in the midst of a storm | yandere x reader

10. his loving or his loathing

HOLLOW.

You feel... hollow.

Nothin' seems real: the burnin' desert heat on your skin, the enraged cries of townsfolk echoin' through your ears, the rough, bumpy texture of your meemaw's wrinkles in your hands—

—none of it. None of it seems real.

It's like you're not even here, not runnin' into the crumblin' structure you once avoided like the plague; the crumblin' structure what once housed all them outlaws your daddy brought in; what now, in some sorta sick, wicked twist of fate, holds him captive too.

And yet... despite it all, it's what's keepin' him safe—what'll keep you all safe, really. Safe and alive.

This must be a dream; a feverish, nasty hellscape of a dream what keeps you trapped like the prey of a coyote, constantly lookin' for a way out as the animal circles you, head low and eyes glintin' with a hunger; an eager, starvin', malicious hunger.

How..?

How is it that your life can so quickly fall to ruin?—that one night can lead to... to...

"Argh!"

"Meemaw!"

The thought is quickly pushed to the side at the tremble o' legs you catch in your peripheral; the tremble o' legs what lead to yer hands reachin' out all quick-like, and the woman what raised your pa (and in extension: you) falling straight into 'em.

"Are you alright?"

She nods; slow and weak. "'m fine, pea..."

And it's then you register that her eyes ain't even on you, instead, starin' dead ahead to where most o' the cold in the room comes from.

"Oh... oh god..."

You hear it in the tremble of her voice 'fore it actually happens, 'fore her hand cups her mouth all defeated, and her eyes water with the pool o' sorrow you've become well-acquainted with yourself.

"Yer pa..." she manages, voice a whisper, before you hands judder with the sob that racks her body. "My son..."

You release a breath, and it's all shaky with the weight of all the grief what strikes you down like lightnin' a tree. But your tree is strong. Your tree don't go down when there's someone 'neath it—especially when that someone's your meemaw.

Slowly, you sink with the older woman, knees bucklin' before harshly grazin' the pebbles on the floor, drawin' a pang from below; a pang what you ignore in favor of softening your meemaw's descent.

And as you level with her—the both o' you crouched before your daddy's cell—your eyes catch the change in the color o' her cheek, hand then moving to cup over it, to bring it warmth and shield it away from everythin'. May not do much, but at least it's somethin'.

"Pea..."

Your lips turn up, smile watery and chest—heavy.

"Yeah, meemaw..?"

Her hand falls over your own.

"I love you, alright...? Never ever forget that..."

"I won't. I love you too..."

With that, her eyes shut, a single tear trailin' the wrinkles o' her cheek, followin' the path they make at a steady pace 'fore gently falling onto her lap, and soakin' the dress what hugs her skin.

A few moments pass, your meemaw's eyes not openin' as her chest begins to rise steadily. And when you notice the steady rise, you move to adjust her into a more comfortable position 'gainst the wall, 'fore pulling away slowly and turnin', lips slowly fallin' into a straight line.