." He spoke in a hushed, raspy tone. I could've jumped at his voice, shocked to hear it. I blinked for a moment, just watching him run his hands under the tap now. He seemed to keep his gaze away from mine from then on. Crimson liquid splayed down his skin constantly, and his pale flesh looked to be a mess of vivid shreds coating his hands and fingers.

In his cell, how'd he manage that?

~~~~~~

I hadn't been able to get him to answer anymore of my questions since he first spoke. It pissed me off. Yet, almost bummed me out.
I seethed, hating myself for caring at all. "Can't believe I actually want the stupid fuck's attention.." I muttered under my breath. Of course, catching my mother's attention. "What's that, honey?" We're riding home, by the way.

"Oh nothing." I flashed a sweet, convincing smile, and she effortlessly returned it.

Once we got home I went to bed, not even bothering to change or acknowledge my father. My mind was too restless. Quite literally, I couldn't sleep either. Haha, /rest/less.

'How were his hands so torn up..? Why doesn't he talk to anybody, and why does nobody know him..? Or anything about him..?'

I constantly questioned myself, not knowing WHY I wanted to know. Nor did I know any of the damn answers that I craved so much to know..