You Bug Me A Lot (Beetlejuice x Reader)

Miserable

As I crammed the last of my belongings into my car, a thought came to my mind. Why am I doing this again? Running away from home seemed a little too eccentric, or maybe it was such a teen Disney movie stereotype. But I needed to get out of this place: and I needed to do it now.

Now, I'm sure you must have a lot of questions. Questions like: Why would I be running away? Did something bad happen to me? And, Y/N, why aren't you wearing any pants right now? Rest assured, I can explain everything. But that will have to wait a moment. First, let me take you all the way back to the wonderful year of 1994. The year I was born.

For starters, the lady who gave me life was not ready to be a mother at seventeen years old. Nor was the young football coach ready to become a father. I guess YOLO was both running through both of their heads when they really got into their affair in the back of my mother's car. Nellie John, my mother, was a young girl in her senior year of high school in Montana. She had flowy blonde hair and bright green eyes. According to every other girl in her grade... she was a Madonna wanna-be. But I think she was great.

As a senior, she dated pretty much any guy that seemed to be interested in her. She, as she has oftentimes told me, felt lonely and that she could only find her worth in someone else. That's why she would sleep around as a minor, not caring what consequences would be waiting for her at the end of the road. I am also one of those people. No, not the fucking with every guy who offers me a drink kind of person. I mean I, too, and a lonely person and feel as if I won't find my identity unless someone else gives it to me.

In other words I'm single and severely touch starved.

My father was a young football coach (Ryan McCartney) that had started coaching at just twenty years old. He had (H/c) hair and (E/c) eyes. I turned out to look more like him than anyone. My mother, at the time, was in a pretty abusive relationship with some dipshit named Joshua Hart. From what I heard, he pretty much only hung out with her because he was horny twenty four seven.

To sum up what happened with my mom and dad was one day Joshua and her were fighting on the football field where my dad was packing up some equipment in the shed nearby. My mom was angry at Josh for using her and he basically got so mad he started hitting her. My dad rushes in to stop, beats the shit out of him, mom and dad fall in love then BOOM!

They had me.

The pathetic piece of emotional shit they call their child.

My childhood was pretty epic, actually. My mom would always help me through my homework, friendships, and even style me up for school dances. Hell, she even dragged me to the mall to get me a whole new wardrobe every school year. My dad would always come to my sporting events, told me that the guitar was the best instrument I could have chosen to play, and always helped me when I was feeling down. And I had lived with these two amazing people my whole life. And that comes to the first question you probably asked me.

Why would I be running away?

Well... that's where things get a little bit rocky so, bear with me on this one. Basically when I entered my sophomore year of highschool, my father had announced that we were going to move to Connecticut because of some big promotion with his job. Of course me and my mother were both happy for him. But for some unknown reason, we both had secrets we were hiding from him.

I had started doing a number of things. For one, I had started smoking to try and help relieve my stress because when things get hectic, I went hectic. I had also secretly purchased a new electric guitar which was way out of my budget so I kind of had to borrow some money from my dad in secret. Lastly, I had been in a relationship with my girlfriend Leslie for the past year and he didn't know. He was Catholic so I knew if I came out to him as bisexual, he would never let me see her again. Or do anything ever again, for that matter.

Mom's secrets were a little more serious. For starters, she had gotten into a fight with her boss that ended up getting her fired from her job, so she wasn't making any money. She realized she was pregnant with a little boy and I would have a little brother. But the last part was what I wish she would have told me from the beginning.

My little brother had a different father.

There was a fight one night right before we were moving. The house had all been packed and we were ready to hit the road in the morning. However, as my dad was going through each room of the house to make sure we had absolutely everything, he spotted my red and white box of Marlboro cigs underneath the cover of my floor vent. That was my hiding place for everything illegal. I could put my candy, small bottles of alcohol, and even my cigarettes in there and nobody would even think to look there. Which is why I had no idea how he even found them because: who just stares down someone's air vent to check to see if they forgot to pack something?

He was beyond pissed.

I remember that night so clearly. My dad stormed into the living room where I was scrolling through my phone with my pack gripped firmly in his hands. The moment I looked up from the eight million view cat video I was watching and saw both the boz and his veins, I knew I was dead. Not even God could save me at this point. 

I had to spill everything. My guitar, the cigarettes. Even about Leslie. He. Was. Furious. 

My mom eventually told him everything as well because she was trying to defend me as well? I guess at the moment the lesson she thought she was trying to get through to him was "Nobody's perfect and we're all human". Honesty is supposedly the key. But when she told him about my little brother, he did all of the following. 

He forced her to get an abortion.

Made it so he emphasized that the death of my little brother was somehow my fault.

And he hit her. 

Every day after that, he would start taking his anger out on her. As if she wasn't hurt enought about killing off her son, she was now going through an all different kind of pain; the betrayal of a loved one. Once we moved to Connecticut, he lost his mind pretty much. He started yelling at us more, hitting us both, even to the point where he started cutting us. Any bladed or sharp object around the house was taken by me and my mother in hopes it would stop him from harming us. 

Nights that I used to spend laughing with my 'perfect family' becamse nights were I would hide from the same father that used to do everything with me. It was a hard descision, but I promised my mother I would come back for her. Just as soon as I could find a place were we could be safe. And that's when I ran away. One night, at around two in the morning, I snuck out of my bedroom window to make my great escape.

I packed everything up in my black backpack including a few hoodies, a pair of jeans, my toothbrush, my phone, about fourty dollars, my half pack of cigs and my trust lighter. I slipped my shoes on and began to lower myself out of the window. Now, my room is located on the top floor of my house so the drop was fairly decent. At the time, I did not know that my pajama pants got snagged on the corner of the window sill, so when I let go, the sound of tearing fabric and cold night air hitting my legs came as a slight inconvienent shock to me. 

Now you know why I wasn't wearing any pants. Luckilly, I slipped on a pair of biker shorts from my backpack so I wasn't running away in my underwear. It was early October so the air was chilly. I wasn't smoking as I ran out of town, but the air from my mouth might as well pass off os smoke because of how ridiculously thick it was. I know running away as a newly formed adult wasn't the best idea, but you don't understand. I couldn't stand to stay there any more. I was going to find another life to live because I was miserable back at my so-called home. Like I said... You don't understand.

I was Miserable.

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Word Count: 1546

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