The Journal(Yandere Boys x Reader)

Untitled

Really sorry. A bit angsty and cringe

The one thing that stood out to you in your first few days of high school was that you tended to piss of a lot of people. Not on purpose, it was a flaw you were naturally born with and your annoying cries as a baby was what caused your father to leave, according to your mother. (The logic didn't actually add up up but I suppose the correct terminology was that you were a perfect scapegoat for the problems of others in their life).

Freddie picked on you because you gave off that aura. Charlie beat you up and bullied you into doing his homework. Wade hardly liked to waste his time so his bullying was indirect, whilst Noel took the piss in pretending to be the nicest of them. That was inaccurate.

Also, you were pretty much a world renowned loser. No one would ever dare stick up for your ass and even if it wasn't one of the most terrifying bullies to stick up to, they probably still wouldn't have.

"Scapegoat."

You are the solution to everyone's problems. For instance, a normal high schooler can push their bullies in your direction and then gush to their friends about how awful it is that an innocent like you is the victim, to make themselves feel better. Another person might find use in blaming you for their problems, like not getting a good grade when they cheated on your test.

"Scapegoat."

You screamed into your pillow, burying your face deeper into the cloth as you muffled your sob. Your hand scrambled to reach the (favourite anime character) body pillow and used it to block off the sound. You could still hear them. All of them. Your mom, your nonexistent dad, F.T, C.G (fuck they were so inhuman they deserved nothing more than a tag as their identification), W.H, N.E, all of them, Jason, BF/N, that random lady who shouted at you last week, everyone who'd ever turned away from you, that boy in the expensive coat... and they were screeching at you. Their faces contorted as the whispers spread, the screeching, the laughing. But then some of them tried to touch you, you recoiled. Their grotesque finger tips grew until they reached closer and closer.

And there were eyes. Eyes there. Eyes behind you. Eyes above you. Everywhere. You weren't safe, you couldn't breathe—my god, the suffocation! You tried to open your mouth to scream no sound came out and your vision was dark and all you could hear were voices, their voices, they wouldn't shut up—

Crash!

The sound of breaking glass.

You gasped. It was a dream. A fucking dream.

You titled your head back and panted, feeling the sticky sweat on your back begin to loosen its grip on your clothes.

Nothing out there is going to harm you.

Nobody out there is going to see you helpless like this.

Nothing out there can get you.

Yet.

•

Your broken window was evident enough of that.

•

You felt irritation run up your spine faster than students at the lunch bell. You were pissed off, something you felt to cover the fear that itched at your neck and your scalp.

It was surprisingly warm out for a morning you decided to leave early, and it didn't help that you were easily sweating through your school uniform. However, it came as much reassurance you wouldn't see their faces of you hurried.