Another Shitty Day in Hell - Sir Pentious x Reader

Timeskip to present day

--------

You closed your eyes, attempting to rest again. Just hoping for five more minutes of peace.

Unfortunately, that did not happen.

Your body refused to go back to sleep, no matter how you twisted and turned, no matter what position. You couldn't even find the long side of the blanket. Absolutely dreadful.

You decided there was no point in delaying the obvious.

You grunted painfully, your muscles screaming for you to lay back down. Your joints popped painfully as you cracked your back and stretched. You plopped your feet down on the cold tile floor and stood up, scratching your back.

Your face and entire body felt gross and greasy. Your eyes had crust in them, making them sting a little. You went to the kitchen and poured some tap water for your throat, which hurt like hell.

The water was cloudy, per usual.

Not really having any shits left to give, you quickly downed it before wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

You opened the fridge, only to be greeted by the stench of mold.

There was a singular ketchup packet. Nothing else.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Sighing, you slammed it close and slid down the front of the fridge. You caught a glimpse of yourself in a mysterious puddle that was probably created by the dishwasher.

Your hair was a rat's nest, and heavy eyebags had manifested themselves under your eyes.

You looked back to the dishwasher and noticed the logo on it.

VoxTech: Trust us with your dishes.

You rolled your eyes, feeling bitter. So much for your money.

You realized rather quickly that feeling sorry for yourself wasn't going to get you anywhere. You hadn't paid rent in god knows how long, and you assumed that the landlord had
been killed by loan sharks, or whatever the pride ring equivalent of that was. You had no food, shit water, and a singular tiny TV that didn't even have cable.

The only thing that played was 666 News and reruns of old porn, starring the one and only Angel Dust. Fun.

You painfully stood up, taking a look at the small, one-room apartment. Stains littered the walls and ceiling, most likely being due to water leaks, mold, blood, and other bodily fluids.

The couch, which doubled as a bed, hadn't been made in months. You didn't bother to fix it, since you would just mess it up when you came home from your job.

You suddenly remembered something.

OH SHIT.

You ran out the door faster than a baby drinking hazardous chemicals under the sink, grabbing your coat so fast the hanger fell down.

You slammed the door, not even bothering to lock it. You bolted down the street, all of the neon signs and advertisements becoming nothing but a blur to you. If it weren't for muscle memory you would've gotten lost in all of the commotion and crowds.

The empty needles and broken beer bottles on the street seemed to jump out of your way. Either that or you were oddly talented at avoiding health concerns.