Evan Peters Imagines and One Shots

Sweet, but Psycho Pt. 8

Thanks to Moira's eternal despise of Constance and Constance's fear of not sitting still and looking pretty, moving in with Tate made everything much easier yesterday, but now was for the hard part. Tate and I parked on the side of the road next to my childhood home. Besides my father's car, a familiar-looking vehicle sat in the driveway. My mind was too busy wandering to remember who it belonged to. I did not want to see my father again. Tate noticed how frantic I was becoming and squeezed my hand.

"Hey, remember. Whatever happens in there, I'm right here. I won't let him do anything stupid," Tate reassured.

We stepped out of the car and walked toward the doorway. Liquor and resentment were two notorious ingredients in creating a lunatic, so I was sure my father was at his worst. I narrowed down what we were dealing with as we got closer. My father had his guns revoked because he'd get mad and shoot at everything like he was Yosemite Sam- so he couldn't open fire. Plus, he can't fight. That's why he hits women instead. The recollection of my father being a complete loser helped calm me down, and I was more than ready to face him. We weren't expecting the scene we walked into.

"Hey. See Mr. L/n. I told you she'd come home," Mark exclaimed.

Tate and I stood in the doorway, confused as hell. I rubbed my eyes to make sure I was seeing things correctly. Mark sat with my father in the living room, watching what seemed to be Sunday football. Mark's eye was purple and almost crusted shut. Tate had done a number on him with that punch yesterday- now he needed to do it to the other eye. Many questions circulated as I tried to process what was happening. I looked at Tate as if he could answer me, but he was more dumbfounded than me.

"There you are, my precious baby girl. I missed you so much," my father exclaimed.

My father rushed over to me, grabbing onto me and squeezing me so hard I almost died- not from the hug, but from fear. This was not the same man I'd dealt with for 17 years. An imposter was among us. In a quote from The Color Purple, "Harpo who dis?" I refused to hug him back. Tate could see how uncomfortable I was, so he interfered.

"I'm guessing you're Mr. L/n. It's nice to meet you," Tate greeted.

My father released me while he sized Tate up and down. Boys my age were my father's biggest enemy. He always feared I would get trapped and knocked up by some random guy like he did my mother. Well, the jokes were on him. I got pregnant on purpose- hopefully. Mark was visibly annoyed at the sound of Tate's voice. 

"And who are you," my father questioned.

"That's the jackass who gave me this shiner, Mr. L/n," Mark stated.

"Oh, so you're the scoundrel I've been hearing about. I hear you've been influencing my daughter," my father insulted.

"Excuse me, what have you been hearing exactly? It can't be too honest if it came from the boy who attacked your daughter over there on the couch," I defended.

"Hey, we were younger, and I've grown," Mark claimed.

"If that were true. I wouldn't have given you that black eye, asshole," Tate differed.

Mark stood up and walked closer, and so did Tate. Tate was not one for the shenanigans lately. He had a lot on his mind and even snapped at Constance earlier, which was expected, but this time, even she feared for her life. He refused to tell me what was eating at him right now, but he acknowledged that he'd let me know eventually, so I wasn't too sad about it.

"Say that to my face," Mark jeered.

"Do you genuinely think I won't? You must want a matching set of eyes," Tate threatened.

As the two boys got closer, me and my father had to hold them apart from each other. Threats and promises of violence overtook the sound of the announcers on the television. This was not how I expected to spend this Sunday. The commotion seemed never-ending, so I took matters into my own hands and screamed at the top of my lungs. All three men covered their ears and backed away as I yelled bloody murder and destroyed their eardrums. It had to be done. Had these idiots made better life choices, we wouldn't be in this predicament, including Tate; he knew better than to let someone like Mark get him riled up. He could destroy that idiot in a second. Once they were far apart, I stopped and turned to Tate.