Pairing: Monster!141 x Shapeshifter! Female Reader
Content Warnings: Swearing. Cussing. Female Reader is autistic with ADHD. Implied violence. Soap.
You flinch at loud noises.
You hide from loud people.
You avoid textures that don't feel right to you.
Price found out when he walked in the room injured without warning scaring you so bad that you shifted into a rabbit.
You were stuck like that for hours. No amount of coaxing made you switch back to normal either. Now Price wasn't the type to get upset. Neither was Simon. But when Soap couldn't find you for four hours? Hell crawled through the door and decided to shit there. Because HE howled at empty rooms thinking that you off with some bloke that didn't deserve you.
Simon is standing there with you in rabbit form. Just chilling out and eating kale from his palm.
Gaz couldn't believe Soap is having trouble finding you. You haven't left.
Price is wondering what went wrong in his life for things to be this way.
You? Well you're chilling out with Simon as a rabbit trying to calm down.
When you finally change back. Simon makes you mac and cheese the same way you always liked it. Passing you your good socks and putting on your favourite movie.
There wasn't a day in your life that you weren't devoted to your pack, your team, and their well-being. You drove yourself half mad keeping their gear ready to go, even when you didn't have to. Adding more work on your shoulders than someone normally would have deemed necessary.
You know, one day they won’t need you anymore. You dwelled on that thought more than you will ever confess to anyone. This is what you assumed a beta is supposed to do. This is what you assumed a beta is supposed to be.
Picking up after them. Ignoring your needs, even if it means sacrificing hours of sleep to do it all. You ignored your sexual frustration because in your heart, they would rather bed an omega instead. You kept the last part to yourself.
No one needs the opinion of a disgusting beta, right?
No one needs you.
You placed their repaired, ironed, and pressed uniforms on the clothes rack. Turning to start on your own. As it is indeed quiet now throughout the house. The crickets chirping in the background outside. The cool breeze from the window in front of you and your sewing machine.
You thought about showering and sneaking out to the bar. While they’re loose themselves in the heat of passion. Who’s to say you needed their permission to find your release? You sighed and slipped on a jacket. You even removed your underwear for better access.
You slipped on a dress that happened to be a little too short and a little too revealing, skintight, body-con, something you were sure to get some kind of attention just by looking at you. More than enough for a few hours.
What you didn’t know is that Simon spotted you getting dressed in your bathroom; you didn’t think anyone else was still awake at this hour, did you?
As you were applying lipstick to your lips. A solid crimson, oxidised red with charcoal lip liner.
The exciting thought about being called or seen as ‘delicious’, ‘enticing’, ‘tempting’, ‘alluring’, ‘desirable’, and ‘delectable’.
At least desirable to fuck for a few hours tonight. Desirable for someone, right?
As you moved on to the black graphic eyeliner. You weren’t going to stick around if he was going to start talking about how you’re ‘family’, how you’re ‘not just any beta, you’re part of the team, our pack, task force 141’, or anything like that
As you moved on to the black graphic eyeliner. Thinking about what coat to put on that you have sewn recently.
Note: This is my first try. If it sucks let me know.
Word count: 1705
Omegaverse Parts: Part One + Part Two + Part Three + Part Four
Masterlist
You were not an alpha, you were certainly were no quivering omega, and you are not even a fucking beta. What in the name of a metaphorical god are you? With no conclusive, definitive answers to who or what you are. You are left to wander the expanse of earth.
You have a sniper rifle with the initials of your name faded away. Scratched off by your own hand. Dubbed the lone wanderer. As you were often seen by military packs alone. No pack. No, nothing at your side. Did it matter to you? Not really. You were fine. Right?
Things were different when you were adamant in sewing the wound on your leg by yourself. “Don’t like it? Then…… Then you can fuck off.” you growled. Your fingertips worming their way to take the bullet from your leg. After the bullet was finally removed after several messy, painstaking minutes?
You dosed your wound in rubbing alcohol and hissed. But continued to stitch your own wound up. Contemplating whether to put in staples as well to keep the wound from ripping open again. As you finished up, firmly wrapping the bandage in place and thinking of what move to make.
You looked at your digital watch, five hours until sundown and five hours until you have to find somewhere safe enough to sleep. Limping to an abandoned office or one which looked to be in disuse. You weren’t going to let anyone catch you again. Not like last time, either.
