Fly Off The Handle (Jeff the killer x reader)

I'm not insane (Insanity)

You decide you can't stay in the motel after that. It was too risky, too solitary. You figure the reason he was able to get to you was because you were alone. And so the next step was obvious to you: find somewhere to stay with someone else. Somewhere the killer wouldn't be able to reach you, somewhere safe and with other people. You could do that. It was only a matter of keeping whoever you were staying with safe and making sure they didn't go out by themselves and become a possible target.

The police couldn't do anything to help, not that you trusted their help in the first place. They didn't offer to put you under any protection services nor did they suggest placing an officer to watch your next residence. You didn't bother asking either. Taking your life into your own hands, protecting yourself, was the only thing that kept you alive so far with your killer stalker.

And it was a miracle anyway that you managed to survive up to this point with all your extremities intact. You had a few scrapes, cuts and bruises, but nothing serious. Your cheek needed stitches but after using your money for the apartment and hotel, you didn't have a lot saved up. The insurance you had wasn't that great either, so the likelihood of them covering your entire medical bill was slim. The best you could do was butterfly bandage the gash and place some gauze over your cheek.

It burned and ached and your shoulder was just as bad. When the killer ripped your arm away from his eyes, he dislocated it. Luckily paramedics were able to set it, but it hurt like a bitch and you were living now off of spite and pain medication. You could deal with these injuries even if they were a harsh reminder of your own trauma. Apparently you could deal with a lot, but it was very close to the point of (another) mental breakdown.

You didn't have another panic attack and it baffled you. Maybe now you've finally become numb to the feeling of paranoia and frustration over your situation. There was fear, yes, but the panic was gone and you just felt empty and alone. Your body was numb, but that could've been the adrenaline crash and the painkillers. Your head wasn't swimming and your thoughts were clear, but there wasn't much going on up there in the first place. You were very focused on the idea of finding somewhere to sleep.

You'd have to apply for a shelter, but that was far too many people at once and it would be far too easy to blend in and find you. You knew what he looked like, but the information you'd given to the police still didn't capture the essence that was the killer. He looked almost inhumane with such pale skin and black eyes. His hair was long and shaggy like it was never brushed and covered most of his face like some emo scene kid from 2005. He was tall, too. At least a few inches taller than you. You couldn't tell how old he was exactly. He could've been anywhere between sixteen or thirty. You'd have to ask next time you met.

That was another thing. It was obvious he was coming after you. It felt like he was trying to tie up loose ends or maybe he was just some obsessive stalker. Either way, you'd be prepared next time. And you knew there'd be a next time. He'd find you no matter where you went and finally that panic that you thought disappeared made itself known in your chest. It ached and you just wondered if you'd be able to survive his next attack.

Your cousin was all too willing to let you crash on his couch. He was young, recently moved out and lived alone in a two bedroom apartment. It wasn't the best neighborhood, but it was better than what was around. And it was better than staying somewhere on your own where the killer could find you again. The only problem was keeping your cousin safe as well as yourself.

You arrive at the apartment wearing sweatpants and a tank top. Michael lets you in and doesn't say a word about the bruising on your shoulder or the gauze on your face. You can tell you look exhausted, but Michael still doesn't bring it up. He guides you into the living room and gestures for you to sit down. He's being careful with you, trying not to disturb you. It was sweet, but you didn't like to be coddled.