Object of Desire ; Eyeless Jack x Reader

Chapter 24

 They're laughing. I didn't make any jokes. I just said that I don't feel well. I have been feeling mentally unwell for a while. I'm worried I might be depressed or have some other kind of issue. I wanted to ask my mom to get me into therapy. And she's laughing. "Oh, don't be silly, you're fine. You're a teenager, it's normal to have some moodswings." She says between her laughing. My sister is sitting next to us. She only raised an eyebrow at me and started grinning like crazy too.

"You're just being a little baby. Therapy is just bullshit anyway." She scoffs. I look at both of them. I had to muster up a lot of courage to come to them and admit that I don't feel well. I had to muster up so much courage to even admit it to myself. And they're laughing about me. I knew my sister was going to ridicule me, but my mom? Why is she laughing? I thought she'd be more understanding.

"It's not bullshit. I'm serious. I'm really worried something might be wrong with me." I try to defend myself, my voice getting weaker. They both burst out laughing again, barely even looking at me.

"There's nothing wrong with you, stop with this nonsense." My mom shakes her head, grinning to herself. Why is it so funny? Why are they laughing so much?

"Please stop laughing about me. This is important to me. Just listen to me for a minute." I plead while feeling tears well up in my eyes.

"Honey, we are not laughing about you. We are laughing with you. Now stop with that. You're not sick. Don't take a therapy spot away from someone who might actually need it." My mom looks at me, still with this amused expression on her face, while my sister is still laughing loudly behind her. I'm not joking around. I'm not laughing. I put a lot of faith into my mom, hoping she would help me. I have been feeling bad for a pretty long time. I just wanted to get help. And I'm getting laughed at now?

"No, I'm serious. Why won't you listen to me?" I silently plead again. I don't think they are even listening to me anymore. They are making jokes among themselves now, laughing more and more. I just keep standing there, feeling tears escape my eyes and slowly roll down my cheeks as I listen to my family ridicule me for feeling unwell. I slowly turn around and make my way back to my room, locking the door behind me and throwing myself on my bed, burying my head in my pillows. Why aren't they listening? Or at least not laughing about me? Why do they never take me seriously? Do my feelings not mean anything to them? I start crying more and more, still hearing the laughter from downstairs. I almost feel like it's getting louder. I put my hands on my ears, trying to mute those noises but I can still hear them. They're still cracking jokes about me. Is it so weird for me to feel unwell? Is it so weird to ask for help? Please, just stop laughing. Out of all the reactions I thought I might receive from them, I didn't expect hysterical laughter. Stop laughing. Please.

*~*

I woke up on the couch in the living room. Slowly sitting up and looking around I tried to recollect what happened before I fell asleep. After eating with Jack I cleaned up the kitchen and sat on the couch to read again. I must've just fallen asleep at some point during reading. Looking around I noticed it was dark outside but there was a lamp on in the living room, lighting up the room. Shifting my gaze over to the armchair next to the couch I saw Jack sitting in it, looking in my direction. He wasn't wearing his mask or his hood. I could see his expression on his face. He slightly furrowed his brows as he stared at me, looking almost worried. Or annoyed. I wasn't sure.

"What are you dreaming about?" He asked in a low and calm voice, not averting his gaze from me for even a second.

"None of your business." I curtly replied, clearly my throat as my voice still sounded pretty weak from just getting up. He tilted his head at me slightly.

"You're tossing and turning quite a bit every time you sleep. What are you dreaming about?" He asked again.

"Well, it's not that abnormal to sleep badly when you have been kidnapped, threatened, nearly killed and whatever else for more than a week." I snapped at him, not wanting to really tell him what my dreams were about.

"No, that's not it. When you wake up, you look almost relieved. As if you escaped it. If you were having nightmares about your current situation you would keep crying when you're awake." He got up from his armchair and walked over towards me, stopping right at the couch and bending down slightly. He raised up his hand, pulling off the black glove he was wearing and brought his hand to my face. Internally preparing myself for some kinda attack, I squeezed my eyes shut, only to feel his fingers rub over my cheek. Only then did I notice the tears on my cheek. "See, you cry while you sleep, but when you wake up you're fine again. So if it's not me, who is hurting you in your dreams?" I watched him drop his hand again. The skin on his hands was grey too, just like his face. I never really paid too much attention to it, but it probably made sense his whole body was just grey and not just his face. Usually, he was completely covered up, so I guess it made sense I didn't think about his skin that much.

"It doesn't matter." I weakly said, shifting my gaze down, towards my lap.

"Why not? You haven't just slept quietly even once since you're here." He kept pushing. Why did he care so much? His voice was still just calm, his face didn't show much more expression than before. It was so hard to figure him out. But did it matter? Whether he knew it or not, they were dead. He couldn't hurt me with them anymore. They were gone. So he couldn't use them to threaten me, right? I clenched my jaw, keeping my gaze in my lap.

"It doesn't matter." I said again, taking a deep breath. "Because you killed them all already."