To Die List(CrankGameplays X Reader)

~X~

I don't understand some book titles. A lot of book titles have nothing to do with what the book is about. Queen of Kentucky? Lord of the Flies? To Kill a Mockingbird? I don't understannndd

Never mind, it's a few days later and I've learned the meaning of Lord of the Flies and understand it now....other titles still don't make sense though...

Y/n's POV

A heavy breath falls from my mouth in boredom. The ceiling was more interesting than anything at the moment. My back was pressed against the small, beaten up couch, my left arm extended away from my body so I could tap a tune into the wood of the coffee table. My phone sat on my stomach, unbothered and silent.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

Ethan had told me later on that day that he was grounded and couldn't come over like we had planned. Why he hadn't told me in third hour? I wouldn't have an answer.

Part of me wanted to think he forgot. He's a good kid, I wouldn't believe it if someone told me he had been grounded before. Maybe he was just excited for our plans and forgot he was grounded. Or what if he was just really tired today, given the time he got home the night before. The other half believed he wanted to get rid of me. He realized that I was a bad influence and gave an excuse of why he couldn't come. He found me annoying and didn't want to be around someone like that anymore than he has to.

I wasn't sure what to believe, but I tried my hardest to ignore the second one.

I guess it was better he didn't come, though. During my drive home my head began to feel like it was throbbing. It felt as if I had hit my head against a rock until it bled. It didn't make the drive any shorter or the road rage any better. Nothing new, but it's reoccurrence didn't make it any easier. It felt worse every time, like it came back stronger than before. It was hell having cancer, constantly being in pain or having no energy to do anything.

"Any homework?" Dad asked as he walked through the front door. His work uniform was dirty and worn down from the work over the years.

"If I do, I wouldn't know."

He let out a chuckle.

"Anything specific you want for dinner?" He asked.

I sit up, a slight groan of pain coming from my throat. My head pounded even more with the movement. "I don't really feel like eating tonight."

My Dad deadpanned. He shrugged his coat off and tossed it on the back of a chair. "You're eating. I know chemo may make you think you're not hungry, but you need to eat."

"I'm only going to throw it back up later." I stated, annoyance lacing my words.

He shrugged, making his way to the kitchen. It wasn't a long distance, for our house wasn't that big. "You're eating, Y/n. End of conversation."

I rolled my eyes. Standing up slowly, I make my way to my bedroom. My head didn't like the movement, so as soon as I entered my room I plopped down on my bed. The soft comfort and the stillness of my body seemed to please the headache, making it subside a bit.

Only when I thought I was going to get peace, my phone began ringing. A loud groan was let out into my pillow to express my frustration and pain. Assuming it was a telemarketer, I decline the call without looking at the caller ID. No one worth my time would be calling anyway. Mom prefers texting and Dad could easily walk into my room and talk. So far, they are the only people who call me.

Silence again. I eased into my pillow again, feeling grateful for the absence of the annoying ringing.

These days were the worst. You'd feel fine one minute and in more pain than ever the next. Every sound makes you want to scream, your pain makes you an angry mess, and you can't stand to do anything. All of it is just hell.