A BLOODY GOOD TIME // Creepypasta x Fem. Reader

Chapter 15 - Dinner Time

[A/N - Hello. Before the chapter, I want to speak regarding my long absence from writing.

I have a lot more time on my hands nowadays, so I'm going to attempt to get back into updating hopefully once a week for all of my books.

As for why I was gone for so long; I had just gotten busy with life and hadn't often been able to write. School had drained me both creatively and energy-wise, and I was pretty well dead on my feet when I got home each day last semester.

I uploaded a new book on Nov. 8th, and its first few proper chapters on Nov. 11th in hopes it would get me back in the habit of writing. Sadly, two days later, tragedy would strike and someone I care for took their own life. As to say, any thought of trying to continue writing was certainly not at the forefront of my mind.

It's been about two months now. I've had time to process what happened, and second semester has started. I ended up switching one of my classes, which has dropped my workload by an insane amount. I'm finally ready to continue my work on these stories.

For all of you who have been patiently waiting for an update to Lovestruck, I'm in the process of working on it. It's just taking time because it's been a while. Chapters will likely be short for the time being, but I will do my best to be uploading.

Thank you all for your patience and for reading my work. It makes me incredibly happy to see people enjoying what I do.]

THUD

THUD

THUD

"SHUT UP!"

Another argument. Lovely. Just what he needed. And he had a headache to boot.

Toby flopped into bed with a tired glare. He couldn't feel any pain, but he certainly felt the pressure in his skull. It was annoying. He needed water.

But that would have to wait. He couldn't go out to the living room while this was going on. And frankly, he didn't want to. It was way too much work, and he was exhausted.

He wasn't sure why the day had been so emotionally taxing, but it had. He'd been entirely worn down, and now the only thing he wanted was to collapse in bed.

Knock Knock

No such luck, eh?

Toby grunted and opened his bedroom door to see his mother. She was smiling, but she looked like she was about to break down crying. Of course, he knew she never would in front of him. He frowned when he saw the red marks on her face.

"Dinner'll be ready in a few. Can you come help me set the table?"

"Sure."

Toby followed his mother downstairs with a vacant stare to the kitchen. As was usual, his mind was a bit fuzzy. When he actually got to the kitchen, it took him a good few seconds to remember why he was even there.

Reality was always far away from Toby. You could see it in his eyes - a sort of disconnect that made him seem almost like a powered down robot. His movements were half-assed and lazy, even when he wanted to put in effort. It was like his brain was severed from the rest of him right at the stem.

Right now was no exception, and his hands, numb though they were, came close to being useless from all the time he'd spent gnawing at them. It didn't hurt, but he knew the damage was there. And it was a constant hindrance.

Still, he could throw pretty well...

While mindlessly setting out dishes and silverware, his thoughts began to wander back to lunchtime. He'd acted rather strange, hadn't he? He'd always been snippy, but at the same time, he was usually so sedate physically. He wasn't even sure why he'd thrown that book at that girl. What had she ever done to him?

Not a damn thing, of course. He'd just done what he felt like doing. A sucky thing to do, and he hoped he wouldn't do it again, but he wouldn't make any promises. The thing that he found to be the worst about it was that, deep down, some part of him was happy he'd made her cry.

The fact that it made him happy pissed him off. It made him feel like his dad, and that made him sick. He was sitting down now, and was so angry as he sat that he started biting at his hands again.

His mother saw this, and came right by to pull his hand away from his mouth and try to calm him down.

"Oh, sweetie, no... Hey, it's alright. What's got you upset sweetheart?" She always talked to him that way. Sweet, caring, soothing. He appreciated it, but he also felt a little awkward about it. He was seventeen. What seventeen year old boy wants to be treated like he's five?

But still, it did help. He didn't answer her at all. He just stared off into space. But it still helped.

All of his lovely contemplation was interrupted by a loud scoff. A voice he would've known if he was deaf. His father. Lovely. That was just what he wanted. His shit dad to suddenly appear out of nowhere and make fun of him again.

"You treat him like a fuckin' four year old, Connie."

Connie frowned at that, "I'm just trying to make him feel better..."

Toby mumbled, "Thanks mom..."

Toby's mind drowned out whatever his parents were saying. Whatever they were fighting about. His mom ran to the kitchen a few moments later to get food.

Those few seconds changed everything for him.

[Words: 679]