Something Amiss (Hoodie x Reader)

Nine: House Arrest

You had tried knocking. Yelling. Crying, screaming, begging your brother to just talk to you.

For someone so pressed about being abandoned, Harry sure was leaving you hanging out to dry. Not even the elaborate offerings you made of what little food there was in the fridge could coax him out. Damn, he was determined - it had been two whole days and he had only left the room once, to take a piss.

Whilst Harry had been sulking, you had spent those forty eight hours cowering in fear. Every little noise, every bump in the night, every voice coming from the hall outside, had you jumping out of your skin while brandishing your largest kitchen knife.

You didn't dare leave. The agoraphobia was far too strong, you knew you'd only freak out more if you set a foot outside. You had no clue what you were waiting for, really. Probably death - or whatever else the masked man had in mind. If he even showed up again at all - you couldn't obey his bone chilling orders forever, if he never came back to follow them up.

There was no way for you to contact the outside world. The man still had your phone, and when you had asked Harry about his (from behind the door), he had screamed at you that he didn't fucking have it, you dumb bitch! The insult had been promptly followed by a loud thump, the sound of a fist colliding with drywall.

It was jarring, to say the least. You would never had expected him to react with this amount of aggression, it was way out of character from the soft, dumb boy you knew. Harry hadn't spoken to you with such unbridled venom since he was at least fourteen years old.

What you really wanted was to go to a doctor. You didn't trust the cast on your arm, you had no idea how it got there and the constant reminder was taunting you. Though, you didn't know what you'd say to a doctor if you got the chance. Yeah, I got attacked and fell on my arm and this cast just randomly showed up a few hours later. Insane.

And so you played the waiting game, spending most of the hours asleep on the couch as your body continued to heal from the alleyway showdown. Your only entertainment was hopelessly watching the 24-hour news channel, praying that something about a masked, murderous dickhead being arrested would show up.

No such story came.

You sighed as you tucked your fifth pop-tart of this evening into the toaster. You were thinking that you'd try sliding an extra one under Harry's door to appease him. Maybe a colourful, confetti cupcake flavoured treat being fed under his door would finally make him realise what a fucking child he was being. The guy really needed to eat something.

It was as you were waiting for the sugar-laden tarts to - well - pop, that you heard the noise so reminiscent of the previous Friday night.

Scuffle, scuffle.

Oh, fuck. Your head perked up at the noise, snapping in the direction of the hallway. With any luck, Harry was just angrily rearranging his furniture in the middle of the night. Still, you reached for the knife on the countertop beside you. Better go check.

Scuffle, scuffle.

You hadn't entered your room since Monday. The door had been firmly shut for the past two days, you didn't need any more painful reminders of the masked man breaking in. Now, though, you barely hesitated as you flung it open. Better to bite the bullet, so to speak.

Instant regret.

You found yourself face to face with none other than the masked fucker, this time with none of the agonising, teasing anticipation. Better for your dignity, far worse for your nerves. You squeaked as you took an immediate step back, aiming to nope the fuck back out of the door.