28 - He's art - terrible art (but still art)

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Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
I groan and roll over, all too familiar with the heart monitor blaring at me.
I know I'm panicking - but the nurses don't.
I sit up and groan, trying to read the red blurry lines that make out the time.
"It's three am." A voice states calmly, and I turn to see a shadowy figure, too large to be Dad - too small to be All Might or a doctor.
"Who are you?" I ask, concerned and slightly curious. It is not visiting hours.
The figure chuckles. "You placed third by the way." The gravelly voice speaks, shifting in the shadow.
"Who.Are.You," I ask again, fingers itching to press the red emergency button.
"Thank You, I appreciate the idea, by the way I'm Y/N!" He mimicked my voice in his gravelly one. I chuckle, pulling my hand from the button.
"Thank You. I'm Y/N, but you already knew that - and may I ask how you did?"
I retort back, while making it sweet and cutesy.
Now it's his turn to chuckle.
"It was announced at the end of the festival, my child." He spoke softly, coming put into the light.
He's like a work of art.
The kind a little kid does with clay - random edges and weird looking - but still classified as art.
Shitty - but familiar.
He looks at me, face splitting into an almost grin.
"You've gotten so big." He spoke softly, but not too quiet to hear over the annoyingly loud and panicked heart monitor.
"Will you excuse me for a quick moment," I say, yanking the iv and random cords from my arm and throwing them in the corner of the room with a loud splattering noise. My arm hurts but my brain hurts with the sudden amount of information.
"You knew me?" I ask - surprised.
He sighs loudly - his voice echoing in the small room, causing a beautiful but haunting melody.
"I knew you well." He states calmly. "I am family." He sits on the chair beside the monitors, pressing the off button on many to cease the loud eeeeeeeeeeeeee that started when the tubes were...removed.
"Are you my biological father? Or a brother? Or a long lost uncle?" I sit up straighter, ignoring the pain.
He laughs loudly, and I'm surprised no one came running.
"You were correct the first time." He scrutinised my expression for what he could call happiness or fear.
I just laughed.
I cannot stop laughing.
This idiot expects to me believe him?
Really?
He looks shocked, almost offended.
"I'm sorry sir - My Biological Father is very dead." I laugh, remembering the body being dragged past me. I stop laughing, tears streaming down my face almost immediately.
"Y/N"
"Get out." I say softly. He tries again.
"Y/N"
"Get Out! GET OUT!" I scream, lunging at him, tearing his skin, scratching the crap out of him, screaming my lungs out. He doesn't move as I pull every move known to a girl who's in distress.
For Example:
- Scratching
-Screaming
-Hitting or Punching.
- Trying to rake his eyes out with short nails.
But eventually - like every pathetic female in romantic movies - I end up a crying mess in his arms, him hugging me more than I've ever been hugged.
"Y/N. Calm down." He, my dad? Stands, placing me down in the bed. He turns and grabs something from the floor, placing it on the bed beside me.
The tubes.
"Get better and come see me." He smiles.
He turns to leave.
"And also," he calls back, "I killed the night staff, that's why you didn't get any help...."

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