hello friends here is a part 2 for my most recent one shot! i am really just about to babble a bunch of words onto my screen but i hope they are good words
You were recovered, fully, and on your meds 24/7, no exceptions. (Your family [and you] didn’t want a repeat of what happened the last time you didn’t take them.) People thought of you differently, of course. That was to be expected when people find out that you had to go to an asylum for the criminally insane for attacking a boy with a lacrosse stick. You didn’t mind, you had kind, loyal friends who never thought anything but the best of you. Anyone else didn’t really matter. You were allowed back on the team eventually, and got right back into the game like nothing had ever changed.
There was one thing about that fiasco, though, that still haunted you. The screaming please of the ginger boy you had befriended during your stay. You didn’t tell any of your family or friends about him, for good reason. (They would be wary of you if you told them that you made a friend in an insane asylum. They would worry for your safety if you told them he threatened to find you.) You did your best to forget him, but sometimes his empty threat and screams, or memories of your short-lived friendship, still managed to make their way back to you. You wished it would stop.
But regardless, no one but you knew about these thoughts. You successfully got back on track in all of your classes. Being an honors student was demanding and tiring, but it was beneficial to your academic growth and college applications. You were a fast learner, to your advantage, and catching up on the material you missed only took a week or so. Life was back to normal sooner than you realized, and you were happy. Sometimes, you forgot for a moment about where you had been and who you had met. Study dates in cafes and running amuck (abiding every law, of course,) in the city allowed you to feel like it was all just a strange dream. But all dreams come to an end, and this one was about to.
The stories blaring on the news all had one thing in common- 6 prisoners in the asylum had managed to break out, and were not nowhere to be found. What scared you the most about this was that Jerome, the ginger boy, was amongst them. But you kept your cool as best you could- no one knew about your relationship with him, and you didn’t necessarily want anybody to know.
Of course, as soon as he was broken out of prison, the first thing he decided was that he was going to find you. After all, he couldn’t go back on his word (he was a man of honor, after all). He only had one condition for agreeing to do Galavan’s bidding- it was to have you. He wanted you back. What you thought of as a convenient friendship, he always thought of as something more. In his mind, the moment you allowed yourself to be comfortable with him, you became his. He was under the impression that this was an unspoken agreement- you, however, never came to see it that way.
The both of you were in for a rude awakening.
It came one day after you returned from practice after school. Your parents were out of town on a business trip, so the house was empty for him to break into and await your return. (Your dog- while you loved her dearly- was not, by any means, a guard dog. If she was given attention, she was perfectly placid.) When you got home, you found both Jerome and your dog sitting on the floor of your living room. You froze in shock and let your bags, both school and sports, fall to the floor with a thud. That was when he looked up at you and instantly broke out in a grin. “Well hello there,” he said, standing up and talking painstakingly slow steps towards you. “Long time, no see, huh?”
Your breath was shaky when you tilted you head to look at him. He was looming over you, had you backed up against a wall, and you were beyond intimidated. “Why… why are you here?” He let out a well-mannered scoff.
“Why do you think? I told you I’d come back for you, bird. I wouldn’t break a promise.” He took notice to your fearful expression. “What’s wrong? Something bothering you?”
“Please… Please leave me alone. You’re sick. You need help. Please get out of my house. I won’t tell anyone.”
(This was a lie, of course. You were calling the police as soon as possible.) He just laughed at this.
“What are you talking about, (y/n)? I’m not leaving here without you. You’re mine, we were made for each other.” You scrunched your brows in confusion. “All you have to do is free your mind… these people have it clouded. You think you’re sane, but really… you’re just trapped. I know you can’t see it just yet. But don’t worry, I’ll show you.”
Now it was your turn to laugh. “‘Show me’? Jerome, there’s nothing to show. I’m not a psychopathic anarchist like you. I don’t want to ‘free my mind’. I’m perfectly happy being sane and healthy.”
He just shook his head. “Wow. They really did a number on you. Just about snuffed out your spark! But I’ll get it back to ya in no time, believe me.”
