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angelofthenight · 4 months

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The Monster You Created Pt.12

(Sam Fortner x Reader)

Warnings: Yandere!Sam, Dark themes, Swearing, Kidnapping situation, Unreciprocated love, YN has a fear that Sam will assault her, YN talks about her emotionally abusive dad, YN was awful to her mom, Toxic exes, Toxic bf, Fear of stockholm syndrome, Self blame, Memory of dad leaving

Word Count: 4.4k

Table of Contents

( POOKIES SO SORRY THIS TOOK LIKE TWO YRS BUT THINGS WILL SOON PICK UP IN THE BOOK IN THE NEXT CHAPTER OR TWO )

You stirred awake in the warm cocoon of the blankets, rubbing your face into the pillow. The fresh November coldness hovered against the walls which did nothing but make you lazier while wrapped in cotton. But the heavy weight of the realization of waking up was enough motivation to push yourself up. You wanted to stay awake longer last night to keep listening to Sam and Alan’s conversation but you couldn’t fight off sleep for very much longer. You tried to pinpoint what was the last few things you heard before drifting off but your memories of real life and your memories of your dreams were blending together, making it unclear.

You lifted yourself up enough so that your back was pressed against the wall, rubbing your eyes to rid your fuzzy vision as you tried to focus on Alan who sat cross legged on a mattress in the far left corner. You focused on the chain still trapping his ankle but his seemed to be even shorter than yours, not close to being long enough to open the sliding door.

You shifted your attention to the center table that held a plate of the dinner you didn’t touch last night that Sam said was going to be your lunch. Have you really been asleep till lunchtime? It wouldn’t surprise you though. Your sleeping schedule has been very sloppy and inconsistent lately. The colder the weather got, the more you layered on blankets. And the comfier you were the heavier and deeper you slept. You hated that. You wanted to know exactly when Sam would momentarily leave his room during the night, still vigilant over the reminding thought that he has watched you sleep before.

But you would feel safer if Alan stayed in the same room as you, just in case Sam tried anything and Alan would be there to verbally protect you. …Unless he was just like Sam’s mom and believed everything would be easier if they just let Sam do whatever he wanted with you; believing everyone would be safe if you just surrendered yourself over to his love.

But you knew that was not true. At first, you felt selfish for refusing to give yourself to him, knowingly endangering lives. But you knew that kind of thinking Sam has. Being guilted into a relationship does not fix the man.

You’ve never been in that kind of relationship, but one your friends from highschool has. A boy in her class had a huge crush on her and made it everyone’s problem. He would follow her around the school despite her protests and would mouth off anyone who tried to defend her. He was a short, little nightmare. That same boys’ friends privately begged talked to your friend and told her he would stop being crazy and be normal if she just dated him. She was guilted into dating him. And he did not change. He acted the same exact way except this time he got way worse and even tried to gain control over her whole life, both social and personal and trying to rearrange exactly who she could hang out with.

Thank god your friend reached her breaking point and cursed him out in a humiliating way in the hallways in front of everyone. The boy was so mortified and humiliated that he avoided her the rest of highschool. You wished you could do that. You knew exactly what you wanted to say to Sam, what insults and names you’d call him. But that wouldn’t embarrass him, it would infuriate him.

Your mind returned to you from the memory as your eyes refocused on an eyes-closed Alan still cross legged on the mattress. “What are you doing?” You spoke up softly, a slight scratch to your tired voice.

Alan took an inhale, not yet opening his eyes. “Meditating.”

You scooted upwards to create a more comfortable sitting position on the bed. “Why?” You asked neutrally and a look of downcast. Alan spoke slowly and softly. “My wife would always tell me that it helped clear the mind and reset your state of stress levels.”

You watched him for a bit, observing his form and breathing pattern. You wondered if it helped. You were never one for meditation or yoga or any self care in general. However, you couldn’t remember a time when your stress levels were down. You always had a different weight on your shoulders throughout all the stages in your life, and ever since you’d been kidnapped you couldn’t even remember what it felt like to be calm.

