A Purpose in Bloom { Flowey x Reader }

Chapter 2

Y/N POV

I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine! Everything is fine! This is all just a bad dream. I'll wake up tomorrow and I'll be completely fine. Mom really isn't this bad. She would never go this far. Of course she wouldn't. She is a good person at heart. Right?

No. I need to stop lying to myself. It never helped in the past. There's no reason it would do any better now. This is real. No matter how bad I want to deny it, what's going on right now is completely and utterly real.

"Quit looking at me like that, you little brat!" your mother screeched, jerking you out of your thoughts. While you were trying to convince yourself that you were dreaming, you ended up zoning out on your mother's face, with a blank look in your eyes. And she obviously did not like that look.

"I'm sorry, Mom!" you apologized desperately.

"Don't sorry me," she growled. Before you could react, she grabbed a plate off of the dining table you were crouched by and smashed it over your head. You yelped in pain, covering your scalp with your hands. You feel the warm sense of blood cover your hands and drip through your hair, while shattered glass tumbles from your body onto the floor.

"Look what you made me do!" she snarled. "That was one of my favorite plates! Your father bought it for me on our first anniversary! And look at it now, shattered all over the floor."

Your father, who had been sitting at the dining table silently watching the entire time, finally decided to join in.

"I paid good money for that plate," he said, a solemn look on his face. "$125, to be exact. And you're gonna pay back every dime," he added.

You hung your head in shame. It really is all my fault. You forgot to cook the pasta, like your mother had asked you to, and that really disappointed her. Then everything spiraled out of control. . . damn my stupid memory! If only I could actually remember when I'm asked to do something, maybe then I could make my family happy. Maybe then, they would love me. But I don't think I'll ever be good enough. It's not like my memory will magically improve. It's not like I'll get any better looking, like my mother wishes I would. "If you weren't as ugly as you are, then maybe you would actually get somewhere in life," she would always tell you. I wish I could be good enough. I really do.

Suddenly, a thought struck you. Do I really have to be good enough? Why is it important for you to appeal to your parents? You've tried your entire life to make them happy, and nothing has ever worked. What if you just stopped trying altogether? What if you left and started your own life, where the only person you had to impress was yourself?

That's a wonderful idea!

But where would you go? You have no friends who would be willing to take you in. You have no friends at all, for that matter. But that's not the point. I don't need anyone else, do I? In this new life, you can be yourself, with no one else to impress! You can make mistakes without worrying about the consequences! You can hum, and sing, and dance whenever you please, not having to contain your emotions in fear that they may anger your mother.

Then it hit you. The perfect place to run away. A place that was once full of life, but is now devoid of people. A place that could belong to you, and you alone. A place where you can feel safe. A place that can feel like a home.

The Underground. Why hadn't you thought of it before? It's perfect! From what you'd seen on TV, the Underground was empty now that all of the monsters had returned to the surface. You could find an old house that the monsters had left behind, and make it your own. There was really nothing stopping you. As long as I could find a way to get food and water, I would be able to-

"Y/n, Are you even listening to me?"

The sound of you mother's shrill voice brought you back to the present, and you remembered the obvious obstacle that could prevent you from running away.

"Y-yes, Mother.."
"Go get a towel and clean up this bloody mess you've made," she orders. "And wash your hair afterwards! You wouldn't want your grandmother to see you, looking like this, would you?"

The subtle threat sent shivers down your spine. The one person who cared for you, your grandmother: a woman so gentle and kind she could bring wilting flowers back from the dead with her smile. You never told her about the abuse you went through. Your mother made it very clear to you years ago, that if you ever told anyone about what she did to you, she would "end your pitiful life." Those were her words, exactly. And while your life may be miserable, you didn't want to die. Not yet. There's still hope, I believe it. I just have to stay determined.

It hurts to think that once you're gone, you may never see your grandmother again. She plans to come over tonight for supper with your parents, but you'd like to leave long before then. Now that you'd made up your mind, you knew that you wanted to leave this sick home as soon as possible.

You picked yourself off the ground, losing your balance a little due to your fresh head wound.

"Don't act like you're hurt or something," muttered your mother. "You brought this upon yourself."

At that, she let herself out of the kitchen, your father joining her shortly after shooting a disgusted look in your direction. You head to the drawer where the towels are kept and clean up the blood that had splattered all over the floor and dining chairs, later picking up the shattered glass piece by piece. This wasn't the first time you'd had to clean up glass; on more than one occasion, you've found yourself cleaning up shattered wine glasses after your parents' parties got a little too heated. After so much practice, you knew how not to cut your fingers.

Once you were finally finished cleaning up the mess that your mother had made, you swiftly headed to your room, still light-headed from your injury but intent on pulling through. You grabbed a tote bag from the shadows of your nearly empty closet, and shoved in the few sets of clothes that you owned. You opened one of your dresser-drawers, in which you had hoarded some food to sustain yourself with if your parents ever stopped feeding you again, and shoved it into the bag. Now that you had everything you needed, you were ready to go.

You took a deep breath, threw open your window-blinds, and pushed yourself out without hesitation. For once, you're grateful that your room is on the first floor. Dizzy and filled with pain, but determined, you make your way to Mt. Ebbot.