Break a Leg: YanderesxReader

Chapter 2: Fear and Misfortune

You froze in fear.

The room is too dark for you to see the damage. You could feel the sticky substance coating your skin. Someone begs you to open the door, but your feet refused to move. Paint spilt over your black long-sleeve shirt.
"J-Just a minute!" You began scrabbling around the room and flailing your arms for some sort of light switch. The cyan liquid rapidly dries on your palms and creates an itching sensation.

"I'm coming in." A wispy voice whispers from the other side of the door. You brace yourself for the blinding light to enter your iris, only to feel an excruciating compression upon your right foot. You swore you heard your toe's bone crack under the pressure. Throbbing pain travels throughout your nerviest system. The paint still drips from your ruined shirt onto your black converse.

A scream attempts to escape your lips, but a hand cups your maw. You can't make up who's in front of you. You're not even sure if they're lingering on your gaze. Fabric rustles behind you and a sudden red work light illuminated the dark closet. You finally get a good glimpse at whom gently pulls their hand away from your mouth. The pain on your toe fades as well.

A young man rolls closer to you in his wheelchair, but not enough to harm your foot once more. His hands comb his strawberry blond hair and ties it as a small ponytail. He puckers his hazel lips, picking at some of the hanging layers by his teeth. The boy's smirk resinates upon his face as he scans your attire.

"Quite a mess you've made, huh..."
"Shut up."

You assemble the cyan liquid and place it back in the material cabinet. The boy watches you in the half-lit darkness trying to erase the mistake you made.
"What were you going to do with the paint anyway?" He wonders.

You lean against the properties table and throw him an amused glance. "I was trying to get some paint to decorate a sign on our props list but umm...you know the rest," you release an obnoxious chuckle thinking about the incident.

"Well, that's too bad. I'm Rowen, by the way."
"(Y/N)," you curtsy with a slight lift of your shirt over your belly button. It seems to have gladdened him, a faint smile growing against his cheeks.

Rowen swivels his chair around to face the door taking one more look at you. " I better go before I get yelled at. I still have to test some lighting settings out."

You realized you weren't ready for him to leave this soon. But, you didn't want to be too clingy.
"Yeah. I should clean up and go help Charlie with the stage..." You waved to Rowen while he left. The strange aura you felt in the room fled as quickly as he. You're not sure if he could be an allie or an enemy.

Before you worry about him, you needed a new attire. Thankfully, you brought a bag of comfy clothes from your morning trip to the gym.

After a couple minutes of cleaning off the paint sticking to your skin, Charlie finds you lying on the bathroom floor, vigorously attempting to pull up your sweatpants over the various layers of pants to protect the outer layer. Your trusted friend forcefully chokes on her breathe to keep her laughter under raps.

  After several painful minutes, you return backstage with Charlie.
"What did I miss?"

"You mean while you were nak-"
"Shut up."

You and Charlie return backstage on opposite wings of each other. The cast members often gave you puzzled glances during the time you spent behind the curtains.

"(Y/n)!" A familiar voice whispers from the shadows. You spot Jeanette stomping over in your direction, holding a clipboard. She flicks her pen a couple times before speaking,
"You missed your cues earlier and I couldn't find you anywhere. Where were you?"

"Sorry. I spilt paint on myself and went to change."

Her expression shifts from frustration to relief.
"Well, I'll let you off the hook this time, (L/n)."

The director announces an early release from rehearsal due to weather conditions. Everyone attempts to keep their excitement under control as they all leave the premise.
You and Charlie decide to sleepover at her apartment to catch up.

As you lay down your toiletries for the night, your companion occupies the kitchen. She unevenly pours hot butter mixed with salt onto a bowl of half-burnt popcorn. You find your eyes wondering around her cluttered living area: stacks of unopened college-prep books, plastic bottles, broken controllers, roughly-painted vinyls, mason jars, laundry baskets, and a particularly odd brochure.

You grasp the paper from the messy coffee table.

In thick golden text,
'Addressed to Charlie Fay Davidson.
You're invited to a Sunshine Hill Church service!
Our services are important and sacred to our organization.
We hope you can find a smile at our service :)
You may invite a friend to join you.'

On the back of the brochure is the address, 'Enddead Parkway'. The police were constantly roaming the streets because of the massive crime rate. You'd be surprised if there was even anyone in that side of town actually attending.

Your pulled out of your snooping mid-thought to a steaming bowl of popcorn placed on top of your thighs. Charlie leans over your shoulder while her other hand balances her bowl on her palm like a waiter.
"Making yourself comfortable?"

You fight back the urge to chuckle on instinct, for she would know that you were snooping.
Unfortunately, she spots the paper in your pocket and yanks it out before you can take it back.

She laughs at your gasp, taking a peek at your stolen item. Charlie's expression glowers at the invitation, almost embarrassed, placing it into one of the coffee table drawers.
Your determination rises with contempt for her wellbeing.
  A projected voice speaks out your lungs,

"Are you thinking about going there? It's on Enddead Parkway, you know...And you couldn't have forgotten about the kids who practically live for the sight of pubescent blood."

"I know..." her gaze trails up the reddened pigments starting from your thumb and pointer finger, ending at your elbow. The exposed layers of skin sat next to your growing hairs and tan-lines as a reminder of her inability to protect you.

"Does it still hurt?" She questions.
You weren't sure how to answer.

It's been years since those bullies ever laid a hand on you. You and Charlie used to be forced to play at their house when your parents didn't want to deal with the chaos. They wanted to have some 'fun' with their playmates to show you and Charlie who was really the boss here. Their weapons just so happened to be the boiling water in the kettle. They held you still and poured the water on your arm.

It was too much to bare.
Your scream alerted the neighbors next door and sent you to the emergency room.
Charlie watched over you the entire time. She wouldn't bat an eye for a second, afraid you'd disappear if she did.

"No, but I do still think about it," you reply.

"Oh."
Her hands clench the brochure in her grasp.
  Charlie's decision was clear..