The screeching of the metal on concrete too familiar for your ears, you found a storage closet and shifted the blankets around to hide inside. Falling asleep to avoid hunger building inside your stomach. The cool metal digging into your body in combination to the thin woollen blankets lulled you.
Lulled you straight into a slumber. An uneasy slumber. But slumber all the same. Hoping the gunshots in the distance would cover the quiet purrs coming from you, your lips and the office which is usually empty at this time of day. Things were soon to get far worse now.
Things always tend to get worse before they even get the chance to get better. Life fucks you over and leaves you for the vultures to pick at your corpse. Always the victim. Never the victor. Thus, when you escaped the last pack who tried to claim you by force?
You learned to fight, to shoot, throw a knife and to hunt other animals. Living the high life, right? What more could you ask for? Home? Stability? A pack? A family? Ha! That shit was for Aphas, betas and omegas. You had survived this long on your own, hadn't you?
But what about the scent? Your scent? What about it? It's faint, growing stronger every second, it was your time. But you weren’t ready for it. To be fair, you have never been ‘ready’ for its arrival. And you certainly weren’t ready for it to happen now of all times.
The heat of your core right up to the tightness in your abdomen. Your heat is coming. Fucking perfect. In the middle of a fucking war zone and your heat comes in while you’re injured. The closet wasn’t going to cut it anymore. You needed somewhere better to hide. Now.
Quickly moving, you grabbed your bone knife, your bag, your sniper rifle. You limped your way out of the closet. The sun is setting. You know what that brings? The hounds of Deadlock. The alphas of task force 141. If you could smell them? Then they already smelt you.
They claimed stray omegas like they were kings of the fucking world, and anyone who had a problem with that? Well, they'd just blow their fucking heads off. That's what alphas did. But you? You weren’t going to tango with alphas. A death sentence wrapped inside a twisted hand basket case.
You rarely go into heat. As far as you know, it is quite rare for you to get into heat. The medication you took prevented it from showing. Always taking it two days before one came close to showing. Here you are with your large med bottle empty. No warning.
Like your pathetic, absent deadbeat of a father, you hoped you would not have to see it happen to you. The scent grew stronger still, a sweet coppery tang uniquely yours and yours alone. Panic rushed through you, your body and your senses. Urging, willing, forcing yourself to move faster.
Stumbling into the hallway, moving to the medical room three rooms away from the office you forced yourself to hide in three hours prior. Checking your wristwatch habitually. Two hours until midnight comes knocking on your door. Two more hours until your heat comes in full swing. Only two hours.
Pushing the barrel of your gun into the door. Forcing your way into the medical room, the smell of clinic grade medical rubbing alcohol assaulted your senses. You didn’t have the patience to be slow and steady like you would have wanted. Not with the impending danger at your heels.
Shoving a chair underneath the door handle to prevent someone from coming in while you stocked up on antibiotics, clean bandages, painkillers, antiseptic, and any other kind of medical supplies you thought were important for your needs. All of them. Shoved into your backpack. You weren’t going anywhere without them.
With your scent growing increasingly stronger. You worried immensely about them being able to kick down the door and drag you away from there by force. If they found you, you would be as good as theirs. Fucked up leg and all. It didn’t matter that you were in there.
You paused, standing at the door, listening for movement, footsteps down the hall. Listening for the sturdy combat boots to come marching right past you, hoping the room’s medical grade antiseptic and bleach would be strong enough to cover your heat. Your scent. The sticky fluid urging to come out.
Yet you heard nothing. It was silent. Too quiet. Suspiciously silent even. You knew better than to let it conquer your sense of self-preservation. You came too far to let yourself get taken again. You had to wait this one out. No matter how long it took or how hard.
Waiting felt like agony, felt like nails on a chalkboard, every second passing did nothing for your anxiety. The windows were covered to prevent flashlights, helicopter lights and other unwelcome visitors from peaking inside the medical room. Your breaths grew shallower, your stomach getting tighter, and your heat is here.
Your body temperature rising to an unbearable, flow of burning heat. Biting down on your thick leather belt to muffle the sounds coming from your lips. The sound of window glass breaking, shattering as you hid in the medical shower underneath the cold water and away from the door’s window.
Your grimy, sweaty, dirty clothes removed and left into a bath of white vinegar soaking in a plastic tub. As you used the surgical scrub to clean yourself with. You hoped if you cleaned your clothes with vinegar, soaked it inside it and let it stew within the white vinegar.