“Does it work?” You questioned quietly, almost shy in a sense. Alan opened his eyes, his posture slumping and he stared at the carpet with mental exhaustion practically writing his features. “I don’t know. I can never do it right. This was always more of my wife’s thing than mine.”

You sadly stared at the man’s obvious downgrade in overall attitude at the mention of his partner. I guess that made two of you with a lover left alone at home. “I bet your wife is missing you terribly.”

“It’s the opposite. She’s passed.” He stated hesitantly, causing your expression to stiffen and your fingers found themselves trying to knot together. “…Oh. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t respond.

You chomped down on your bottom lip with agonizing awkwardness. Your eyes scanned the room for anything to occupy yourself with and you walked to the table in annoyed defeat to eat the leftover food from last night. You hovered your fingertips over the food only to sigh at its low temperature. Your empty stomach growled at you prompting your hand to force the cold food down your own throat.

“Sam’s at work right?” You asked after the first miserable bite. Alan answered simply. “Yes.” He raised his head to face you and spoke carefully with the scratch till present in his voice. “He told me all about the man at your work that you talked with and how he looked at you in an inappropriate way. And how that same man is friends with his supervisor and talked about you in another-”

You cut him off after noting he clearly didn’t want to use more specific words in order to spare your comfort. “I know. He told me that story. Crazy thing is I barely remember that guy. I meet, like, a hundred faces and names a day and I’m used to some of them being creeps. It’s just the female experience.” You noticed the discomfort you spread to Alan and directed the conversation back towards Sam. “What else did he say about that? Does he still want to kill him?”

Alan deeply sighed, vaguely nodding as he still stared at the carpet. “…Yes. He didn’t sound so calm when he talked about it. He’s still very angry. I tried to make him focus on the positive side that he’s been holding back this long. But I don’t think he sees that as a notable accomplishment.” After you ate a few more bites he added, “When he comes back, I’m going to try and convince him to unchain me.”

You scoffed at his naivety, already knowing exactly all the plans conducting in his brain because you thought of them first. They’ve never worked and the others take too much time. “Don’t bother. He’d probably say something douchey like… ‘The chain's on your leg, not on your mouth’.”

Alan looked at you in deep thought as you continued eating with a slight cringe. It was weird to him, he knew a lot about you (minus the lies Sam admitted to making about yours and his relationship) yet he didn’t actually know you. Sam kidnapped him and brought him here for you.

In hindsight, he didn’t truly know anything about you. At least from your own mouth. And despite the main reason that Sam just wanted him to basically convince you to fall for Sam, Alan hated that he believed that there was something actually going on with you. Something you didn’t think you needed help with, something you didn’t consider wrong, something you kept buried within you. Something you really did need help with, not for Sam’s sake but for your own sake.

“(Y/n).” You looked up to catch his focused gaze. “For us to work together against him, I need to know the truth from you.” He paused for a beat. “How bad was your relationship with your father? Was he physical like Sam’s?”

You physically tensed up from the mention of your dad, your jaw tightening that Alan even brought him up in the first place. Your eyes hastily thrashed down to your food as you began to play with it a bit with a physically irked expression. “My dad was an asshole who didn’t care about me. That’s all there is to it and that’s all you need to know.” You spat. You didn’t want to come across as that foul, especially towards your fellow prisoner who’s obviously not doing great mentally, but you just got very worked up with the subject.

“You have to give me more to work with, (Y/n). Have you ever done therapy?” Alan asked before you shook your head, still keeping your eyes glued below you. “No, not unless rehab counts.” “Well, in effective and healthy therapy the patient-” You instantly cut him off with a harsh bite, your eyes finally looking up to throw a glare his way. “I’m not your patient though. Even though Sam brought you here for me, don’t ever turn our conversations into sessions. I already have one man on my back trying to fix what’s not broken, and I don’t need another.”

Alan cleared his throat and straightened his back. “I understand. Don’t look at me like your therapist then. Look at me as someone you can vent to without having to worry about any manipulation or consequences. Whatever is spoken between us will never be known to Sam. Unless of your consent.” He stated clearly and calmly.

