To Live without Fear [Jeff the KillerxReader]

6

You could hear Officer Dewey talking on the phone in the other room. A heavy sense of dread had settled in the bottom of your stomach as you waited, just knowing he was going to hand the phone over to you soon. They were going to want to talk to you. It was inevitable.

You were considering making a break for it when Officer Dewey entered the room. He held the phone out to you, and reluctantly to held it up to your ear.

"Hey." You said flatly.

"(Y/N)!!!" Your mother screamed into the phone. "(Y/N)! Are you alright??? Officer Dewey says you're alright but are you alright??????" You rolled your eyes.

"Yeah mom I'm alright."

"Oh good. Good. Now then...YOUNG LADY YOU ARE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE."

"Yeah I know."

"Why didn't you press your panic button??? How many times have I told you 'if something happens, press the panic button.'?!!"

"Because I wasn't panicking...?"

"OF COURSE YOU WEREN'T!!!!" She screeched, so loud you saw Officer Dewey flinch on the other side of the room. You heard your mom take a deep breath before she continued, at a normal volume this time, "Sweetie, you and I both know that your 'condition' severely impairs your judgement. But home invasion is on that list we made of dangerous situations, isn't it?"

You sighed. It was on the list. "Yeah, it is...."

"And you know that you're supposed to use the panic button whenever something on that list happens to you, right?" The way she spoke to you was like she was speaking to a dumb child. You hated it when she talked like that.

"Right." You agreed, trying not to sound as pissed as you were.

"Good to know we're on the same page. Your father and I are going to catch a plane. We should be home by tonight. Until then, be safe sweetie. We love you, buh-bye." And she hung up. You handed the phone back to Officer Dewey and left the police station, with the knowledge that your parents would be back to scream at you in person pretty soon. You wondered what they'd do to you this time. Ground you from leaving the house, except for school? Or would they just pull you out of school completely and homeschool you from now on? Would they put bars on your window and triple-lock your door? Or install a nannycam? Or worse, hire an actual nanny. You wouldn't put it past them. Any trust you'd managed to squeeze from them over the course of your teenaged life was officially eradicated now. If you ever saw that goddamn pale-faced, home-invading asshole again, you'd make sure to crush his family jewels extra hard for basically ruining your life.

As you walked home, you pulled a small, black device with a grey button on top out of your pocket. This was your panic button. In your backpack you had a list of 'Dangerous Situations' that your parents and therapist had put together for you. The same list could be found on the fridge at home, and hanging on the wall in your bedroom. You were supposed to hit your panic button if you ever found yourself in one of those situations. Once pressed, the device would automatically contact the police and your parents. It transmitted a signal that could be tracked, so they would know where to go to rescue you. So far you'd run into at least 20 situations on the list, and never used the panic button. Your parents had lectured you over twelve of them. The other 8 they didn't know about. The panic button and the list were just some of the fabulous perks that came with being you. You sighed and stuck the thing back in your pocket.

When you got back to your house it was about 5:30 pm. You dug through the freezer and found a bag full of frozen buffalo wings. You cut the bag open and put some in the oven to cook, then tossed the rest back in the freezer. Now you had 15 minutes to kill between you and dinnertime.

You made your way upstairs to your room, to grab your laptop or something. You were just opening the door when somebody grabbed you by the arm and yanked you back a few steps. You felt the sharp edge of a knife pressed ever so lightly against your throat. Well this certainly wasn't what you had in mind when you came up here to kill some time.

"Damn, you work fast. How long have you been hiding up here?" You asked. Of course, you didn't even have to look behind you to know who the attacker was.

"Where's my knife?" The pale boy growled, ignoring your question. Rude.

"Uh, against my throat?" You replied.

"My other knife."

"Don't have it, dude. Turned it into the police this morning." You shrugged. Apparently he didn't appreciate your answer, because the knife now pressed harder against your neck, just on the verge of breaking the skin.

"What about my shoe??" He demanded.

"Turned that in too."

"God DAMMIT." The killer removed his knife and shoved you into the wall. You knocked your head against it, leaving you in a daze for a moment. That was gonna leave a lump.

"What's your damage?" You hissed and turned to face the killer. He had a murderous gleam in his eye, the same one you'd seen last night, right before you'd punched him in the face.

"You know, you've sure caused me a lot of trouble." He stepped closer to you, but you held your ground.

"Oh I've caused you trouble? Well excuse me." You quipped in return. He glared at you and raised his knife.

"I think it's about time that you go to-"

Downstairs the oven beeped, letting you know that the buffalo wings were ready. You sighed. "Can I, like, get a last request or something?" You asked the killer.

"....What?" Jeff seemed surprised by your request. He looked at you like you'd just spoken to him in polish.

You put the tip of your finger to Jeff's knife and gently pushed the blade downwards. "I've got buffalo wings in the oven and I'm starving. Let me eat first, and then you can...stab me, or whatever it is you serial killer types get off on doing. You can even have some if ya want. Deal?" You crossed your arms over your chest.

Jeff was stunned, and very confused. He'd never once, in all his years of gleefully taking the lives of the innocent, been offered dinner by someone he was about to stab. Look at you, being all unexpected and junk. However, the buffalo wings did smell good, and Jeff had been living off cheetos and trail mix for the past week...

"Fine. But after we're done I am gonna stab you." The killer relectantly agreed to your 'last request'. You smirked.

"How many wings do you want?"