COMPLETED // i don't want to hurt anymore - enoch o'connor x reader

Chapter 11 - Feelings

(Y/N)'s P.O.V

The next morning, I awoke, my head aching and groggy, and, for some reason that I couldn't remember, my heart hurting. I opened one eye and looked up at the ceiling. That was it. Enoch. Missing.
I slowly climbed out of bed, careful not to wake Emma, who seemed to be sleeping fitfully, and walked barefoot down to the kitchen. Thankfully, the person I wanted to see was there. Miss Peregrine turned around and smiled at my dishevelled appearance.
"Can I help you, (Y/N)?"
"Yes... Have you had any news of Enoch?" The Headmistress' face positively glowed with happiness. "He's in his room... He turned up at about 7 this morning, gripping 3 bloody sheep's hearts and looking terribly upset."
I sat down heavily, relieved. "Thank God." Miss Peregrine took both my hands in hers. "I wouldn't bother him for the moment, (Y/N). He seemed..." she struggled to find the words, "Rather closed off and... Well, almost scared. I've never seen him scared before, even after all my years here." I nodded, and shoved down a piece of toast quickly. "I'll go and get changed." I ran back up to my room, and grabbed my new dungarees, courtesy of Horace.

The next couple of hours were torture. All I wanted to do was to see Enoch, to check he was okay. For some reason, his being lost and my looking for him seemed to have brought us closer together; or at least me closer to him. Nevertheless, I respected Miss Peregrine's wishes and waited until after lunch to see him.
I was joined by Emma, Bronwyn, Horace and Millard, who I'd all forgiven during my daze of happiness at Enoch's return. They still seemed to be far away from me, mentally, though. I wondered if, after my little outburst, things would ever be the same between us five again. I was especially concerned about me and Wyn, as she'd been my best friend since coming here, but all of us had been close friends.
I gently pushed the door to Enoch and Horace's room open, and we trailed inside, guilt apparent on all of our faces.
"Knock knock." I said quietly to Enoch. He rolled over in his bed and said nothing. We stood in silence for a couple of moments, before Emma spoke haltingly. "Look, Enoch, we're so sor - "
He sat bolt upright in his bed and looked at us, rage on his face. "No! Save it. All of you. I don't want your apologies, because nothing, and I mean nothing, can change last night," he yelled. "I could've died, and none of you would've cared. None of you even looked for me!"
"Please, Enoch, actually - "
"Shut up, Horace! I know you all don't like me," his voice dropped to a whisper, "So please, don't pretend. It just makes it harder."
"Enoch, don't be like this, please - "
"No, Horace, you shouldn't be like this. I suppose the Bird didn't tell you that I turned up on our doorstep bleeding from my shoulder, this morning, did she?" He lifted his t-shirt sleeve to show us a stained white bandage, and my mouth dropped open. "Yeah. The hollow went through me first. I tried to kill it, but it's difficult to kill something when your head feels like it's about to explode, isn't it?"
Millard stepped closer to him. "You can't blame this on us, Enoch - "
"I'M NOT BLAMING IT ON YOU! I KNOW THIS IS MY FAULT​. I KNOW THAT YOU AREN'T RESPONSIBLE FOR ME. But you don't seem to understand what it's like to be me. You all think I'm an introvert, a psychopath. And the worst thing that could happen to an introvert, or anybody, really, is to be left behind by the only people you have left to call your family."
"We didn't leave you - "
"You didn't even try to look for me! I know it sounds selfish, but - "
This time, Millard was the interruptor. "As Horace was saying, Enoch, we did. Or rather, (Y/N) did."
Enoch looked at me, his face expressionless, apart from his eyes, which held more emotion than I'd thought possible for him. "She did what?"
Millard raised his eyebrows. "She looked for you."
"She shouted your name for over an hour," Bronwyn piped up.
Emma looked down at her feet, and whispered: "I heard her mutter your name in her sleep."
I blushed fiercely. It was sweet, really, that everybody was trying to make Enoch forgive, not them, but me. But hearing them say all the things that I did last night made me sound like a stalker, that I had a crush on Enoch. And I didn't.
He looked up at me, and shifted slightly on the mattress. For a few seconds, we held eye contact, and it looked like he was seeing me, really seeing me, for the first time since I had arrived. I was about to open my mouth and say, "I just didn't want you to die," but then Enoch cleared his throat and looked away. I looked down and fiddled with my fingers.
"I think it would be best if you all just get out. Now, please," Enoch said, lying back down on his bed, scowling. We all filed back out again, but as I turned to close the door, I could've sworn that I saw a tear roll down the side of his nose. I swallowed loudly and turned the handle shut, feeling as though I had left a part of me behind in that plain room.

None of us wanted to speak much when we had got back down to the kitchen. I sat on a chair, my hand propping up my chin and staring out of the window, wishing Miss Peregrine would let us go outside. She'd grounded the six of us for two days, and we weren't even allowed to leave the house. After those two days were up, she had promised to let us out into the garden again, but the village and the woods were strictly forbidden until 'we learned some responsibility'.
I sighed heavily and watched Claire and Olive playing with a teddy bear underneath the topiary, which Fiona was tending to, along with the help of Hugh (his bees pollenating the flowers). I slumped on my seat and rested my head on the table, covering it with my arms. Ugh. Feelings were so difficult. I wish I could just be like those playing in the garden, carefree and happy, instead of worrying what other people thought of me, what I thought of me, what I might accidentally do to other people to make them hate me, why I was like this, why, why, why. I groaned and lifted my head up, ignoring the stares from the others, before pushing my chair back, purposefully making it scrape against the tiles, and running to my room.