Match Maker | T. Swift x OC

Chapter Twelve

Mallory walked back out to see August obviously flirting with a guy that had sat in her seat.

A guy that looked closer to Betty's age than Mallory's, let alone August's.

Neither of them noticed how the runner had approached her table until she cleared her throat. August visibly deflated, not bothering to turn to her sister.

"Do you mind?" The man asked in annoyance.

Mallory squinted at him, "Not really, no." She shook her head, "How old are you, Mr. Voorhees?" She then asked.

"Mr. Who?"

"The killer's son in Friday The 13th," August piped up, "The one with the fucked up face."

"Answer my question." Mallory ignored her sister.

"What's it matter to you?" The man asked, standing up.

Mallory found it hilarious that he squared up to her, despite being a few inches shorter. "It's matters 'cause that's my little sister you're moving to,"

August snorted at the accent slip, clenching her lips shut at the glare the man gave and the nudge Mallory gave.

"She's sixteen, Alfred." Mallory spat.

"My name is Michael-"

"I didn't ask, Jolly Ol' Saint Nick." Mallory took a step forward, "How old are you?"

"Mallory..." August said softly.

"Just get lost, Arsehat," She glared.

The man rose his hands in defence and looked down, "Call me, princess." He nodded to the note that sat in front of August.

August opened her mouth, but Mallory shoved the Freddy Krueger out of the coffee shop.

When she came back, August was tapping her fingers on the table awkwardly, "I feel as though I should explain-" she flinched at Mallory's glare, "I just wanted him to pay for my coffee."

"August," Mallory clenched her jaw shut.

The younger of the two rose her hands in her defence, sinking down in her seat.

"Can we talk?" She then sighed, making August nod, leaning forward. "What happened in June?"

August shrugged as she tried to think back. The whole month had been a blur, really. So much screaming, so much yelling, so much pain and tears.

-
"Dad, I'm sorry!" Fifteen year old August yelled out, cowering behind the kitchen counter. She whimpered loudly, holding her ribs that hurt like hell. "It wasn't- she-"

Gregory picked August up by the hair, pushing her into the counter and making her wince. "It wasn't what?"

August sobbed, holding her hand up to cover her face, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She chanted, slipping back down. She winced when her hand collided with a shard of porcelain.

She clenched her hand around it, not bothering to wince when the jagged edges split her palm open. As the man began crouching down, she raised her hand, forcing it into his leg.

Gregory cursed, ripping the shard out of his leg. Whilst he held his bleeding limb, August crawled past him. It took everything in her to ignore the pain and blood, willing her body not to shut down before she got to a safe spot.

August's first thought was the bathroom, but he'd just kick the door in and hurt her further. Then she looked at the room that was at the end of the hall and leaned against the wall. She heard Gregory's heavy steps and dragged herself along to it. She slammed the door shut behind her and collapsed onto the hardwood floor, sucking in a heavy breath.