in the midst of a storm | yandere x reader

09. a cage so confining that it's free

"HE'S LUCKY TO HAVE YOU AS 'IS DAUGHTER."

It's gruff—the voice what says that—husky and heavy with the weight o' a thousand—no tens o' thousands of horses.

But it still don't compare to the hundred thousand on your shoulders.

"Looks like he's back to normal, know when that happened?"

You blink, barely registerin' the knee what appears propped up in your peripheral, right next to yer own.

"Folks outside are on edge."

"Let 'em be."

A shift in the air.

"Pardon?"

"Let 'em be," you repeat, teeth gritted and tone swimmin' in venom, "They can be as scared as they like—no one's hurtin' my daddy."

Your vision is narrow, the body o' your pa front and centre as you glare at him like he's them horrid townfolk who wanna ruin your life. But he ain't, he's your daddy, and your daddy would never—never—wanna bring you harm.

Though, right now, it seems like only you and two other people know that.

"Does meemaw know?"

You can see the Sheriff's head turn in the corner o' your eye. "Can't imagine she don't. The townsfolk are mouthy."

"Will I turn..?'

"Huh?"

Your gaze trails to the rocky floor. "Uncle Aaron scratched me that day... will I also turn into one o' them... things..?"

"No," the Sheriff's response is quick—lightnin' quick—"You weren't bitten."

"What if—?"

'—I do?' is what you want to say, but you don't. You don't 'cause you feel like a child; a dumb, naíve little child askin' a million and one questions 'cause she don't got a single clue 'bout what's goin' on.

And yeah, maybe you don't have a single clue 'bout what's goin' on, but you'll be damned to admit it.

The next few moments between you and the Sheriff are spent in silence—a loud, prevalent silence that hangs over the air with a looming presence bathed in black ice; invisible and dangerous.

Laughter echoes off the walls, their mocking nature daring you to leave the comfort of this cold silence and run straight into the burning heat of the townsfolk's yells that'll no doubt damn you straight to hell.

You can practically see it now; anger and pitchforks and—

"Kaiser."

You blink, and the static clears from your ears. "Huh?"

"My name," continues the man, "Figured it'd be better than being called Sheriff all the time."

Pausing, you blink a few more times as you come to realise something:

You never really did know the Sheriff's name, did you?

Why did you never question that?

"You alright, darlin'?"

"I'm fine Sherri— err—" your face scrunches up, "—Kaiser."

The man chuckles, shoulders bouncin' the fabric of his poncho. "It's alright, I don't expect ya to start callin' me it right away."

And he's right not to, you don't think you'll ever get used to callin' him anythin' that ain't Sheriff—no matter how much he might want you to.

It just don't feel right, don't sit nice and pretty on yer tongue. It's like water in a desert, scarce and outta place. There but, never belonging.