Heartless Proxy (Hoodie x Reader)

History

Ah, hello.  I see you’ve clicked onto this little story.

My name is Kim.  That’s as much as you need to know about me so far.  

This is my first Creepypasta story ever so I’m nervous on how it’ll be received. 

In case it’s not obvious enough, this story is about You, the reader.  

Originally this was supposed to be a HoodiexReader fic, but I think it’s leaning more towards EyelessJackxReader.  What do you think?  Maybe I’ll keep it as the original pairing.

Side note, I rarely ever reread my writing so if there’s anything wrong with it or if there’s something you might like to add, please tell me.  Comments make me happy.

This was also posted on my Fanfiction.net account so don't go thinking I've copied someone else's work.

Enjoy!

Warning: Involves murder and cannibalism

~~~~~~~

Chapter 1: History

Sometimes I just feel like killing everyone.

Like I want to make sure that everyone who has ever bothered me stop breathing.

Don’t tell me this is bad because you’ve felt that way too.

I don’t need advice from some hypocrite.

It’s not bad to think this way.

I’d say it was pretty normal.

I’d say I was pretty normal.

I am 21 years old.  I attend college to finish my degree.  I work part time at a local bakery.  And I live peacefully with my roommate in a decent apartment near the school.  I’m the only product of two selfish human beings who really didn’t deserve to walk the earth.  It’s not all that bad now, at least I didn’t have to face them anymore.  Now that I think about it, last time I saw them was the day I met my savior.  

Like I mentioned, my parents weren’t the best.  In fact, they were the lowest kinds of humans to have possibly lived.  My mother was the local prostitute while my father was a hopeless drug addict who spent every penny we earned on his habit.  Money was always tight when I was a kid.  It was so bad that my parents sold me into prostitution the moment I turned 16.  It was horrible.  Every night my mother had a customer waiting for me.  At least they were worried enough about money to make sure those ‘gentlemen’ always wore protection.  It kept me disease free.  Though, those little rubber balloons couldn’t stop me from throwing up every night.  Trying to rid myself of everything those men poured into me.  I lost weight. Lots of weight.  It was to the point that my parents, if I could keep calling them that, took notice and grew angry.  It wouldn’t do.  Nobody wanted to buy a skeleton.  They started force feeding me, doing everything they could to make me eat.  They worked like a team.  My father would tie up my arms and legs and would pull me by my hair so that my mother could shove whatever that was edible into my mouth.  They never paid attention to my cries.  Why would they?  They didn’t give them any profit and I learned then that they wouldn’t give me any safety.  Eventually I stopped crying altogether with they seemed grateful for strangely enough.  It was best to save my energy for my clients my mother told me once.   By the time I graduated high school (father said that the younger ones paid the most), I was locked up never to see the light again.  My skin went from their natural shade to a sickly ash gray.  My eyes lost their shine.  And then eventually, I stopped talking altogether.  My parents were happy.  They thought that I’ve finally accepted my fate.  They were wrong.  Inside, the darkness kept growing.