in the midst of a storm | yandere x reader

08. his calm or his rage

SOMETHING'S WRONG WITH YOUR DADDY.

It's been awhile since the... incident that night, and something's wrong with your daddy.

At first, it seemed like everything was back to normal; the cowhands tendin' to the cattle like doctors the sick, the church bells echoin' in town like voices in the valley, and your meemaw relentlessly knittin' like the world depended on it—all was well.

...all 'cept for two things—two folks.

Folk number one: Kyle.

You remember finding Jessie in near tears the next day, watchin' as she sniffled and shivered and rubbed at her eyes 'til they were beet red with blood, 'til she looked like them crazy folk you'd see every once in a while—them crazy folk what scream nonsense 'bout monsters in town.

You're starting to wonder if they were right.

After all, Kyle's still nowhere to be found.

Folk number two: your daddy.

Something's wrong with him, with the way his shoulders go square when you say the slightest thing he don't like, with the way his jaw tenses and his gaze narrows. Something's wrong with the way his skin loses colour, the way ice hugs his body, breathing itself onto you the second you come close and giggling at the way your expression twists after. Something's wrong with the way he's become increasingly irate, snappin' at any and all who does so much as the littlest o' things—even meemaw.

Your daddy never snaps at meemaw.

Even now, as you stand there at the door o' your porch, gaze hard and dead-set on his form up ahead, you can't help but think:

Something's wrong with him.

"I don't see why I can't come today, I've come plenty times before." You cross your arms.

His huff is audible. "I said no. Drop it, Y/N."

Your lips tug down. "Daddy, yer clearly sick, just lemme come with. You fainted last time!"

"That was a while back."

"It weren't even that long ago."

"Y/N. I don't want to have to tell you again."

There it is again. Square jaw. Icy gaze. Irate tone.

You're startin' to get sick of it.

"Daddy, what has gotten into you lately?" Your hands fall to your hips, nails diggin' into the material what snugly hugs your body. "Ya never even smile at me anymore..."

He says nothin', choosing only to reach up and push down on his Stetson.

"Daddy, I'm—"

"Yer what?" he spits out, "Yer worried 'bout me?"

It's like venom leaves his mouth instead o' words—cold, cruel, callous venom—spraying out and hittin' you square in the face.

You flinch, eyes screwin' shut.

"Why would you—?"

Your throats tightenin', and a knot's formin', but you push through; you push through because your daddy don't wanna hear none of it, and neither do you.

But it's hard, it's so hard. And it hurts, your heart hurts.

And it just keeps buildin' and buildin' and buildin—

—until eventually, it all spills over.

Then red, hot, burnin' flames blind you.

"Well I'm sorry for worryin' 'bout my pa!" A salty substance dissolves on your tongue as you yell, but you pay it no mind. "I wouldn't have done it if I knew he would be so fuckin' ungrateful!"