Something Amiss (Hoodie x Reader)

Sixteen: Drawing Conclusions

You sincerely hoped that getting knocked out wouldn't become a weekly occurrence. Your head pounded like no other, organs feeling like they were committing suicide. Which they weren't, because you could breathe. That was the first thing you became aware of; the feeling of oxygen encroaching on your windpipe, raw and painful. Worse still, were the sides of your neck. You could feel blood pulsing beneath the skin there, a disgusting sensation to be hyperaware of.

The thing about being choked into unconsciousness, rather than knocked out, is that memory is far less likely to be affected; unlike the last time you'd woken up like this, you didn't have even a slight concussion. And you could remember everything.

With a start, your eyes snapped open.

You were met with the sight of your bedroom. How long had you been out? Long enough to be hauled all the way back to your apartment, it seemed. You did notice that there was light beyond the window, it couldn't have been more than an hour. Still, that was longer than it would take the usual person to regain their consciousness. You silently cursed your body for being such a weak bitch.

The next thing you noticed was that you were on the floor. It appeared that whoever had brought you home (and you didn't have many guesses) had unceremoniously dumped you on the floor. Carpeted, sure, but still uncomfortable as fuck. How courteous.

You groaned as you sat up from where you lay, having to support your torso heavily with your forearms behind you. You were going to kill that motherfucker. You didn't know exactly what had happened in Jade's apartment, you hadn't made it beyond the door, but what you did know was that Hoodie had shot, and presumably killed, some random man. He'd threatened you with pictures of Jade, and he was probably going to kill you now anyways for getting involved. As if you'd had any other option, besides be a sitting duck. You weren't that pathetic - he had practically being egging you on.

Your thoughts turned momentarily to Harry as you staggered to your feet, not missing the smears of blood your body left on the carpet; remnants from Hoodie's bloodstained gloves. Your brother was dead. He had to be, and Hoodie had tried to fucking manipulate you, lying through his teeth while he choked you against a fucking wall. Contrary to popular belief, you weren't a complete fucking idiot.

You strode to your bedroom door, hand twisting the knob. You were only met with a dry rattle; locked from the outside. What the fuck? You tried it again, the door wouldn't budge more than a fraction of an inch. With a frustrated grunt, you moved your head so that you could peer through the tiniest of gaps.

Your jaw clenched at the sight of the hallway dresser, teeth grinding together. This dickhead. It was just the right height to jam the doorknob, you weren't getting the door open without a significant amount of blunt force (which you didn't quite possess). You laughed dryly as you thought about it, how you'd pushed the very same dresser in front of this door to try and lock him in. Oh, how the tables turned (dressers moved?).

Pushing yourself away from the door, your attention turned to the window. With the fury of a thousand suns, you strode over to it and all but flung yourself on top of the desk, fingernails clawing at the underside of the glass. It didn't give. Fuck. He'd really gone the extra mile to keep you in here, for whatever fucked up reason.

What was next, then? You could try breaking the window, but the fucking thing was double glazed. It'd take significant force, and you didn't have an object small and heavy enough to hurl into it. There was always the chair, but you'd have to throw it and there was no way you'd get a good enough hit.

That was when you noticed the squealing of pipes. The sound was so familiar to you, having lived here for over a year, that you'd barely registered it until now. Yet it was definitely present. Why the actual fuck was he using your fucking shower?! You couldn't wrap your head around him. First he acts like he's going to kill your brother, then he anti-kidnaps you, then he drives your brother to insanity, then he kills your brother, and now he was probably using your fucking shampoo without asking. Talk about sheer audacity.