Fear- (tim wright) masky x reader

1

As a young child, I was fascinated by death. my father thought it was cute but not so much did my mother. She always shamed me when or if she caught me searching up death related things on my computer.

I never understood why she didnt like it or at least tolerate it. Although I didnt really care as my dad supported my curiosity. To me, that's all that mattered.

i would always walk around my neighborhood looking for dead things to either bury or examine in my tree house behind my parents home. Growing up I was considered a freak to anyone who knew about my 'hobbie'. Labeled a monster for the things I do. Nobody understood why I do what I do, not even myself. It's just who I am.

-5years later- 

"Y/n l/n, age 17... Right?"
"Yes."
"Do you know why youre here?"
"No."

"Okay, well.. You were reported by someone. They have seen you putting dead animals in a bag and walking away with them"
"Whats the problem with that?"
"Well thats illegal.."

"Uh no. There is no law saying road kill can not be taken off the road in this state, read up on rights before you start accusing me mam"
"Oh im sor-"
"-May I leave?"
"Um yes, sorry for the inconvenience... just please be more thoughtful."

I stood up and left the police station. My breath ragged as I try to keep calm. Steadying my breaths I shake off yet another visit to the station. Someone had caught me taking carcasses off the highway... again. I only do it so I can examine them later in my trusty old treehouse. It's better then killing them myself, I don't have the heart to do that.

Over the years I've built another layer of wood over the walls for my treehouse to make it stronger and a bit more insolated just incase I get locked out of my house. To which happens often. My mother hates me now because of my obsession. I dont mind though, if she had ever loved me, she would have accepted me by now or at least ignored it.

"Hey mom"
"Get the house picked up, youre going to the supermarket afterwards, then to bed. I have no other uses for you."

I fucking hate it here, i do everything for her. Its like im her maid but im also her kid. Its just cause im different, I'm not the perfect kid she wanted.

"Hello?"
"Oh sorry mother"
I start working on the house. The floors are a mess, I only just cleaned them yesterday. It seems as though my drunk of a mother can't aim for her mouth when stuffing her face with wine. It's sad.

I mop up the red wine stained tiles. I then move on to the counter tops, trash litters the once beautiful marble. After finishing up my 'job' I make my way to the door, turning my head to face my drunk mother.

"Going to the-"
"Go"
Bitch

I leave for the store, stumbling a bit over some misplaced items in my driveway. i pay no mind to it. Plugging in my earbuds and listening to my favorite song, whispering the lyrics to myself. The streets are lively with people going about their day. A few worried looks from mothers shot my way as they move their children away from me as I pass.

Sigh
I wonder what a person looks like on the inside... it's pretty much the only thing I haven't explored. But I really shouldn't be thinking that way.

Maybe you should

Ugh, why do I constantly feel like a schizo?

I enter the store and check my pockets for the money she gave- threw at me, shuffling around awkwardly as I do so.
"Oh! There it is!" I exclaim a little too loudly, gaining the attention a few other people standing by. Glares and snarky comments, nothing I haven't grown used to.