Adopting Tiny Creepypasta (CreepypastaxReader)

Chapter 45

M/N - Mother's name

f/b - favorite breakfast

***

The headache was starting to form again and you groaned. Why was your luck so crappy? It was the type of headache that made you feel slightly sick too so that didn't help much.

As you close your eyes and wonder if the medicine you took is really doing its job, your phone rings. You mutter a few swears under your breath as you grab out the device.

It's from an unsaved number and against better judgement you accept it. If it's Zalgo with his threats you'll just hang up anyway.

"Hello?" You ask, your voice is more emotionless than you intended but you didn't really care.

"Y/N?" It's the voice of your mother and it sounds like she's been crying. You know why, it's that day after all. But you're still confused, she hasn't called - or talked to you in general - in years.

"Yeah?" You replied, you didn't really want to deal with her right now but a small part of you felt like talking.

"Oh good," The older woman replies, "I was worried you might have changed numbers."

You bite back a remark and simply hum a reply. "So... How are you?"

You raise an eyebrow. What's she at now? You can't help think she's not asking because she wants to know but because she feels guilty. Not guilty about not knowing, but guilty about having a kid die then acting like the other did too.

"Fine," you reply curtly. Talking to her is bringing back memories you didn't want to think about.

"You had a dog, didn't you? How it doing?" She asks but the tiredness in her voice shows she doesn't really care.

"It died," You bite back. You did have a dog, unfortunately he got hit by a car after you moved.

"Oh."

You sit in silence.

"Tell me why you really called, M/N."

You can tell she cringed at the fact you called her by her name but it also wasn't anything new. You hadn't called her mom since B/N died.

"Because I care about you, Y/N. I want to know how you're doing," she still tries to defend her motive.

This sparked something in you. "If you really cared you wouldn't have treated me like shit! You wouldn't have guilt tripped me for four fucking years if you cared! And I'll let you in on a secret. You couldn't make me feel worse about what happened than I made myself feel."

Part of that was a lie. It did hurt like hell when your mother seemed to stop loving you almost over night, it hurt every time she yelled it was your fault that he was dead, it hurt with how she didn't notice - or didn't care, you weren't sure - what you did to yourself. But you had already accepted she didn't love you, or not as much, anymore.

"You have no idea how much I hate that you're trying to mend what happened," You end the call before she can try to defend herself.

You think about saving her number before deciding it's not worth it. "It's better this way..." You mumble to yourself, "A little lonelier but better."

But you also know that now you're not alone. You have the pastas, so you wipe away the few tears that managed to get past you and start to work on making breakfast, deciding on f/b and some strawberries since you bought some.

After starting f/b you get to work on cutting the strawberries when bad luck hits.

"Fuck," You bring your finger up from cutting some strawberries. You had nicked your finger somehow and it was bleeding quite a bit.

You quickly grab a tea towel to wrap it in and get rid of the contaminated fruit. Just your luck huh?

As if on an unspoken command Smile Dog steps into the kitchen with a whine as if he's worried about you. You chuckle that this and pet him with your none bleeding hand. "Don't worry I'm fine," you tell him as you work on cutting more strawberries.

Smile Dog whines again and tilts his head. You think for a minute before slipping him a piece of strawberry he happily eats.

"We should do something nice," You say to yourself and Smile Dog looks up at you, "Since this rain probably won't let up soon."

You think about what to do with your day as you finish up breakfast and get ready to serve it up. Then, as you add the finishing touches, the doorbell rings.

"I'm having more social contact this last week than I have since I moved here," you mutter as you wipe your hands and go to get the door.

On the other side of the door is a very wet, very bored looking delivery man with a long, thin box. You're slightly confused but sign for it anyway and drag it back into the house.

Then, to your dawning horror, you realize it's probably the doll house. You quickly click onto the add you bought it from and in a silent cry you see the fine print you missed saying 'self assembly required'.

"Looks like I know what I'm doing today," You mutter, raking your hand through your h/c hair before hiding the box away in the guest room.