The Right Wrong Turn || Tendou x Reader

Chapter 8

this is probably the last chapter. Maybe I'll put an epilogue if I have the motivation, also it's suuuuper rushed and also TW: suicide, hospitals, police, cringe. the ending sucks I might rewrite it but enjoy nonetheless

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You crept down the hallway tiptoeing to stay silent. Your socked toes ached with your weight, slipping and sliding with every step. You had simply gotten out of bed for a glass of water, but if your father caught you awake at this hour you wouldn't be allowed to watch TV the next day.

Once you had your plastic cup, you snuck back down the hall, past your bedroom to the bathroom. You couldn't reach the kitchen sink. You froze as you heard yelling coming from your bathroom.

Had you been caught? No, that wasn't what would have been said if your father was mad at you. He almost never yelled. Only when he was really mad at your mom, or work. He never yelled at you though.

Daring a glance, you looked into the washroom. Your dad was on his knees in front of the bathtub. Red water overflowed from the tub, the water still running from the faucet. Your dad was yelling your mother's name.

"Daddy?" you whispered. His head whipped around. He stood up, a scared look on his face. Something you had never seen before. Your dad was strong, fearless. Your hero. His hands were covered in red, a knife clattering from them. Your mothers arm was visible from behind him, but no other part of her.

"Mommy?" you asked, seeing her limp body as you leaned to get a better look. Her eyes were open, hair billowing around her in the water. Mouth ajar and fully submerged in the bloody water.

"Mommy!" you screamed. "Get off of me daddy!"

Your dad held you in a tight embrace, stopping you from rushing to your mother. Tears hit the top of your head. Your dad was crying. You had never seen that before. You were scared. What had happened to your mom? What had your dad been doing with the knife? A thousand questions and thoughts clouded your young mind, things that a child shouldn't have been thinking. Shouldn't have to wonder.

The most prominent though, was why your mom's arms and legs had scratches you'd never seen before.

You didn't remember much from when the police asked you questions. You were crying, all thoughts leaving your head after you had been told your mother wasn't coming back to you. You didn't understand the concept of suicide. How someone could do that to themself.

After that, your dad started getting angry. He would get angry and yell at you. He had never been angry at you. He always smelled bad too. Sometimes like the cleaner your mother would use on counters. You learned it was alcohol. You learned the smell of cigarettes, and you knew your dad was home from work when the house smelled like them.

You didn't like the smell.

When you became a teenager, or maybe just an older child, your dad told you that he had to go away for work. Your neighbour would come by everyday to make sure you got home from school, and to help you use the stove.

You asked her to stop coming when the alcohol bottles took up all the space on the counters.

He had never hit you, for that you could be thankful, when you were told by the television that hitting someone was what only bad parents would do. He made sure you knew that. So why did your cheek sting this time he yelled? Why was your head sore? He was a good father. You loved him, he made sure you knew that.