𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐔𝐬

♡︎7♡︎

It was the first night in a long time that I woke up with a start. My hands shook, and I clenched them into fists, then crossed my arms over my chest to try and stop the quivering there as well.

The nightmare always began the same, my mother tucking me into bed, kissing my forehead, and saying 'good-bye'. Rain pounded the window as if trying to make her stay, my heart seeming to keep up with the rapid pattering. After that it was a variation. Sometimes it was a car accident, her car sliding off the side of a road and down an embankment. That nightmare made sense because it was what had actually happened. As such, it was the one I had the most often.

But sometimes there were different versions altogether: hands made of rain ripping my mother from where she stood in my bedroom doorway, instantly liquefying her; a strong wind tearing the roof off our house and sucking her into the night. Tonight she had stood in front of our house, in white pajamas, and the rain itself had sliced bloody cuts down her body until she collapsed to the wet grass, her white nightdress now red, her lump hand filling my view as I stared at it's lifelessness.

My new job had deprived me of my late afternoon run, leaving my body less exhausted than normal. I'd have to figure out a new running schedule for Tuesdays and Thursdays. My dad didn't like me to run alone at night, and it wasn't often I could talk one of my brothers into going with me.

I lay there staring at the ceiling, wondering what my brain would do to me if I fell back asleep. Late the next morning, we were supposed to play a game of basketball on the elementary school's outdoor blacktop. I wished it were morning already.

My clock read three a.m., and my now frayed nerves weren't letting me go back to sleep. I rolled out of bed and walked downstairs. First I paced the kitchen, then I went outside. Before I discovered the amazing effects of running four years earlier, I spent a lot of hours in the stillness of my backyard.

I walked the cement around the pool, staring down at the dark water as I did.

A set of headlights swept across the blackness as Mrs. Bakugou's buggy pulled up next door. I was surprised at how late she was getting home. Lights went on upstairs a few minutes later, and that's when the yelling started.

I backed up to get a better view of the upstairs. A few more lights flipped on, and then the back door slammed shut. Peering through the cracks of the fence that separated our houses, I saw Katsuki emerge wearing a pair of boxers and a hastily thrown-on T-shirt, all twisted at the bottom.

"Psst," I called through the fence. "Katsuki."

He looked around and then straight at the fence, not able to see me, but obviously knowing it was someone in the general vicinity.

"Eijiro?" he asked.

"No, it's Y/N. What's going on?"

He walked closer. "Where the fuck are you?"

I held my hand above the fence, then he walked straight to me. "You okay?"

He sat down and leaned his back against the boards. I did the same. "The old hag just came home . . . drove home . . . drunk and fucked up in the mind. I actually kinda wish your dad had seen her driving so he could've hauled her in."

"Why does she feel the need to wake you and your dad up when she's like that?"

"Because apparently she remembers everything she hates about us when she's drunk and has an overwhelming desire to share her feelings."

"That sucks." The night was warm, and I let it fill my lungs. I pulled on a string hanging off the bottom of my cotton pants. "So you come outside when she's like this?"