Silently hoping by time morning came around your clothes would be dried, clean and ready to wear again for the new day. Trapped inside this medium sized room until the first wave of your intense heat passed on by. It would become unmanageable quickly if you let it control you.
Ghost sniffed the air, they weren’t going to get to you in time now were they? By the time this wave went through your body. You would be gone and the morning would arrive. And they’d have to smell your sweet scent after the fact. After you were long gone.
“If she hasn’t left yet, in the next six hours, the heat will pass, and she’s gonna be long gone by the time we’ve sniffed her out.” Ghost told Price. Taking another long whiff of the sweetest scent he’s ever smelt in a long time. You’re sweeter than he assumed.
“Are you even sure this stray isn’t an omega like the other we’ve found? What makes you so damn sure she’s not another one?” Price questioned Simon, his voice both gruff and sceptical of his comrade’s analysis over the situation. He had every right to be sceptical over this one.
“Her scent is sweet, tooth rotting levels of sweet, think candy bars and cotton candy. There’s some spice to it, like cinnamon or pumpkin spice in those pumpkin spice lattes Gaz loves drinking so much. It's faint. But it is most certainly there. IF you know where to find it.”
“But what else makes her so special?” Gaz enquired, hinting at the desire to ascertain as to why General Shepherd sent them out here. His burning urge to know more was there whenever something unusual is brought to their attention. Regardless of how they have personally felt about it all.
“Well for starters, she’s covering her tracks, if she’s smart enough to do that? Then she’s not an omega, she’s a fucking ghost, mate. If anything, you’d think she’s been out there longer than we’ve been in this shithole. This is her playing field, Gaz. Her prime hunting ground now.” Soap smirked, a grin from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat rather than an alpha wolf’s.
Gaz pulled out the file with your photo printed onto the white page, “This her Ghost?” Gaz asked ghost for confirmation. He wouldn’t budge until his information, he looked into his own time.
Ghost remembered you, the rancher hat you wore that day and the bandana hiding half your face from his eyes. Shooting him in the shoulder with a tracking bullet. “Put a tracking bullet into my shoulder with her sniper rifle. It took us two weeks to get it removed without it detonating and taking my arm with it. That’s not a move an omega would make, it’s a move done by professionals. And she is a fucking ghost, moving in time with her surroundings. She’s not a sitting duck for us to come and claim her, she’s a fucking wolf in sheep’s clothing, that one.”
Pairing: Poly!141 Hybrid x Greenland Shark Hybrid! Female reader
Content Warnings: Fluff, female reader is oblivious to their crush on her. Indication of possible smut. Abrupt ending.
You frowned, staring down at the four men. You were taller than all of them. None of them could hope to reach your height. Not in this lifetime at least. "You like me? Why?"
"Because you're reliable. Trustworthy. Honest. Good to be around." Gaz replied hoping you would get the hint.
You didn't. The attempt fell on it's face like a dejected worm who couldn't get into law school because they didn't have apposable thumbs.
"You want to be my friend?" you asked, tilting your head in confusion.
No. They don't want to be only friends. They want to be more than just your friend. They want to make you squirm. Preferably underneath them.
This Does Not Bring Joy. Not to any of them. Especially when you said. "I'll be here for at least 500 years." As they always assumed hybrids of normal creatures died young. Not you though. You were naturally occurring. But your kind live up to at least 500 years.
Price the dragon hybrid hadn't thought of the chances of it happening. But to be fair, he was also ignorant on the significant range of marine life in general.
Ghost still hasn't gotten over how you tower over Konig as well. Your eyes seemed to be more pupil than iris. Greenland shark hybrids are stealth hunters. Someone would have to be foolish to think they would be able to sneak up on you.
And that seems impossible due to your size. But apparently. It meant you were underestimated to a dangerous degree.
Pairing: Hybrid Shifters141! X Hybrid! Shifter! Female reader
Content Warnings: Swearing & Cussing, angst, blood & graphic description of dead bodies, mental health topics are explored.
Warning (Before you read): This isn’t your normal bunny! Hybrid female reader, she won’t be soft, she won’t be delicate, she will never be gentle & she won’t be kind. She’s damaged beyond repair, and it's worth keeping in mind that this is fully intentional. No, I won’t apologise for any wrongs you think she did.
Dividers done by saradika-graphics
Summary: Great. Another reason for your superior to hound you again. Fucking great.
