Guilty Conscience ~Abbacchio/Fem Reader

Chapter 1: The Messenger

The rustling of loose paper was the only sound to stir the silence. Y/N flipped through the documents that lay neatly on her desk. Her eyes flicked over the deep blue ink scribbled across each page. Carefully, she memorized each word that had been printed before her, afraid of the consequences that would surely arise if she managed to forget.

With curtains drawn and her head buried deep in loose pages, she was lost in her studies. Memorize it. Do not forget the message, she told herself over and over again. Her body was rooted to the desk's wooden chair. She wouldn't move until she could rehearse each message fluidly.

It had been 8 p.m. when she took a seat in her bedroom to begin her work, and 11 pm when she got up to grab a drink of water. 3 am rolled around and Y/N still hadn't moved from her desk. Not even the erratic A/C unit in her tiny apartment could break the focus she forced herself into. The loud buzzing was drowned out by the blanket of concentration that she wrapped around her body and mind. But as the flow of memorization swept through Y/N in those early hours of the morning — when the birds were finally waking and when the sun slumbered at the bottom of the sky — a light buzzing coaxed Y/N out of her focus.

"I was just getting the hang of this", she groaned to herself. The buzzing continued as Y/N scrubbed at her tired eyes and willed herself to stand.

Reluctantly, she got out of her seat on stiff legs and moved from one end of her room to the other. Her silver flip phone — a prized possession — shook on its charging port by her bedroom's closed door. Someone was calling her, and it didn't appear to be anyone she knew. Snapping the phone from it's port and flipping open it's cool, metal face, NO CALLER ID flashed on the glowing screen as Y/N wrapped her aching fingers around the phone's silver body. She only knew of one person who might be bothering her at such an hour, but this mystery caller was not him — it was not Carlo. So, with practiced movements, Y/N set the phone back into its port and returned to her desk.

After letting the buzzing die out, and situating herself back into a state of focus, only a moment passed before the buzzing began once again.

And she ignored it. And once it stopped, she smiled. But no sooner did it begin to buzz again, and again, and again.

Y/N crossed the room in three strides, swiping up her phone with a scowl. With a flick of her wrist, the phone snapped open and no sooner was the cool metal receiver pressed into her ear. Y/N had serious work to do and coudln't focus with all of the noise. She was already falling into the arms of sleep and needed to get back to her documents as soon as she could, and this mystery caller was no help.

The call began with a soft click and Y/N wasted no time with formalities.

"Who is this? And why am I being called so late at night?" Y/N spoke firmly, tapping a slippered foot on her bedroom's black rug.

"So. . . You were ignoring my calls?" The caller said flattly, clearly not in the mood for Y/N's attitude.

Oh. No.

"O-oh! My deepest apologies sir. It was not my intention to ignore your calls. It was. . . Uhm, my phone hadn't been working! Your ID read as "Unknown" but I most definitely put you down as a contact in my phone. Please forgive me. S-so how may I be of aid this morning?" Y/N stammered. But in return, all she received was an eerie silecne.

. . .

Slowly, Y/N guided her legs back to her desk and sat, awaiting a response. Butterflies fluttered from within her stomach as a deafening silence rang through the other line of the call.  She had screwed up bad by not answering the first time — let alone the second or third time around. This isn't going to end well . . .