Life In Misery | fan!yandere x reader

5/18

Sheep, thought he.

As his father's mouth yet again moved like a mad machine, he stared intently at the pills that pooled onto the scale right before being scooted neatly into a bottle. " See? " It was as simple as that.

The man stepped back and allowed him to ascend into position, copying his actions. Although his pour wasn't perfect and too many pills were distributed out for the bottle, he got it more or less. His old man patted him on the back and spoke once more.

" You've got it, kiddo. " The kiddo looked to him, the pills, then back up at his round, brown eyes.

" So... Why do you wear gloves when you pour? " An easy question to steer his mind and most importantly, make him feel vindicated. Very smart of him, is it?

" For starters, some medication is so powerful it could break the barrier of your skin. Hmmm. Like these. "

In his vinyl-clad fingers stood the all-mighty Duragesic. Fentanyl, as you'd know it. For chronic pain. Most old people took it in lower doses, but these were huge. Bigger than he saw at the hospital. If Michael had no self control, his pupils would be the size of them.

His 'supervisor' placed the pill back onto the scale and Michael dropped it into the heavy bag of batch-medication. The older gentleman turned around and strolled over to the computer, folding over to look at some information.

" Here, it lists it as a high-risk opioid that's fast-acting, but in my experience with patients... ughh... "

While the old fart was busy, he slipped one of the outlying pills into the safety of his pocket. He hoped a paper bag would protect the medication for when he needed it most, and that it did.

" It's complicated. Cancer degenerates your "healthy" cells, making it impossible to differentiate when something's just "high risk" or consistently fatal. Oftentimes a user is feeling level 10 pain with a weak, level 2 CNS. "

Thaaat's right. Keep him talking. He did another pour so he wouldn't get suspicious and turn to look at him. This time it was a thing of Hydroxyzine. Very small, maybe 10 or 25mgs. He used the board to usher the little pills into their correct bottle and disregarded them. They were too small to mean anything, and besides, they were weak. With those huge pills from earlier, he could probably split them in halves or fourths and still keep his patient unconscious for many hours.

" Listen to me, Michael.

Fentanyl - is highly addictive. It wouldn't surprise me if officers wore gloves specifically because of it. Did you know that a fraction of Fentanyl overdoses are Police officers? "

" No. " He said, capping the Hydroxyzine and setting it on the table next to the aforementioned bottle of 'nyl.

" Ah. Haha. We also wear gloves because it's sanitary, you know? "

Sanitary. Michael hummed in inquisition and turned from the station, " Got it. I am going to the bathroom. "

His father hummed. He could do no more but question how odd his son turned out. He just hoped he knew better.

-

The grocery store was quiet and very few people graced his line of vision as he stepped out. It was surprising to him that the bathroom was equally empty, however, a disrupted trash can and an oddly-wet sink reflected enough sign of human life to satisfy his dubiety.

Once the safety of a locked stall door was achieved, the figure stood very quietly and still. It moved its hand, the non-dominant one, and got its phone from the safe pocket. There it reached its feeling of self-recognization and he enveloped himself into the lovely state of mind that your social media brought him.