There wasn’t a day in your life when you wished you weren’t dead. Expectations pile upon your shoulders like a heavy weight you can’t remove, no matter how much you drink. No matter how much blood you spill. Shadows move in the corner of my eye when I’m not looking. Sleep deprivation? Possibly. You can’t say you haven’t been feeling sluggish lately. Slowing down instead of speeding up. Great. Another reason for your superior to hound you again. Fucking great.
This wasn’t a good day to wake up early or walk out of your room without sleeping longer than three hours. Yet. He dares to blame you for the lack of sleep when you hear them fuck like ‘rabbits’ in the next room. Hard to sleep with that racket rattling between your ears. You ignored them this morning. Ha! Take that as payback for the hours of sleep you made me lose last night. You were packing your duffel bag.
All of your essentials fit in one bag, and you ignored the nagging feeling at the pit of your stomach. You walked to your car, the 1989 Toyota Crown you still insist on driving everywhere. Older than the cars that the rest of them drove around. You didn’t care. You still don’t care. The matching hot pink faux fur leopard print inside kept them from taking your car without permission. Largest blessing wrapped in ‘hideous’ choices in style and colours.
As you were piling your needs into the trunk of your car. You were certain they wouldn’t notice the fact that you weren’t there anymore. Dead certain of it. You still remember the failed attempts to get laid because of them. Their way of ‘protecting’ you, they said. While they made you listen to them have their fun in the next room. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to you, and most people, sane people, would agree with you. Unfair.
You walked into the room you had slept in the night before to make sure you had removed your belongings from it. To make it sparse, empty, and cold. While ensuring any of the dirty laundry is cleaned up before they woke up this morning. You were good at erasing yourself when you felt like you needed to. And some sickening part of you enjoyed seeing them upset for once. While batting your pretty eyelashes, pretending you had no clue.
Whether they notice your absence from their life today or tomorrow isn’t your concern anymore. Your concern is your happiness, regardless of whether they want it from you or not. You were finishing cleaning up your ‘bedroom’ when you were about to pick up your car keys to leave them behind. Things were the way they were before you moved in. Like you weren’t even there to begin with. You were happy with the results. Always pleased with your deviousness.
Things were going according to plan. According to how you planned it anyway. The motel room you paid for. It wasn’t the most luxurious. But it was fancy enough for your sensibilities. You were out the door long before they stepped out of bed. In the motel room, download a dating app onto your phone and get ready for a needed rest. This is day one of many to come. Day one of 31 days without them interrupting your sleep.
You didn’t think about them until you posted a picture of the new lingerie you bought for yourself. You were treating yourself well now. The brand new black babydoll underwear & cupless bra set. The caption, ‘What a waste of a pretty face’. You were pleased with what you were doing with your time off. Beyond pleased. You had a nap. An espresso coffee in a café you haven’t been to in a year and a half. Relaxed. Calm. Peaceful.
The second photo appeared five minutes after the previous one, it was of a double-shot espresso with a caption of, ‘Looking for a sugar daddy. Harder to find than I imagined 😤’. The third picture is added with ‘posted 15 seconds ago’ next to your username ‘Justaprettyface69’.
Gaz managed to see the newest video of you getting railed by a guy he doesn’t recognise. Toned, taller than ghost and his hands gripping your waist as he ruined your senses, your makeup up and your ability to talk coherently. Your voice clearly saying, “Fuck me harder daddy.”, “Daddy, please.”, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” and “oh god, oh-oh fuck..fuck yes.”
The guy in the video had a mask on, too, making it even harder for him to find background information on him. It covered his entire face, the motel room was too dim to make out his other features. Likely dimmed on purpose to ensure no one knew who he was. There was no way of knowing who he might be. Though. They suspect that you didn’t care to find out more about him. Nothing more than a one-night stand.
Things were finally to go your way. And as long as you continue this way. They won't be able to reach you fast enough for you to find someone who will care about you. Both as a person and what you 'bring to the table'.
Pairing: Poly!141 x Neglected! Beta! Female Reader || Alpha! König x Beta! Female Reader
Content Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Cussing, Female reader dating again, Soap, Price threatening people, König mentioned.
Dividers by Saradika-graphics. All credit goes to Saradika-graphics.
It's been months since the last post you made. It was like cutting off a rotting limb that should have been removed months ago. Simply stating the phrase, 'ripping off the bandaid' didn't quite cover the amount of relief is overwhelming your senses. They won't know what to do with you now.
