Obsessed

Trapped

(TW again, sexual harassment/ possible indication of rape)

Your dad's old truck still smelled of cigarettes and leather, as you remembered. You sat in silence, watching the passing street lights as your father drove. He didn't even glance at you for the entire ride, and you felt like a troubled child all over again. After the excruciatingly long ride you finally made it to your hometown, Trost.

Soon, you made it to your childhood home. It was like a picture frozen in time, the same cracks in the driveway. Your sheer black curtains covering your bedroom window. You felt a wave of dread wash over you as you manually unlocked the truck door and got out. Your dad did, too, and he went and opened the front door and left it open behind him. Rushing you to make your way inside, and you did.

Everything looked the same as when you left it, the empty nails poking out of the wall where pictures of your mother used to hang. The same old furniture and dusty smell. The shell of a home that you once loved. Finally, you heard your dad acknowledge your presence as he sat on his recliner, faced away from you

"Go to your room." He said as he lit a cigarette.

You scoffed under your breath and turned towards the stairs to head up. You didn't care to be around him anyway. You hesitated before opening your bedroom door. You took in a deep breath and your hand trembled as it reached for the knob. 

The last time you were in your room, you were with your ex-boyfriend, being intimate with him when your dad busted into your room without warning and he ripped the covers off of you. In a rage he drew a gun on your then-boyfriend and beat him with the handle of it until he fell unconscious and his face was bloodied as you screamed at him to stop, all while trying to cover yourself up. You stopped replaying this memory in your head before it became too much, you blocked the next part from your memory and you intended to keep it that way.

You entered your room and it was a strange feeling. It was left untouched. All of your stuffed animals from childhood sat neatly on your bed, your tons of band and anime posters that plastered the walls. It was bittersweet. You laid on your bed as you tossed your bag down. Then you heard jingling and metal clanking outside of your door as you sat up confused, then the sound of a lock click. 

You jumped up and ran to the door and attempted to open it. You began to panic and pounded on the door. After minutes of this you turned your back to the door and slid down to the floor. Then you remembered you had your phone in your bag and you crawled over to it to rummage around for it, but it wasn't there. You searched your pockets and you only pulled out the piece of paper Professor Ackerman had given to you. You unfolded it to reveal his phone number. Then it occurred to you that your dad might go though your phone and your face grew red and you dropped your face into your hands.

Your father became strangely possessive of you after your mom passed away, it was almost like he saw you as her replacement at times. You had to sneak your boyfriend over, come straight home after school, you couldn't be caught speaking to any man for too long or else he would accuse you of god knows what. You weren't even allowed to hang out with Connie anymore. Now, you had plenty of male contacts in your phone that he could find, you always used the same password combination, since you moved away you didn't consider the fact it could affect you now.

Hours went by, you tossed and turned as you tried to sleep, for some reason you couldn't stop thinking about Eren. You were already depressed and being on a cocaine comedown causes a lack of dopamine production. The highs and lows of cocaine addiction keep you trapped in a vicious cycle. You remembered feeling so carefree when you were with Eren, part of you wishes you never left that hotel. The feeling you got being with him was just as addictive as the drugs. You wished you could call him to come get you and disappear all over again.

with a storm raging on outside. Rain hit your window with the occasional strike of lightning illuminating your room

You heard something hit your window, harder than the rain already was, then moments later another, and another. You got up from your bed and walked over to your window and you pulled the curtains back. You saw a familiar black car and your eyes shifted to the figure of a man standing in the pouring rain below your window throwing pebbles. It was Jean.