Not Crazy to Me | Slashers x Nurse!Reader

Chapter 9: Lockdown

The sleep you tried so desperately to claim was restless, filled with images of your worst nightmares, your fears and demons turned physical in the form of horrifying dreams. It had been Cole, of course, who had been the antagonist, chasing you through a dark, foggy copse of endless trees. He caught you, then let you go, then caught you, then let you go, then- that cycle repeated itself for what felt like an eternity, a timeless hell that you couldn't endure for long. At last, your alarm went off and fought away the dream, pulling your eyes open with a gasp. Your skin was slick with a nervous sweat, and you placed a hand on your forehead, eyes squeezed shut as the remnant fear dripped away, your heart slowing to a normal, calculated pace.

"Jesus..." you breathe out, letting your hand drop to your side. The events of the night prior seemed... surreal. As fake as your dream. But you knew better than that, you could feel the burning behind your eyes from the hits you'd taken, the phantom feeling of his fingertips tracing your form, the white-hot fear that seared through you at the thought of his face. It had really happened, and you had really been saved. You needed to see them. You had to see Michael and Jason. It was 7:00 AM, the time you always forced yourself to wake up at, and you knew no one else would be roaming the halls for another 30 minutes or more. Last night, when stumbling back into your room you'd discarded your shirt and pants somewhere on the floor, so they would need to go through the laundry. You shudder at the memories from after Melanie had left you. Even the clothing hugging your form reminded you of his hands, so you'd had to take them off. You couldn't stand it. Every time you'd doze off, you'd startle back awake because your shirt shifted across your skin as you rolled over, and you'd sworn it was Cole's hands.

You shake the thoughts away, biting your tongue to pull yourself back into the now, and pull open your drawers. You grab the first pair of scrubs your hands connect with, throwing them on along with a pair of slides. You made sure you grabbed your keys, afraid of a repeat of the missing key incident. How had you failed to see the red flags? Cole was basically screaming 'hey, I don't care about you or your personal space!' and you should have listened to your gut. Your door clicked shut behind you and you hurried off, head down as you made your way through the halls. You slowed as you reached the cells, taking quick glances in each one as you passed. Most everyone was asleep, but on your way past Brahms he tapped on the round glass window, catching your attention like a fly in a flytrap.

"Ms. (Y/N)?" he asked, his child-like voice muffled by the thick glass. A deep concern and swirling confusion swam in his emerald eyes, and he tilted his head. You took a step towards him, trying to wear a bright smile and, you assume, failing miserably, for the concern in his eyes heightened. "What happened last night? Are you alright? What about the other patients? And Danny?" Brahms shot question after question, glancing down at his hands every now and again as he did so.

"I'm okay, so is everyone else. Danny is fine too," you answer, "There was just... a fight." you were much too embarrassed to tell Brahms the truth. You wanted the event done and over with, forgotten. Even with the porcelain mask, you could tell Brahms was furrowing his brow in anger.

"You lie." he said simply, tilting his head the other way. "What happened?" he repeats, his intense gaze burning into yours. The confusion was gone, replaced by a solemn fury, a look similar to one that an angry father would wear. But he wasn't angry at you, you don't think. It seemed more like he was angry you would try to lie to him, a look of some form of betrayal.

You avert your gaze, fiddling with the hem of your shirt and then stopping as the feeling suddenly became a little too familiar.

"I-I..." you try to speak, but your voice is suddenly gone. You can't look up at him, you can't get your vocal chords to function. "I'm sorry, I have to go. Duty calls." you croak out, unsure if Brahms even heard you speaking, but you turn and scurry away before he can ask any more questions.