in the midst of a storm | yandere x reader

02. his warmth or his biting cold

HE'S NOT MOVIN'—

—your daddy's not movin'. His eyes are sewn shut, like them wooly sweaters your meemaw can't help but knit. And his chest is still, stiller than the water inside them buckets you use to keep the cattle alive. And... and his head—his head is held high, facin' the heavens like he's prayin' to God; prayin' to God 'cause he ain't movin'.

"Pa...?"

Somethin' wet falls down your cheek, and your chest begins to heave rapidly, but your daddy don't care. Your daddy don't care 'cause he's not movin'.

Your daddy's not movin'.

"Daddy!"

You practically slide on your way down to 'im, feet skating over the rocks as they roll under you, as they frantically aid you on your way to your daddy, passing you over to one another faster than an outlaw fleein' lawmen.

It's not fast enough.

"Daddy! Daddy please!"

His chest's against your head in no time and you're tryin'; you're tryin' your absolute damndest to hear somethin'—anythin'—but your own breathing's getting in the way, your own heartbeat's slamming 'gainst your ears and it ain't fucking lettin' up.

Breathe, girl, breathe.

For fuck's sake, you're tryin' to!

"Darlin', he's—"

"Fine! He's fine!"

The Sheriff's no help, what's he doin' standin' 'round for?

"Come down here and help me!"

You don't bother to look up, to check if he's listenin', you're too busy placing two fingers over the bare skin of your daddy's neck.

He's cold.

Outlaw cold. Cattle cold. Sheriff cold.

There's a mark there, an indent. It's too dark to see what it is but you can feel it; you can feel it leakin' some sort of sticky subtance, one weakly tryin' to meld the skin of your fingers together. It's familiar. It's cold.

You're shiverin'.

"L/N, we gotta go."

"No! Not without daddy!"

"It's too late for 'im!"

It hurts, it hurts so much. You feel like your chest's tightenin', like your ribs are holdin' your heart captive. The mist is swallowing you whole and the air's gettin' thinner, but you push through; you push through 'cause your daddy's gettin' farther and farther away.

The Sheriff's takin' you farther and farther away.

You're pushin' and screamin' and thrashin', but the Sheriff's grip is tight, and you're no man.

"Darlin', whatever's attacked 'im might still be here, it's dangerous."

"I don't care!"

If you cared 'bout danger, would you have chosen to come out in the first place? Would you have trudged through these lifeless streets from the get-go?—tripped over a dozen holes with nothin' but the eyes of darkness to witness your fall?

"Please!"

He pauses.

"Please..." you repeat, tone wet and waverin', "help me get 'im up, I promise once I properly check, I'll go back home."

He don't say nothin', shoulders tense and eyes anywhere but near yours.

For a moment, all is still, all is quiet, all is sound.