You sighed and your eyebrows began to curve upwards. You let the fork slip out of your fingers before leaning back into your chair. “At five years old my dad basically declared me the biggest failure of a human being. He was a man impossible to satisfy and treated me more like an annoying dog in his house rather than a daughter.” Your lips puckered to prevent them from quivering. “He hated me. And still to this day, I have no idea why.”

Alan’s frown sincerely deepened. “What about your mother?”

“I was an asshole to her. Before and after my dad left. Before, I was trying to get my dad to like me by joining him in berating her and mocking her. I would even verbally take his side on arguments that didn’t even involve me. And after, I just needed someone to blame for my dad leaving.” You felt your eyes begin to scarcely burn, your mind going back to all the times you yelled at that poor woman. “She deserved a better daughter than me. I think when I moved out it was the next best thing that happened to her next to my dad leaving.”

“You shouldn’t think like that.” Alan comforted you but you refused it. “Well you weren’t there to see how I treated her.”

“And what’s your dating history like?” Alan continued, wanting to know the full layout of the people who played significant roles in your life. Especially the ones that could’ve led Sam to believe in your unhealthy relationship with men who resemble your father. You crossed your arms to let your elbows rest on top of your knees, a shrug pulling your shoulders. “Just a lot of bad guys. They all specialized in their own form of assholery. And I was always the one being broken up with. Never the other way around.” Your eyes frowned with your lips.

Alan slowly nodded. “I see… And what’s your current boyfriend like?”

Your frown twitched but eventually went upturned. “He’s a good, sweet person. More of a man than all my exes combined. He helps make me a better person.” Even a colorblind newborn could see the red flag waving through those words. Alan shifted in his seat, wanting to put all the pieces together but almost scared to. Because then that would make Sam right. “How so?”

“He lets me know when I’ve done something wrong and how I can correct my behavior.” You narrowed your eyes on the older man. “Alan, no matter what Sam tells you, my boyfriend is a good person.” He ignored your last statement, much too focused on what your explanation could mean. “(Y/n)... how often does your boyfriend criticize you?”

“When it’s due.”

“But how often?”

You rolled your eyes. “Look, I make a lot of mistakes and questionable decisions, alright? Thank god I had him with me to stop me from embarrassing myself.” You defended brashly.

“But what exactly-” Alan’s nearly fearful tone was snapped off by the skyrocket pace of your heart as you quickly shushed him, your eyes blown open by a foreboding sound of a truck. “He’s back.” You squeaked before practically throwing yourself off the chair and back into the bed, not wanting to be in a space that was welcoming a conversation.

However, you didn’t plop your head onto the pillow immediately as a certain train of thoughts began chugging around your mind. Your bottom lip felt heavy and cold as you spoke up. “Alan?” Said man looked up at you with concern and curiosity. “Yes?”

You straightened up your form to say what you wanted to get off your chest in front of a trained professional for that exact sort of thing. “As much as I hate what he’s doing to me, it’s really hard for me to accept Sam’s a murderer.” You said, quietly yet shakingly, with your eyes locked on the sheets. “I can’t even picture him doing… that. I’m still clinging to that soft spot I have for that sweet and bashful Sam that became a regular customer then a friend to me.”

You finally lifted your blurry, glossy gaze to set onto Alan. “This isn’t the beginning of Stockholm Syndrome, right?” You asked with a fear weighing down your voice. Alan frowned deeply at your question and expression. “It doesn’t appear that way to me. You’re just suffering a very cruel and traumatic betrayal. And I’m sorry you have to go through all this.”

Your lips began to quiver as you slowly looked toward the ground, the weight of everything gradually closing in on you. Little voices that sounded like your own crawled around your head, whispers that overlapped with each other that this was all your fault. Everything that has happened was because of your decisions. You were the one to blame. “No. I’m sorry.” You said with a hushed tone. “It’s my fault you’re even here in the first place.”

You couldn’t tell if Alan was speaking or not, you couldn’t hear over the haunting and self-blaming thoughts that chewed away at your brain like nasty little woodworms. They were so intense and painful, triggering hefty tears to swarm your eyes and slip over your bottom lashes, that you didn’t even hear or register Sam walking in through the sliding screen door and holding up two bags.

