(I'm just saying this ain't the best work I made, I mean I was 12 when this. Lmao.)
(Y/n) POV
I hammered at a tree with a hatchet, cussing everytime I missed it somehow. Groaning as my back muscles ache from swinging, I took a step back.
Examining the marks I had done on this tree, just in two days, was it incredibly damaged. Oh, how anger is the key for damage and relief! All I do is just throw anger at it through a hatchet. Simple as that!
I twisted the hatchet in my hand, admiring it. I had it for a month now, it was pretty much free. Just found it in someone's yard... I'm sure they don't need it, by the looks of them, they shouldn't even be walking at that age.
It seemed new, but also old. Very comfy handle, just have to admire that small feature.
I threw the hatchet at my back porch, landing sloppily at the ground. "Life ain't a movie, now is it?" I murmured.
I flopped into a foldable chair and rubbed my eyes. So tired. I'm always tired it seems.
Bzzzz
I picked my phone from my pocket and noticed it was a text.
Dr. Reyes will tak u in 4 free since fam! So plz come!
I rolled my eyes and placed the phone on the bottle holders of the chair. I don't need help, I can manage myself. I mean I've been making progress with anger management, clearly has that written all over these trees. I've also learned out to not be so irritable with people: just don't go by people. I chuckled, I am doing fine- better than ever. I'm alone, I'm stable -I think-, and I got everything in control; under my hands. Everything is under control.
3rd POV
Fumbling through boxes and old furniture, with an overhanging smell of old spruce and dirt. The was just as unbearable as an oven. Awful as it was, like torture it seemed, he needed his hatchet back.
Toby, he was now in his twenties, twenty to be exact. However, to him, it's just a number, it meant nothing, it wasn't like his mother was there to celebrate it with him. His mother probably wouldn't celebrate, but just mourn. A mourning. It hurt him to know it. Knowing he had hurt the only still-living being that he loved, it gave a great kick in emotions. He may not feel pain, but there's always an emotion.
Flipping open a cardboard box, he searched through wires and cords in search of his hatchet. He had forgot where he lost it in the first place, yet, this lady here had it. Or, it was just the same brand, handle, smudged stained blade as his. Just maybe...
He had watched her go into the attic with it and come down from it without, while in a laundry closet with little sliders in the door as a lookout. So, it has to be here!
After another box of failure and dusty photo albums and books, he crawled silently to another box. It was a small box, it seemed it was open for awhile. He flipped the flap over and looked down at the box of papers. Most papers was written in ink, some pencil, some marker. The only thing that surprised him was the mountain of letters. From back and front, cursive and sloppy.
Curious, he took his attention to read a letter. He grasped the old, wrinkly paper written in faded blue ink. Adjusting his pale yellow tinted goggles on his forehead, he squinted focusing on the writing.
5/28/14
'A year ago. It's so easy to remember horrific events, is it not?'
Toby nodded as he read.
'A year ago something went down, I wasn't told much as it is still in investigation. All I know some psycho burned the damn street that I FUCKING LIVE ON. That damn son of a bitch!'
Toby snickered at the curse words that were written so nicely in cursive, that it seemed like a pleasant word, yet frowned as he kept attempting to focus. Distractions were everywhere of course.
'I should calm down. I already have piles of papers written with ever curse word in the book. So, maybe, I should explain:
When that psycho set fire to the street-'
Toby instantaneously looked at the small stairway that was narrow and cramped and led to the attic. Without a second thought he was already behind a large wooden dresser with several little boxes.
Creak...Creak...
He heard the stairs' floorboards creak and shudder until a figure was in the attic. He noticed it to be the woman with that hatchet. Of course, who would it be? He mentally facepalmed.
+(Y/n) POV
My eyes felt heavy and irritated as I walked up stairs. I made sure that the glass bottle I was holding wouldn't slip in my sweaty grip. Once I reached the attic safely, I felt watched, then again, don't we always feel watched?
As I stood there, wondering and just confused as to the reason I even came up here for, I heard a clink against the floor. It was across the room.
"Damn mice, I should really get rid of y'all," I mumbled. As within a split second, time froze. Behind the dresser, someone lunged at me. Holding a hatchet. My eyes widen and before I could even take a breath, I was tumbling backward down the stairs, someone else tumbling down on the awkward, cramped stairs. I screeched and tried to stop, however I landed on the floor in second to late, I slid on the just-mopped floors and slammed my head against the wall. What surely, positively, ultimately didn't help was the intruder landing atop of me, knocking the remaining breath out of me.
"So... Where's the hatchet, Lady?" I heard his male voice that was a rasp muffled behind a mouth guard. I didn't reply and groaned in pain from my side. I twitched out of reflex when I felt a hard poke in the side. "So, where is it?"
YOU ARE READING
Under Control (Ticci Toby X Reader)
Fanfiction(May contain sensitive topics) Things never went as plan as (Y/n) hoped. Her family had dissipated, leaving her with her solemn aunt. There, she was alone and liked it that way. When she had developed bad habits of drinking, she was falling into her...
