Don't Cry Over Spilled Milk (Barrett Wilbert Weed x Reader Apocalypse AU)

Don't Cry Over Spilled Milk

My eyes flutter open. The darkness in my bedroom is met with mild confusion as I roll on my side, clutching my phone to check the time. 3:06 AM. I feel a growl in my stomach. Sighing, I sit up, feeling a chill as the cold, wooden floors meet my bare feet. I grab the lone hair tie off my nightstand, putting everything on top of my head into a ponytail.

I make my way into the kitchen, flicking on the lights. The brightness stings my eyes for a brief moment, but I continue. Reaching for a box of cereal, I feel how light it is. One swift shake confirms my theory, hearing the empty spaces within the box. Only about enough for one bowl. I know I should ration my food. The grocery stores have shut down, and nearly every day I hear police sirens rushing to homes that have been raided for supplies. Nevertheless, I dump the rest of the box out into a bowl.

My feet cautiously pace into the living room, careful not to spill any milk. I sit legs crossed on the couch, bowl held carefully between the two sleeves of my oversized hoodie. Upon digging in, when my phone lights up with a notification. The eerie apocalyptic screech that once drove up my anxiety is now just a common occurrence throughout the day.

Emergency Alert

From the Department of Healthy and Safety: Apartments in neighboring buildings have reported raids. Stay indoors with curtains drawn and lights off. Lock all doors and windows. Do not quarantine with neighbors. Social distance is top priority.

Feeling a pang of dread, I spring into action, immediately locking my door. Usually these raids don't hit so close to home. Maybe further into the city, sure. But not here. Never here. My heart is drumming around in my chest. I don't bother racing to my window, as no one in their right mind would enter that way on the 11th floor. What are the odds my apartment out of all of the ones in the neighborhood would be a target. Instead, I try for the door. My eyes scrunch as if that'll somehow make my hearing better. I swear I can hear the faintest noises as I press my hear against the door. Breath hinging as I muster up the courage to peek through the peep hole. Half expecting to come face to face with a pair of eyes, my heart skips a beat.

There's nothing?

An empty hallway. Figured it must have just been someone else getting up to lock their door. At least, that's what I told myself to keep the tensions low. I feel slight relief wash over me, despite my new awareness of the slightly eerie silence. My attention turns back to the living room as I grab the bowl of now half-soggy cereal and finish it on the way to the sink. Just as I set the bowl down, I hear knock and then scraping sound at my window. My limbs freeze, the only movement being my chest heaving. My eyes guide as I turn to look, but the glare from the light blocks my vision. Quickly, I fumble for a knife off the counter and pace a couple of steps to go to flick off the lights.

Even with the god awful glare gone, I still struggle to see anything, swatting at my face in a desperate attempt to try and regain my vision. Like Indiana Jones, I tiptoe back over to the window, careful not to step on any creaks in the hardwood. Pressing my forehead against the cold glass, that's when I see it. Not exactly sure what 'it' was until I noticed the eyes. It looked like two eyeballs surrounded by dark pits. I back away, processing what I'm seeing.

"The alert," I remember.

I lurch forward to lock the window, but it's pointless as the next thing I hear is a smash. Glass shards litter the floor. Peeking from shielding my face from the initial impact, there's someone there. There is a person is clambering through my window, and she's tall.

She's wielding a hammer she used to break the glass. A black mask on her face armored her identity, but I can see enough to make out familiar features. It was the eyes that struck me. The big, brown, Bambi eyes. I can't remember where I've seen them before, but none of it matters, because in no time she's brushing past me pulling open every door, cabinet, and drawer in my apartment. Anything from bandaids, to toilet paper, to peanut butter she takes, stuffing it into a yellow backpack.

It appears she finishing up, when she opens the fridge and pulls out orange juice. She pushes herself onto the counter next to the sink, chugging the juice straight from the carton while looking me directly in the eye. She sighs contentedly before undoing her mask.

It's actress Barrett Wilbert Weed!

My pupils dilated, I recognized her from pictures. My friends and I have talked about musicals, and I'm sure I've seen her Instagram at one point or another. I'm unsure how I didn't recognize her earlier. Her hair seemed unusually perfect for having scaled the outside of a building eleven floors. I must have been staring too long, because she actually smiles at me. A sly smile laced in sweetness. My face grows hot, but before I could say anything, in one swift motion, she empties the milk from my bowl into the sink, then grabs the spoon and bowl before heading back out of the window. A split second before Barrett harnesses herself into her gear, she drops me a wink. The same stupid smile plastered on her face. She dropped down and was gone, leaving me more confused than ever.