༺ ♰ ༻ [ Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader ] ༺ ♰ ༻
Book 1/2 : SINS.
Book 2/2: JUDGMENT.
Years have passed since the Fireflies, and life has moved on for you, Ellie, and Joel. Or has it?
Your relationship with Ellie strains, Joel hides the secrets of your...
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SOTC: Sorrow - Flyleaf
TW: panic attack, descriptions trauma/PTSD
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YOU
The first conscious breath you take makes your eyes snap open, and your fuzzy mind begin the process of awakening.
You're in a room. It's quiet, save for the distant sound of muttering, and shuffling feet every once and a while. It looks familiar, but you're not quite sure where...
Then it hits you—the pungent and sharp smell of sterile alcohol.
You're in the infirmary. Or what was considered the infirmary in Jackson.
But why were you there? What happened? How long have you been here—?
Your eyes flit around in confusion and disorientedness until they meet the tiles of the ceiling. Cold tiles.
Suddenly the memories come flashing back.
Your nails dug into the floor, fighting to reach Joel.
Joel.
The woman with the golf club.
Blood.
Jett.
The pressure on your chest.
The gunshot.
Jolting up from bed, your heart pounds wildly. There's a sharp pain in your chest, as well as a dull one on the right side of your stomach. But the pain almost doesn't register as your wild eyes sweep over the room in a panic. To your right, there's a body hanging off of your bed.
Rebecca lays quietly, her figure moving up and down with every breath in and out as she sleeps. Her hand is limply in your right, curled around your fingers like she'd been clutching them while awake, and lost her grip once she fell into darkness.
With a heaving chest, you look away from her, searching for someone else—anyone that could explain to you what was going on.
Those memories couldn't be real. They couldn't.
They were fuzzy, delirious, and barely strung together by your mind in such a way that you hardly could believe they'd taken place.
And they hadn't... right?
Joel was not dead.
"Ellie." You croak, voice scratchy from lack of use. "Ellie? Joel?"
You hear shuffling come from behind the door.
"Please." You're not sure to who you're begging, or what exactly you're begging for, but the word slips from your lips with ease.
Then the door creaks open, the sound making the hair on the back of your neck stand up, and your already racing heart triple in speed.
