BloodLust. Ticci Toby x Fem Reader.

The Beginning.

TRIGGER WARNING AHEAD!
[Y/N] -> Your Name.
Word count : 5185.
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You never really gave it much thought as to how you would die. You knew it would be one day. Old age perhaps, in a care home surrounded by the people that loved you, a family you had created, who sobbed and grieved the loss of such a woman as yourself. Nobody really thinks about the way they would die, life too wrapped up to even consider it. But as your head bled profoundly, making it harder and harder to even think, the warmth of the red liquid draining your very body, it was starting to become a reminder that maybe your death wouldn't be as peaceful as you had imagined, maybe then you wouldn't be laying on the floor thinking about the ultimate end in the first place. Who thinks about death last minute other than a dying person, right? Because this is what you had planned on what was such a peaceful Wednesday night.

It all started with headaches, nosebleeds, memory loss and soon enough, you could only put the blame on your crippling mental health. You went to countless doctor appointments, complaining about each symptom and their only response was to drug you up on whatever pill they had on hand. With the fear that maybe in reality, you were spiralling, you followed orders and downed a handful of each separate pill from each separate bottle until you found yourself most nights knocked out on the couch.

'I'm going to get better, this was just the start.' Is what you told yourself when you began to notice things in the corner of your eyes, when you felt an uneasy feeling of someone watching you and now you were arranging appointments for better security systems inside your home. But when was it going to get better, when the letters began appearing under your door? Love notes of someone confessing themselves to you or when they would send you pictures of you inside your own home, asleep or even getting dressed. You see, feeling better wasn't something that you could convince yourself so easily because the stress of it all snapped and got you. Losing weight was another step, then you could've sworn your hair was falling out and one night, you found yourself in the hall of your apartment complex, having no memory of it at all.

And now you were here, on your wooden floor, dying and desperately trying to fix your blurred vision in an attempt to call for some kind of help. You didn't fall, no, you couldn't have, because you felt the weight of something smack you around the head before you could even collapse.

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"I'm dropping out of school." The table around you suddenly grew quiet, your father's lips were pursed like he wanted to say something but before he even could, your mom was already throwing her cutlery down onto her plate.
"You're what?" She said and before she could even give you a chance to explain yourself, she was off. "What? What do you mean? You were doing better? Your therapist told us! Everything changed, what happened?! What do you mean dropping out?! You devoted your life to this."
"My therapist told you..?" you mumbled softly, letting your gaze drop to your plate. The food was barely touched, the chicken had been picked at from the nerves of even letting this conversation arise and you'd drank at least three full glasses of water before you could bring up this very topic.

Admittedly, you knew medical school wasn't going to work out, it was too much stress load on your shoulders and you desperately needed a more stable job to push through actually paying your rent on time. Med school was unrealistic and simply put, you gave up.

"You can't drop out! You put so much of yourself out there for this, we were so proud of you-"
"You were? So what, I drop out and now I'm nothing of a deadbeat daughter, right?" This happened way too regularly, you went round your parents house for dinner and one way or another, you'd wound up in an argument about some useless shit that more than likely would be forgotten about by tomorrow.
"Now you know, that is not what I meant," your mom spoke in a stern voice and with your dad now awkwardly in the middle, he slowly poked his chicken breast with his fork as he listened in to what was unfolding around him.
"I need some time to myself, I need to go back to therapy, ideally a therapist that doesn't hand out private information to their clients parents." With that, you took one mouthful of chicken and chewed momentarily before standing and grabbing your jacket that hung on the back of your chair. Your mom followed suit in standing, your dad just about but by the time he actually stood you were already by the door with your jacket slipped around one arm and moving to the next. Your mom grabbed your shoulder and pulled you, abruptly holding you hostage for a moment as you turned to face her. Her one soft features had wrinkled given time, her hair had a few strands of odd white ones that she desperately tried to hide with cheap hair dye but no matter what, you could always see it poking through. Seeing your mom growing old was that reminder that life wasn't going to stop and wait until you made up your mind about things, about how you wanted to live your life and leaving med school seemed like a better idea in your head when you thought about it for weeks on end.