“Hope you guys like Pierogies.” Sam announced with a smile of self-approval. However it was very short lived when his attention instantly locked onto you, seeing your quivering sobbing lips and tears before his very own eyes. His heart broke and dropped down to the pit of his stomach. He practically threw himself across the room, dropping the dinner on the table once he passed it, to fall to his knees by your side.

“Woah, woah, why are you crying?” He asked as gently as he could as his hands hovered over your arm and shoulder, not knowing if you would either be okay with him touching you or would bite his head off. His heartbroken worry, though, was quickly replaced with an overprotective anger. He whipped his head over his shoulder to send Alan a nasty glaring snarl. “What the fuck did you say to her!?” He barked out loudly over your tearful whimpers.

“Sam.” Your meek voice perked up the said man’s ears, that anger vanishing like a spec of sand by the power of that voice of yours. The voice of the thing that mattered most to him in the entire world. He looked back up to you to meet your weeping eyes. “You have to let Alan go.” You told him in between your sniffles and shaky breaths from your sobs. “It was a mistake bringing him here. You should’ve kept this between us.”

Sam’s brows curved upward as he finally placed his hands softly on your knees. He appeared so submissive and lovesick by the way he looked up at you on his knees. “I’m sorry but you know I can’t do that. He knows too much now, too much stuff leads back to this location.” He said as he rubbed small circles on your knees. “And you need help. He’s gonna help me help you.”

You sniffled one more time before your quaking lips shifted into a harsh frown, eyebrows sharpening into a V shape as well with your gaze growing fiery with hate. “Don’t you get it?! I don’t want your help! And please back up!” You wailed as you thrashed your legs away from his unwanted massage.

Sam extended his arms in an attempt to reach you with the intent of making you calm down despite your clear objecting distaste, but Alan’s voice wrung out quickly before anything could have happened. “Sam, when she’s like this you have to know boundaries and give her space.”

The brunet stalker took a second to ponder before sighing, “You’re right.”, rising to his feet and turning his back to you to walk back to the bagged food. “You know last time she threw a big crying fit, she used it as a ploy to escape.” He told Alan with a bitter scoff while he pulled out one of the white boxes from the bag.

He walked back up to you, keeping a certain distance, and lightly tossed the box with food in it to the space next to you. “Here. You can eat in your bed. Away from me.” He said with a bitter smile aimed at your back. “We’re having a session after dinner though.” He added over his shoulder at you as he sat down to eat with Alan.

You released a few more breathy whimpers before rubbing your palms across your cheeks, trying to pull yourself together so that you could eat. You kept your back turned to the men as you ate the dinner in the corner of your bed like you were in time out. You listened to their conversation when Alan began with, “(Y/n) told me you live with your mother”.

Sam shot your back an irked look, not appreciating that you felt it was your place to spill that secret. “Is this the house you grew up in?” Alan continued. Sam snatched his food so that he could lean back in his chair, releasing a gruff sigh. “Yup.”

Alan prompted Sam to tell him more about his comforting relationship with his mother and his abusive, power imbalanced one with his father. Sam even briefly told a quick version of when his father left him. This triggered your own overview.

You remember your dad leaving in vivid detail, as if you just experienced it merely a few hours ago. And sometimes you still felt those emotions as vividly as you felt them in that moment. And sometimes you felt as if you were still in that moment, as if you never left it in the first place, as if you were stuck in a never ending time loop with the outcome being the same each and every time.

You remember how the sky looked with light gray clouds passing by and allowing the blue sky to peek through. You remember what you were wearing, from your hairstyle down to your socks. You remember what your dad was wearing and the exact shades of color his packed bags were and how many there were. You remember how he moved every muscle of his stoic yet aggravated expression.

You remember every single word from both of your mouths. You remember your words of questioning why he was leaving and your words of begging him to stay. You remember his apathetic words of briefly explaining to you how he met a superior woman and he was divorcing your “troublesome” mom. You remember asking him about the custody of you and you remember his dry response about how a custody battle was never an issue and that your mom had full ownership of you.

