Another Shitty Day in Hell - Sir Pentious x Reader

Above is something I drew for ch 5 but never used lol </3

TW FOR MENTIONS OF OD, MENTIONS OF NON-SPECIFIC DRUGS. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

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You opened the door and ran outside.

Then you tripped on literally nothing and started tumbling down the lawn, busting your ass.

You groaned as you lay on the lawn, feeling your ankle throb. Your heart raced, terrified that someone had seen you fall. How humiliating that would be.

Praying that no one saw that, you slowly pushed yourself up off the ground, testing how much pressure your ankle could take.

It wasn't a lot.

You fell back to the ground and inhaled sharply, the pain in your ankle radiating even more. You closed your eyes shut and tried to ignore it, which didn't do anything in your favor.

Not planning on sitting outside for the rest of the day, you pushed yourself up again and suppressed a yelp of pain as you put pressure down on your ankle. It hurt. Lots.

But alas, you persevered. Sitting on Pentious's lawn feeling sorry for yourself was not on the schedule for today.

You limped off of his property and looked around, trying to remember which direction led to your apartment. You took a wild guess and prayed that it was the right one, although praying never really got anybody anywhere in a place such as hell.

The walk back to your old apartment was tedious. You were trying not to focus on your ankle, but at the same time, trying not to roll it again. You were trying to have eyes on the back of your head to watch out for creeps, but also trying to pay attention to your other surroundings so you wouldn't get hit by a car or something like that.

You eventually made it to the apartment, glad to finally be there. That was, until you felt a pit of dread form in your stomach. Something about it just wasn't quite right...

You bit your lip as you approached the worn down building, feeling apprehensive. The cracks in the concrete and stains on the walls were becoming ever more prominent the more you looked at them. Being in bed sounded pretty good to you at the moment.

Your heart thumped in your chest, making you all the more nervous to go inside. You sluggishly approached the building, really wanting to run off instead of confronting your problems head-on. Typical.

You reached a shaky hand towards the doorknob and slowly opened it, bracing yourself to whatever was probably hiding in the shadows. Better safe than sorry.

With a painfully long and loud creak, the door opened.

You had been robbed.

The place had been completely ransacked, with everything everywhere. There were plates on the floor, carpets on the counters, and papers scattered everywhere.

The fuckers even pryed your floorboards off! You were starting to understand all the jokes about Detroit.

Inhaling, you slid both hands down your face. Things could just never go right for you, huh?

You winded your hand back and punched the wall, channeling the rage of a 13 year old boy into into the attack. You viciously attacked the wall, putting your all into it.

That was before the pain registered, though. Unfortunately, your hand, upon impact, immediately crumbled due to the sheer force you had put into the punch. It hurt like a motherfucker, as your father would say whenever he stubbed his toe or something incredulous like that.