Now that you have shown them that they were indeed the problem. You weren't going back to how you were before. You would rather die than let yourself become neglected like you were before. If they wanted you now? Then too bad. They had their chance. Now they blew it.
They thought you'd be happy to sit and take their bullshit. They didn't stop to think you had the guts to pull punches and put them in their place. You weren't going to be a rug they can walk all over.
One thing you didn't do is block any of them. What you did do. Is mute both the group chat and the individual conversations you would have looked at most of the time on your phone. They can text you, spam you and try reaching you. But you won't get any notifications for any of them. They can wail into the wind all they want.
You won't read it. And there wasn't any reason to check any of their messages either. They would effectively be talking to a brick wall. Returning their treatment they had given you hand over fist. If they didn't want to be hit with that. Maybe they should have treated you better.
"Did you hear?" A private whispered to another.
"Yeah. I heard. She's dating again. Good for her." The older private replied. "Maybe she'll date someone who's better for her. The last lot were total cunts."
"You can't say that! They'll hear and rip into you like they did to some other guy yesterday."
"And? Were they wrong? They were idiots, and now they're paying for their own idiocy."
'Was it that obvious?' John pondered overhearing the conversation from outside his office. He would have been angry enough to tell them off. But ever since he chewed out a different private for saying that too. He wondered if everyone else saw the obvious long before any of them did.
'Was it really too late to fix things between her and us?' John continued to think, pacing around his office.
Kyle knocked on his office door, "Come in, Garrick. The door's unlocked." he said.
"Did you hear what everyone is saying right now?" Kyle questioned with his brow burrowing deep.
'Wait. Everyone on base is talking about this now?' John paused his pacing to look at Kyle.
"You don't think this has anything to with-
"Yes. It has everything to do with us and how we all fucked up." Kyle cut him off.
Things were worse than he thought. It was only going to get worse from here on. Hell is here, and they had all the reasons under the sun to pay for what they did to you.
And the guy you were dating now or at least started seeing again? Colonel König of KorTac. A private military contractor. You didn't have to lift a finger again if he had anything to say about it.
He's more than happy to give you princess treatment. And that said more about the Task Force 141 than words ever could.
Anger hit Price like a wolverine fighting a honey badger.
You weren't going to go back.
They were going to have to live with the fact that they failed you. They had to lie in the bed they made. Sit in the filth they accumilated. They did this to themselves.
Men full of hubris don't know when they'll fail. Only that they have failed after the fact.
They blame the woman they dated for not speaking up loud enough. Despite the fact they might have done that already. In this case you tried a million times and you were met with cold shoulders and silence.
Face to face with the consequences of their own actions.
And you're a thousand miles away.
Soap is upset with you. Price is threatening contacts to dig up information on where you are.
Content Warnings: Female reader, Current Cost of Living, Mental Health Issues, previous partner mentioned, intrusive questions. Depressing talk of dying and mention of the female reader's PhD. Nihilism. Money insecurity. Abrupt ending. Swearing.
Words: 2,344
Divider and Header is made by Firefly-graphics.
You weren’t sure what you were expecting from her. But you certainly didn’t expect her to talk about this.
“Have you thought about I don’t know dating?” she questions, batting her eyes like she was asking the most obvious question.
“No, I haven’t thought about that. I am too busy working to earn enough to live.” You answered. Again. The answer didn’t change since the last time she asked you this. You were certain she had forgotten on purpose.
“I thought you were dating, what’s his name? Brian?” she remarked, looking down right back to her phone in her hands. The loud chewing of her gum was continuing to drive you up the wall.
Talking to her was like talking to a brick wall. You’d answer the same questions, and she’d roll her eyes. “The last time I dated someone or attempted to was Brian. And that was during high school. I don’t think you understand how much I don’t have time for much of anything.” You mumbled, sipping your black coffee. The only kind you can afford. And even that is expensive for your blood right now.
It's hard enough to get people to take you seriously when you tell people that you enjoyed studying for your PhD in bioengineering.
“-And on top of that, I’m broke. No one wants to date a broke girl. No one. I’m not you. I’m not beautiful or funny. I work in a lab and commute for an hour by train.” You were tired of the same song and dance. You were always the one lagging.
You don’t see the point in dating because you can’t make time. What time is there? You wake up early, get ready for work, go to the train station and travel to work for an hour. You have to wake up early to make sure you’re always at the lab early.