But the strongest thing you remember, the thing that affected the rest of your life and mentality, was how your sixteen year old self ran to your daddy and threw your arms around his torso as burning tears streamed down rapidly from your pink, stinging eyes. You choked on your sobs and hyperventilated around your mewls. Your dad didn’t hug you back. Instead he patted you on your head.

Then he moved his hand to your shoulder and softly pushed you away. You sniffled through your runny, pink nose as your dad placed his knuckle underneath your chin where your tears kept slipping off and lifted your chin so that you could make eye contact with him. It was hard though, your eyes were burning as if someone was cutting onions or squirted lemon juice in them, making you keep squeezing them shut to rid of that pain, and globs of hot tears blurred your vision. But despite not seeing him clearly, you heard him as clear as day.

“Best of luck, you’ll need it.”

Those words always lived in the back of your mind like an unwanted guest that was long overstaying their welcome. You were so bipolar with those last words of his. Sometimes, when you’re reflecting about how much your dad sucked, you loathed those words. What a dick thing to say to the child you were abandoning. But the other times when you felt yourself subconsciously miss him, you defended all his wrongdoings with that last spoken sentence toward you. He could’ve said something nasty to you, could’ve yelled at you, could’ve belittled you or said exactly what you did wrong that made him snap and leave. But he didn’t. He found the last remaining compassion in his heart for you to wish you the best of luck.

You just wished you weren’t crying so hard in that exact little moment so that you could’ve seen what expression he was wearing. It would’ve answered so much and revealed his intentions. Was he giving you a stern, cold look? Did his eyes soften with those last words? If you knew, it would have answered the question that tormented you for years: Did he even care about leaving you forever?

But now you’d never know. And you would never, ever, go to him to ask him.

Your far off mind returned to you when Alan cleared his throat and began saying something that caught your attention. “You know, your mother is an impressive woman, and she would clearly do anything to help you feel better, help you live the life that you want to live, and I think that she can help us now. We are all part of family systems. You, me, everyone. Changes to those systems can have a profound effect on us, even at your age. And I was thinking that it might be beneficial if we were to do some family therapy work with you and your mother.”

Sam started with a subtle shake of his head then the shakes grew more obvious in feeling. “She's been through enough. She doesn't need to be dragged into what we're doing here.” He spoke stiffly and gave him a look that told Alan it was a terrible idea.

“I think that's kind of you, and I can see why you'd want to protect her. But I don't think you need to worry about her feeling dragged into this. I think she might find it helpful, too.” Alan said as Sam kneaded the skin between his thumb and index finger, his leg beginning to bounce in an anxious manner as his eyes threatened to water with that same nervousness as in his leg. “Sam. You don't have to take this next step alone. There is someone who wants to be there with you. She doesn't want you struggling with this by yourself.”

Alan saw he wasn’t convincing his patient with his stare not expressing any kind of agreement or openness to the idea. So he decided to hit his Achilles heel despite really not wanting it to come to that, and knowing that you would get the wrong idea on where his allegiances resided. “And I really believe this could be beneficial for (Y/n) as well. I think she would be more open to therapy if you use yourself as an example for how helpful it truly is.”

Sam’s eyes vaguely lit up, glancing at you for a mere second. Bingo. Alan knew he had him now.

Sam’s mouth moved around as he struggled to find words, his glossy eyes continuously returning to you. Alan could practically see the thoughts through his forehead like closing credits. Sam glanced at your back one last time before looking back to his therapist. “We’ll make this quick.” He said quickly before pushing off his chair and moving to and up the stairs with a jittery twitch to his movements.

One beat then another had passed before your harsh glare peeked over your shoulder. “What are you doing?” You questioned with distrust and attitude evident in your quiet voice. Alan held his hand up to try and signal you not to worry. “Just trust me. I think I can get through to him using his mother.”

You shifted on your butt a little to look at him more clearly, you gaze sharp. “I told you we couldn’t trust her. She’s basically on his side.”

“Exactly.”

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