“Why do you care?” you blurted out suddenly. “Where is this all coming from- why won’t you just leave me be?”
He tilted his head at you, genuinely confused. “Well, because- because you were made for me! You’re mine. I need you.“
"Well then you’d better stop needing me, Jerome, because I’m not yours. You can’t just come in here and claim ownership over me, like I’m some… some thing! People don’t belong to people, and I don’t belong to you. Get out.” You didn’t know where the sudden courage to say this came from. Beneath your tough exterior, you were terrified that he would lash out and kill you any second. But you composed your posture regardless.
“Is that so?” he questioned, taking it concerningly lightly. “Well then. I can see when I’m not wanted. Take care, then. But you’ll regret this sooner or later. You’ll come to your senses and see that you’re mine soon enough.” Finally, he stepped back, far enough to let you take a deep breath and not bump into him. He began to walk away, when he quickly turned on his heel. “On second thought,” he looked at you, “I can’t just leave you like this.”
You began to form the beginning of a question when he had you pinned to the wall, again, hands around your throat. You struggled against him, clawing at his arms and hands. (Damn it, you play lacrosse, why can’t you fight back harder?) “Don’t worry, I won’t kill ya. Just make ya sleep for a few hours. Don’t want ya callin’ ol’ Jimbo down at the GCPD, now, do we?” You slumped to the floor, black spots forming in your vision. “Sleep, princess. I’ll be back soon enough.” His threatening promise was the last thing you saw before you totally blacked out and fell into a deep slumber.
Hours later, when you finally awoke exactly where he had left you. You were a sobbing mess, and there were fresh bruises scattered along your throat. It registered in your mind that he now knew where you lived, attended school, and could kill you at a moment’s notice. You rushed to the phone and dialled 911, hands shaking. When the operator picked up, you spilled everything that had just taken place, taking a few, short shaky breaths after talking a mile a minute. The police, as well as an ambulance, was on the scene in five minutes. You contacted your parents next, and they booked the earliest flight possible to get back to you.
You saw his shenanigans on the news throughout the rest of that week. An oil truck heist, attempted arson, and raiding and massacring the police station.
(What scared you most about that one was when he talked about you in his cheaply-recorded monologue to the police chief. He vaguely mentioned his anger at society for tainting the mind and heart of his 'pretty bird’, followed by a rant about being cogs in a machine. It was unsettling.)
You didn’t sleep well for weeks. One night, you woke up in a cold sweat, convinced that he was in your room. You fell back asleep soon after, but in the morning, Your window was open and there was a rose by your head.
(You went to your backyard and burned it. You held it up high, just incase he was hiding somewhere, watching.)
(He was. He brought back two more the next night.)
This game of retaliation continued for a few days more, until it stopped. He was stabbed in the throat on live television, after hours of terrorizing a charity gala. You were relieved, of course, but a small part of you was disappointed.
(You did really want him to get better. You wanted to be his friend, you really did, but not if he was a psychopathic criminal who didn’t care about anyone but himself.)
(But he did care about someone other than himself.)
(It was you.) (Deep down, you knew it, too.)
YEET SKEET I WROTE IT
i’m so tired
i thought i would let u kno im getting a lot closer to one of my friends and its making me really happy. we will refer to him as cool boy.
dumb boy still walks through my life every now and then. i can’t avoid that. he’s dating one of my best friends. he said he wanted to still be friends but hasn’t taken any initiative on that yet. am i disappointed because we used to be so close and now we don’t talk anymore? yes. will it kill me? hell no
im still so tired.
another guy friend, we will call him ugly boy because he is an ugly boy, started dating another one of my good friends recently. they are cute as hell and i hope he makes her happy bc she is a great person and her last boyfriend was a jerk.
i, myself, still have no love life. im cool with that. i’ve managed this much of my life without a man and i don’t necessarily need or want one at the moment. the boy previously known as cute boy is a bit of a bore anyways.
please gimme feedback on this fic ALSO thank you i need constant validation that u guys like what i do, since, u know, i do it for u, and i don’t get paid for this