Finney x reader

Chapter 5- once I was real

Finn POV: 

I groggily opened my eyes, my voice barely a mumble as I stared at the unsettling sight of the black phone, seemingly pulsating and breathing as if it had a life of its own. "Stop, stop it," I whispered, my unease growing. Suddenly, a voice interrupted my thoughts. Startled, I jumped and instinctively shuffled backward on the floor, only to find the grabber crouched beside the mattress where I had been sleeping, his gaze fixed upon me. Silence hung in the air, leaving me feeling unsettled. I glanced around the room, my heart pounding, and mustered the courage to ask, "Where's Y/n?" I disregarded the strangeness of him watching me sleep, my concern overpowering everything else. "Who's Y/n?" he responded, his voice devoid of recognition.

My stare bore into his eyes, disbelief mingled with worry etched across my face. "What did you do to her?" I pressed, the tremor in my voice betraying my fear. "Who?" he countered, his confusion seemingly genuine. Anxiousness surged through me as I questioned, "Is she okay?" His unexpected response of "Uh, who now?" caught me off guard. In desperation, I pointed towards the wall, the place where I had meticulously marked the passing years. "The girl you kept here for six years," I exclaimed, my voice trailing off as a sinking feeling enveloped me. We both turned our attention to the wall, and to my utter astonishment, the tally marks on it were nowhere to be found.

"Where did you put her?" My voice escalated, frustration bubbling within me. His gaze averted, and he responded, "I don't know who you're talking about," leaving me standing there, perplexed. A weighty silence settled in, and I could sense his eyes fixed on me, an unsettling anticipation of his next move hanging in the air.

Interrupting the quiet, I interjected, "I'm hungry," squinting my eyes, desperately trying to conjure an image of Y/n in my mind. "We need food," I mumbled, envisioning her presence beside me, craving sustenance. But he sidestepped my plea, diverting the conversation. "How are your eyes?" he asked, brushing off my inquiry. "They hurt," I replied, scanning the surroundings for any sign of Y/n. Nothing. Disregarding my discomfort, he nonchalantly stated, "Well, I can't get you food right now. You'll have to wait," as he rose from his seat. Seeking reassurance, I probed, "Is there someone upstairs who can see you bringing me food?"

The grabber froze in his tracks, a palpable sense of offense emanating from him at the mere suggestion. "The only people here are you and me, so shut up about your stupid little imaginary friend," his voice pierced through me, instilling a chilling fear. There was no trace of her, no sign that she had ever existed. I delved deep into my thoughts, grappling with the unsettling reality before me.

"Why bother coming down here if you weren't going to feed me?" I blurted out, my anger dripping from my words, refusing to accept that Y/n was just a figment of my imagination. He paused, slowly pivoting to face me, his eyes meeting mine.

"Just to look at you," he responded, his words sending a shiver down my spine, a mix of repulsion and unease intertwining within me. "I just wanted to look at you." I instinctively bit my trembling lip, an uncomfortable sensation settling in as I witnessed tears welling up in his eyes. "Oh, God," he muttered to himself, his self-disgust palpable as he turned away and walked off.

A strange, eerie feeling washed over my entire body, akin to waking up drenched in sweat after a nightmarish dream. The thought of what he might have done or could do to me and Y/n lingered, haunting my every thought. As the door slammed shut, plunging the room into darkness, I pressed myself against the wall, consumed by fear. Amidst all the horrors that had unfolded and those yet to come, my mind fixated on one overwhelming concern: where was Y/n?

I had never felt such profound loneliness, and tears streamed down my face like an endless downpour. I knew she was real—I had seen her. Was she a ghost, I wondered, or had she never existed at all? Even if she was an illusion, I yearned to conjure her image once more. Approaching the door, I ran my fingers along its surface, desperate for any sign or scratch. But there was nothing. Just as despair threatened to consume me, I glanced at my finger and saw it coated in wet paint. A surge of hope and fear coursed through me, a delicate balance hanging in the air, waiting to be shattered.