“I wonder if it would be easier to die than to put up with this bullshit.” You remarked with a heavy sigh. Looking out the window. Laughter doesn’t pay bills. I need a raise, I don’t need a boyfriend. What’s the point of dating if you can’t even afford to date anyone? I don’t want to date someone and then have no time for them. It would be both cruel and unusual punishment for both of us.
You don’t want to burden someone else with your workload. On days like today, you wonder why you’re even alive to begin with. Connections require good impressions, and you can’t afford to make any kind of good impression when you can’t afford new clothes without thinking about whether you have enough to pay the bills.
You wonder if your friend has lost her mind sometimes. With her four billionaire boyfriends, you sometimes that if her common sense flew out the window the moment she started dating them. Your phone is barely alive most of the time. You can’t bring yourself to look at it without crying in the reminder of how broke you are.
You stare at most days, tempted to throw it against the wall and watch it die completely. Maybe then the sense of time would die along with it. Maybe then you could let your soul die into a dark mass of nothing.
The last time you bought new clothes? Your 18 Birthday and the Christmas afterwards. Everything else? Came from thrift stores and second-hand from your older sister. The older sister who is the favourite, the one who didn’t have to pay for her education and the one who never did any wrong.
“You’ve seen my budget. There is no wiggle room anywhere.” You state defensively. “£1,500 for rent a month, £66.28 for my phone and internet bill, £100 for food, £50 for a pass for the train every month. Dying sounds simple. I don’t have to worry about bills if I die.”
A horrible thought. A thought you can't help but keep echoing from the back of your mind all the time. Beginning to accept what you have isn't what anyone wants. Let anyone alive in this modern age or even this modern century.
Possessed by the only thought, 'I need to, even if I have no one to come home to,'. It's the thought that keeps you stringing along the line alone because you are too much of a coward to end your life. Even if it were on your own terms.
A passing grace. Silently relieved, grateful, your grandmother is no longer amongst the living to see what kind of person you have started to become.
Selfishly and heartlessly, you miss the hallucinated crying woman that you used to hear outside your bedroom window. You always wondered where the sound went. If it even meant anything at all.
Arms wide open. Heartbroken. Questioning your purpose. Even wondering if you have one at all. Fear eats at you until the feeling of inner numbness follows. Who are you? What is the meaning of life? What does it mean to be alive? Is hell real? Am I doomed to die alone? Do I even deserve to be here? Is there anything I could have done to be better?
Even the self-help books you read on the way to work and on the way from work barely keep you stitched together. You were certain you had read at least dozens by now. Written down notes from them. Repeated them in the mirror before and after work.
The phrase ‘Money doesn’t buy happiness’ is often repeated to you whenever you express exhaustion or how tiresome it is to have more than half of your earnings drained on rent, bills and whatever is left over is for the food you eat. It feels like a weight. A heavyweight you find it impossible to shrug off.
And the echoing words feel more and more like a stab in the back. They don’t understand. Most importantly, refuse to understand that money would relieve your problems. You feel like a cowering dog whenever you’re anywhere near your friends after hearing how much more they’re getting paid. They earn more than you. They all did.
They don’t understand you in the ways you want to be understood. They don’t care about you in ways that you crave. You don’t know what it means to love someone. You can’t bring yourself to love someone because you were certain your lack of resources would make you both undesirable and unable to support them.
What’s the point of being in a relationship if you can’t do a thing to contribute to it? What’s the point of loving someone if you can’t give yourself to them without the clouds of doubt hanging overhead? Doubt drowns out the prosperity of anything blossoming with someone other than the hope of living to see another tomorrow. Living to see another day. It’s the only thing I can hold onto. The only thing that feels tangible enough to keep whole for myself.
Did the regret churn as bile in your throat whenever you remembered what could wait for you if you ever chose to move back into your childhood home? Yes. You stand in the middle of the hallway, motionless, remembering the last argument you had with them. The yelling echoes in your mind like you were 18 all over again.
You wonder what your parents would say to you. Even if you crawled back to them. Would they hate you the way you hate yourself? Anxiety crawled into your ribs and made its home there. There wasn’t a way to exterminate it without killing more of yourself. And the more you kill. The more the void overtakes. Whispering your own dark thoughts.
The ones you were certain everyone around you knew you were already thinking. You were certain they knew you were some kind of creature. Both repulsive and unkind. A creature condemned to loneliness and doomed to die by the overall narrative. Doomed by a set of cards handed to her by someone you didn’t care to know.
