*WARNING: This read contains blood, self-harm, swearing, dark thoughts, and sexual content. If you are sensitive to any of these subjects, or find any of them to be triggering, please do NOT continue reading*
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You lay there, sprawled out on your bed, and staring at the ceiling. You took notice of how the gray paint was chipping, and the crappy bricks underneath were starting to peek through. You slowly turned your head a small angle, to face your alarm clock. On it's screen, wrote 2:17 am. A sigh escaped your lips, knowing that even if you do somehow manage to fall asleep, you had nothing to do if you woke up.
IF you woke up.
You close your eyes, trying not to let the memories get too deep. Failing miserably, you give in to them, as you feel a tear run down your soft cheek.
Flashback: 9 years ago
Crouching there, at the top of the stairs, you make sure you aren't seen, then listen in to what your parents are screaming about.
"Well, maybe if you weren't always acting like you're so fucking perfect, and maybe actually started acting like a father, then we'd start to act like a happy family, how's THAT sound, for a change, huh?! What do you think, Branden, the fucking king of the house!?"
"You know.... It pains me to say, but, I think I married a stupid, useless, drunk, prostitute, that does absolutely nothing to support her family! Who do you think goes to that goddamned factory every morning, huh? Its ME! Me, who pays the bills, me, who goes to work, me, who-"
Your father is cut off by your mother screaming.
" UGH, THIS IS WHAT I MEAN!!! YOU ALWAYS ACT LIKE YOU'RE ON TOP OF THE WORLD, WHILE WE, THE PEASANTS, ROT SHAMELY AT THE BOTTOM OF IT ALL-"
The screaming is cut off by the sound of glass breaking, and then, a plate smashing against a wall. It shatters into a million, tiny pieces that scatter across the kitchen floor. Your father overturns the table, and the bouquet of roses, and its vase tumble to the ground.
You know that its time to leave, and you scramble up the stairs, up to your room.
The locks turned, lights off, and you under the covers... It turns your tiny room into your personal safe haven. Nothing can get to you.
Nothing.
Flashback ends
Its a monsoon of tears running down your face now, and you can barely breathe in between your sobs.
Your legs unconsciously lead you to the bathroom, and you turn on the lights. The reflection in the mirror isn't surprising: red, blotchy spots dot your face, your eyes are puffy, and you can tell a few tissues were used, due to the raw skin around your nose. Its not an unusual sight for you, especially since you've been living with depression for 17 years. You brush off that thought, and turn on the faucet. The cold water feels so refreshing against your hot face, you just want to stay there forever. Although you know that's impossible. Brushing your hair out of your face, you tie it into a tight ponytail. 'Perfect', you think to yourself, as your hand reaches over to a drawer to your right. As it opens, your fingers wrap around a familiar, sharp, object, and you pull it out.
Its an old, rusty razor blade.
You bring it up to your arm, and slice it. A red gash appears, and soon, blood starts to ooze out of the cut. It feels so good. Another cut is made, and this time, you make it a little deeper. More blood gushes out of it, as it all gathers around the sink. 'More... More', your conscience telling you. The pain overpowers the memories, and finally, you feel happy. More cuts, more scratches, more blood. 'You deserve it', your mind told you.
And you believed every word it said.
An hour later
You set the blade down, and take a step back. In the mirror, you look at the damage you made. There are cuts all over your body; blood is oozing out of your wrists, arms, thighs, and stomach area.
You feel no pain, but instead, pure pleasure.
You hear a sound come from the other room. Then, creaking floorboards.
Quickly, but silently, you make your way over to the closed door of your room. You struggle to listen for any more noise through the door. Nothing.
You slowly open the door, hoping no one is behind it to attack you. The door is open, and you creep into the room. No one.
But you could've swore you closed the window.
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Author's note :D
Hey, guys. This is my first creepypasta x-reader, and I hope you'll like it!
I'm going to apologize in advance if something is not right, or if you don't like a chapter. Don't share your hate on here, please. Nobody really cares on how much you don't like something. Anyway, I'm sorry if this chapter was short, but I'll make Chapter 2 longer... And a little juicier ;)
Ok byeeee:) And stay creepy, my friends.
