Let Me In || Ticci Toby x Reader

10 || Weeks

I've lost track of time. I used to only eat and sleep during the day. Now I just sleep day and night. Day, night, day, night. It's an endless cycle. All I want is for it to be over.

Hunger no longer bothers me. My body has grown accustomed to malnourishment. The homeostasis is being thrown off balance more and more as time passes endlessly by. An elephant is on one side of the scale while a feather is opposite.

There are some things that you never really hear about when it comes to starvation. Whenever I move to go to the door I feel faint and dizzy the moment I start to move. I now permanently lie beside the door, blankets strewn about to try and keep up my body temperature which is steadily declining. Lukewarm tap water from the connecting bathroom is a rare treat I give to my body, the only thing I suspect still keeping me alive. Inside of me I know I am starting to die. I feel constant pain but remain numb, my brain ignoring all that my body tells it.

How long have I been here? How much longer? When will my body be found? The numbers change by the second. And soon I will be free from this prison.

A knock on the door startles me. I smell food from the other side. But my stomach doesn't even rumble. It's just given up entirely.

"Cut the crap," Toby says. He's been the only one who comes to see me now. No one else bothers. It hurts, I will admit. Only one person makes an effort. I've even stopped responding to Toby. "I've been observing the food supply lately. It's like you're not even moving. And I bet you aren't. Right now you're probably curled up in a ball in pain unable to move from exhaustion. Am I right?"

Yes. You are, Toby. You are right.

"I will open that door and feed it to you, even if I have to force you. I know what you look like already. Everyone knows. So suck it up and open that door. You are not dying on my watch. Open that door yourself and let me in. You can do it yourself or I can do it for you. What'll it be?"

Just let me die. It's what I want. One less mouth to feed and one more room empty for someone else to occupy. Win-win scenario. So why won't you just let me have what I want?

From the other side of the door, Toby sighs, making it purposely audible. I hear his footsteps go the direction he came from. Mighty big words, but he couldn't hold up to his promise to come in himself.

Not long after Toby leaves, someone else knocks at my door. Their footsteps are heavier and knocks more forceful.

"Do you have any idea what is going on outside of that cramped room you're in? Are you so self-centered that you don't realize what Toby is doing for you? Get over yourself." His tone is harsh. I don't remember him too much. Never spoke to me too much before that incident. And afterwards no one really did, except for Toby.

But nothing interesting has been happening. I've been listening in to conversations that I can hear. It's so mundane most of the time. Except for when someone talks about killing. What is this guy saying? Nothing is happening.

"Don't feel like talking? Well I do. And I'll have you know that Toby actually made that food himself. And he forgets to turn the stove on half the time. It's a miracle it tasted so good. How's that huh?"

"Well try this on for size too," the man continues, "Toby has been sitting outside your door trying to talk to you for a week straight and you can't even respond with a simple knock. We all see him sitting there, back against the door, just to try and give you a bit of company. And you're such a stuck-up asshole you don't even respond. I've even seen him asleep at your door once. So don't even think that no one cares. Open that goddamn door for him or I swear I will rip out each of your organs one by one, starting with your kidneys."

I want to tell him to go ahead. Once I'm dead all that's left will just be a shell of who I used to be. Take whatever you want from me. Mutilate my corpse for all I care. It won't matter once I'm dead. This place has already stripped me of most of my dignity.

Although it is nice to know Toby has been trying his hardest to speak to me. I shouldn't feel bad, yet I do. He's going through so much trouble and I want to know why. To be completely honest I want to know more about him. But this is a house of killers. I am not going to be one of them, even if I already took a life or two. Or three. Or four. Maybe in another life we could have been friends. But this is the hand we were dealt and lady luck is not on my side. Might as well throw the game with some dignity left to my name.

The temptation of the food on the other side is enticing me. My survival instincts are screaming at me to eat it with what little voice it has left. But my eyes feel heavy. I know I'll fall asleep again before I can do or think anything else.