In your mind, you were Winter, and your friends were Spring. They were the beginning, and you were nothing but the bitter end. People endured your winter to move on and be with their spring. Something had to be wrong with you. Why isn’t anyone willing to help?
It would only be until you remembered that upcoming event that you decided something, anything had to give. Whatever it happened to be. Something. Anything needed to be accepted. Staring at the calendar on your fridge. Frowning like you were certain you were hallucinating the words on the calendar.
This couldn’t be right. You walk into the bathroom. The cold tiles bite into your bare feet. Splashing cold water on your face to wake up to what people call the ‘real world’. It doesn’t feel real to you. Fewer and fewer things feel real. Marching back into the kitchen. Straight to the fridge’s calendar. Certain the words written in red permanent marker will vanish into a blank square.
You threw hands at the calendar. As if to will the words away into a void. A wordless, joyless nothing. It didn’t do a thing to erase the words in front of you. It certainly provided entertainment for the pigeons outside.
The housewarming party, the invitation you were going to tell your friend that you couldn’t go to because your boss said to you that you needed to work overtime to cover the day you were away sick.
The invitation weighs heavily on your mind. You didn’t want to hurt her feelings. It wasn’t in your nature to be mean to someone else. You never yelled or shouted. Now the invitation starts to feel like a noose tied around your neck.
“What if I don’t go?” The words were uttered into the empty kitchenette before you could stop yourself. The whisper sent chills down your spine. Even your own brain feared the response your friends would show.
A small voice in the back of your mind, a hissing, “They’ll be fine without you. They’ll forget that you were ever their friend to begin with. You are a burden they want to get rid of without hurting your pathetic excuse you call feelings.”
“What if you don’t go? What if you disappear? What if you finally jump? If nothing matters anymore. Would my death even matter to them?”
“Maybe I can give her a gift on Friday and tell her I can’t make it this weekend?”
The week flew by, and the basket of gifts and the money spent plunged you deeper in debt. It wasn’t ideal. You know that. But nothing is ever what we idealise or hope for. Nothing ever would be. You were early. Hoping you would be able to tell her you were only going to be there for a few minutes, and then you were off again. Ringing the doorbell four times, four because one felt too little and five felt like it was far too much.
Things that you bought and the things you don’t need anymore. Mingling together in the basket like an offering you were too poor to give.
The hoodie is now five years old and thin. Hanging on your body like it was the only thing worth clinging to. Your sweatpants are only slightly younger by a good seven months. Your work boots are the only thing you own because they’re the only shoes you wear.
The man who answers the door is one of the guys she’s dating. You didn’t care enough to remember his name. The Mohawk, the Scottish accent and the jovial spirit felt like nails on a chalkboard. His grin is wide, his teeth are whiter than yours; clearly, his dentist was well paid for his work.
Before he could speak, you remarked, “I’m here to drop this off and head to work.” You interjected. Your eyebags are showing. The less time spent here. The better you were going to feel.
You shoved the gift into his arms. “Tell her I said sorry I couldn’t be better.” And you turned to run back to the train station. Before you could even start running away. A taller man appeared. The man probably wanted to look intimidating with the face mask of half of a human’s skull printed on it, which screamed emotionally distant try-hard.
Your sleep paralysis demon looked intimidating. The guy screamed ‘I’m too cool for you’ or whatever some emotional teenage boy would have mustered back in the early 2010s. “I have work. Tell her I’ll talk to her next week.” You stated. This guy is another of her expensive boyfriends, or as her friend liked to call her ‘boy toys’.
“She’s waiting for you.” He stated.
“I can’t afford to stay. She’ll understand.” You retort. You didn’t know the man, and you were willing to throw hands.
The much older man pulled into the driveway and stepped out of the passenger seat of the expensive car. Another example is that you were far too out of your depth here. You were determined to leave and then start her shift soon afterwards.
You slipped away, paying your bills quickly. To use as an excuse to pull out and show them that ‘I am too much in debt to be here’. The older man? You were certain he’d tell you to fuck off. He recognised you before you even said a word. The ID card in hand? It was your expired one.
You were the one who said ‘No. That can’t be done without studies to prove that it was possible’ and you bore the brunt of his yelling because your supervisor told you to tell him no.
This man marched all the way from his expensive car to where you were standing. Dread filled your senses. You recognised him now, and you then attempted to jump the fence to flee. You were certain that if you stayed, death would be around the corner. You didn’t reach the entire way over the wooden fence.
