Psychotic Love [AHS Character x Reader]

7. What Are You Afraid Of?

**A/N**
TW: sex, abuse, manipulation
My heart is sad. I can't believe I'm at the last chapter already! (well, last chapter until the new season comes out ;]) I can honestly say I never expected to have so many reads (24.6k as of now, to be exact), but I want to thank each and every one of you for reading, commenting, voting, and sharing. Not to get mushy on you, but reading was my escape during a lot of trauma as a kid/teen, so the fact that I'm able to write to maybe give someone else an escape as well is beyond mind blowing. I don't care if I never become a famous Wattpadder, or a famous author, or a famous anything. Just knowing that I can do what I love and that some people seem to be enjoying it as much as I do is literally everything to me. ♥️ Also, just an FYI, I've quite a few messages about possibly doing side series or side chapters involving other characters, AKA Dandy Mott/Ben Harmon/etc smut chapters, and I just want y'all to know I'm HERE FOR IT. So, while the main chapters will be completed for the time being, I might just fuck around and write some of my own side chapters to keep you guys entertained while we impatiently await season 10. (I will be including male on male, female on female, and non-binary, as well in the future because I want to be all-inclusive)
I love you ALL, and I hope you enjoy! Also be sure to vote, comment, and share with your friends! 🥰
Insta: @marsneedskayla

You're nothing. You've always been nothing and you'll always be nothing. As far as I'm concerned, I have no family. Your father's words reverberate in your mind, ricocheting like a bullet shot in the closed quarters of your brain. A pang of sorrow ignites in your chest but you shove it down and continue walking, hitching your bag up higher on your shoulder. I will not cry, you tell yourself sternly. He's not worth it.
          You're so lost in your reverie that you trip on a crack in the sidewalk and pitch headfirst onto the pavement, trying and failing to catch yourself on your hands. Your bag goes flying, its contents spilling onto the dirty ground.
          "Of course this has to happen," you grumble, hurriedly collecting your bag and shoving everything back inside. You stand up slowly, a sharp pain searing through your knee, and you look down; there's a huge rip in your relatively new jeans.  Splashes of red seep through and trickle down your leg. "Fuck."
          Your head pops up and you look around to see if there's somewhere you can get cleaned up. A long, green sign covering the front of the building in front of you reads The Butchery on Main, and you duck inside, hoping they have a public restroom.
          Your plan had been to march directly up to an employee and ask for the restroom, but the interior takes you aback—the white tile covering the floor is pristine and gleaming, the white stucco walls are filled with large, black framed glass windows and eclectic vintage art, the dark booths and small tables are packed with hungry and seemingly satisfied customers. A woman with a dark brown bob stands behind a counter, head bent, but the chime above the door notifies her of your entry and her head lifts, her dark gaze assessing you before smiling politely.
          You're immediately aware that you're severely underdressed in your now-ripped jeans and black t-shirt, and embarrassment creeps up your neck and into your face as you approach the counter.
          Before the woman can speak, you blurt, "Do you happen to have a washroom I can use? I tripped outside and my knee's kind of bleeding." Very eloquent, [Y/N], you inwardly mock. The woman frowns in concern.
          "Of course, right through here." She motions for you to follow. leading you through a maze of tables and booths and through a small hallway before pointing to a door on the left. "It's right through there."
          "Thank you," you say before hurrying through and locking the door. After assessing your knee and dabbing up all the blood, you wash your hands and peek up at yourself in the mirror above the sink. Your wind ravaged hair is beyond a mess. Your eyes, usually bright and alert, are now dull and sad. Your skin is paler than usual. You hurriedly rinse your face with warm water and comb through your hair with shaking fingers before exiting the bathroom, praying that you look somewhat human now.
          "Everything alright?" The pretty brunette asks as you return to the lobby. You nod and smile your appreciation. "Yes, thank you. Good as new."
          "That's good to hear. Will you be dining this afternoon?" You pause, mentally counting how much money is in your bag. You only have about $80 on you, and this place is fancier than you're used to, but you hadn't eaten since Dallas. Your stomach gurgles as if on cue.
          Ally, as her name tag reads, laughs softly. "I'll take that as a yes." Without thinking you follow her and settle into a booth, picking up the menu. The prices weren't as high as you expected, and you order the first thing you see, a Reuben sandwich and an iced tea. As you wait, the door chimes again and a silver haired girl about your age steps through and seats herself at a nearby table. She looks up from under thick lashes and her dark eyes meet yours without hesitation, as if she knew you had been looking at her. Your eyes skitter away, heat climbing into your cheeks.
          A server emerges with your food and you take a bite of the sandwich, a myriad of flavors mingling in your mouth. You almost moan. You hadn't realized just how hungry you'd been. A laugh erupts from nearby and you look up. The girl from before is watching you, an amused smirk on her face.
          "Hungry?" She asks. You flush again and set your sandwich down. "No, no, I wasn't making fun of you," she explains, her husky voice loses its playfulness as she stands up and walks over to you.
          "It's just I've been there, you know? Starving and unsatisfied." Her face turns wistful for a moment before returning to its former bored expression. "I'm Winter."
          "[Y/N]," you say as she joins you in the booth, stealing a fry off your plate. You suppose you should be irritated at a stranger imposing themself on you but you aren't; Winter had such an intense yet easy disposition, and she made you feel oddly at ease in her presence.
          "So," She says, chewing, "what's your story?" You pick up your sandwich again and look at her as you take a bite, buying yourself a moment. She really was beautiful, her eyes big and chocolate brown, her nose strong and regal, her lips, although somewhat thin, were pouty and glossed. You swallow and replace the food onto the plate.
          "There's not really much to tell," you say flatly, taking a sip of tea. Winter rolls her eyes. "Everyone always says that yet everyone always has a story. I'll get it out of you eventually so you might as well spill."
          You'd just met her but you had no doubt in your mind that she was telling the truth. You sigh before pushing the plate away and resting your chin on your fists.
          "I don't even know, to be honest. Looking back on it, it doesn't even feel like it was my life. It's like a book I read—the memories are there, they're just not mine. You know?"
Winter nods thoughtfully. "I know exactly what you mean. The lights are on but no one's home. That's how I feel, and with the election—" she stops abruptly and sighs. "Everything's just one big shitshow right now. That's why I'm glad I have my brothers, especially Kai. I don't know where I'd be without him. Do you have any family?"
You clear your throat and take a sip of tea, attempting to swallow the lump welling in your throat. "Not anymore." She opens her mouth, as if to probe further, but purses her lips and nods. "I'm sorry. It can't be easy being alone."
You shrug before popping the last bite of sandwich into your mouth, chewing thoughtfully. There's no logical reason for you to be spilling your guts to Winter. You don't even know her. She was just so easy to talk to, something you've never experienced with anyone else, and you find yourself dreading the end of the conversation. Then you'd have to decide your next move. A vibrating in your pocket makes you jump, and you pull out your phone, swiping to unlock the screen. One new message. You click on the bubble icon and open the message.