Something Amiss (Hoodie x Reader)

Twenty: Marked For Death

You could not believe that you were fucking doing this.

Hoodie was persuasive, you'd give him that. You knew, morally, that going along with his shitty ass plan was a horrible decision. And, if you got caught, you'd probably serve jail time after all. Perhaps that was why you agreed in the end - if this blew up in your face, you'd not only get some fucking closure from the guy, but you'd get the justice you felt you deserved along with it.

And so, like the horrible person you were, you made the ruddy phone call. Not without asking a trillion more doubtful questions, all of which Hoodie deflected with a 'don't worry about it'. Eventually, he had got so sick of your pestering that he'd shoved your phone in your face, clamping a hand over your mouth until you shut up and took it. It had taken a lot of resistance on your part not to lick his hand, just for a little petty revenge. Knowing now that the guy wouldn't kill you wasn't without its perks. You realised that there was a lot you could get away with, just to drive him up the wall as he had done with you for however long it had fucking been by now.

Guilty conscience crushing you like a boulder, you told the 911 operator on the other end of the line everything Hoodie had told you to, shooting him many a dirty glare as he lurked lazily against the wall by your bed. He'd had to dial the number and put the phone on speaker for you, you weren't exactly at your most mobile right now.

You didn't need to put on a teary show for the professionally bored sounding woman on the line - the tears had come naturally as you fed a stream of lies down the phone; Harry had gone mad. Harry had killed Jade. Harry had shot two police officers. Harry had showed up at your apartment and broken your bedroom door down. Harry had dislocated your elbow. Harry had stabbed you, and missed your heart. Harry had felt so bad that he started crying, and stabbed himself in the throat. You also tacked on that you were very good at emergency first aid, when she'd asked if she needed to send and ambulance. You couldn't believe that anyone would believe the utter bullshit you were spurting, but she (very surprisingly) didn't seem sceptical.

Only a handful of your statements had been true, yet somehow those ones were the hardest to choke out. Probably because you were painfully aware that the truth was so much worse than what you were telling her. She'd let you talk, occasionally humming out the odd 'okay', or 'take your time, sweetie'. At the end of the call, when you'd truly blackened your tongue with disgusting, slimy untruths, she'd dispatched a team to come investigate your apartment. Hoodie had flashed you a thumbs up, making you want to hurl something sharp at him. You weren't sure if he had done that to mock you or give you genuine reassurance, but either way he wasn't fucking helping.

Hoodie helped you stand once the lady told you to hang up. You didn't know where E.J. had gone, but you imagined he didn't have a reason to hang around. He'd done an impeccable job at quite literally stitching you up, you couldn't move your arms but you were pain-free so long as you didn't try. He'd mended the cut he'd accidentally caused on your knee, too. He'd probably had to tweeze carpet fluff out of the gash. You were also, to your alarm, in a fresh set of clothes, and mostly blood-free aside from some matted clumps in your hair. You'd given Hoodie an alarmed look when you realised this, but he only shrugged and told you that E.J. was used to seeing people naked. He didn't elaborate. Fucking ew.

At the front door now, Hoodie let go of your waist from where he'd been supporting your walking. The contact would have made your skin crawl mere hours ago, but now you just couldn't bring yourself to care that much, emotionally exhausted. When he was confident that you wouldn't topple the fuck over, he stepped around to face you.

"You know what to do when they get here?"

You nodded. His tone sounded concerned, he was probably worried you'd fuck up the whole plan and send him to jail for murder. Which was tempting. But he was holding the golden carrot that was closure above your head, like the shady asshole he was. Still, you appreciated that since you'd woken up, he hadn't once yet defaulted back to speaking to you like a child. Perhaps he sensed that you definitely would have slapped him.