Drip. Drip. Drip.

The drips are always three seconds apart. It takes exactly three seconds for the broken skin to bubble up enough blood for it to drip from your finger. The pain makes the experience more infatuating. First you bite down on the finger of your choosing and just press your teeth down as hard as you can without breaking the bone beneath the skin. When your tongue tastes the metallic taste of blood, you know that you can release your jaw upwards and away from your digit. Then all you can do is watch the blood pour from the wound and feel the throbbing pain of broken, healing skin.

Pain is a drug. The smell of blood is an addiction. It makes you feel better. This way of relieving stress is easy to clean up and no weapons are involved. No razors, knifes, scalpels or any other dangerous and harmful tools. People can take away sharp objects. They can't exactly take away your teeth.

A graceful, soft smile stays plastered to your face, eyes never leaving the red substance running down your forefinger. Your ears listen to the beating of your heart and you can feel the exact same beat in your damaged finger. Most people found it disgraceful. They called you disgusting and for what? All the bullies and snobs made you this way in the first place. All they had to do is leave you alone. When someone actually needs help, someone mentally unstable and incapable of stopping themselves from enjoying not just the pain but the overall experience, they turn away. They give the cold shoulder. They turn their backs and walk away like nothing is going on behind them. That someone could be suffering with themselves.

"(Y/n)?" Your mother calls out.

Your eyes flicker from your finger and over to your mother who was standing in your bedroom doorway, her face filled with worry just like all the other times she had found you like this. Eyes glazed and smiling without having anything good to smile about.

"Yes, Mama?" You send her a toothy smile, one that made her lose all color from her face to her fingertips.

See, the reason kids picked on you so much is because you're not exactly your age. You may be twenty years old but you generally have the mindset of a five year old. Not all the time. When needed, you take big leaps just like a twenty year old woman would do. You help around the house without complaint, you want to help pay for the bills. The only thing is, why are you still living with your parents in the first place? Because if you didn't, you would die and all because of the nasty habit you have. The life threatening tick. Blood-loss, biting, feeling pain. Your parents worry. You don't.

"Are you ready for work, dear?" She presses a hand to her chest, eyeing the new bite mark on your finger.

"Of course I am, Mama! I just gave myself an owwie so can you kiss it and make it feel better? Can I also get a bandaid before I go?" Your eyes light up at the thought of getting a Disney princess bandaid.

Your mother smiles through her worry, motioning you to your little bathroom connected to your room. You jump up and run after her with a huge smile, ready for your bandaid but to also start your first day of work. Your mother digs around under the sink, trying to find some spare bandaids for you to use. You had used up all the others.

"I'm sorry. We don't have anymore princess bandaids. We just have the normal plain ones." She stands back up, holding the bandaid box containing the regular skin colored blood catchers.

"I really wanted princess but okay! I got to go, Mama! I don't want to be late for my first day of work." You hold out your still bleeding finger, waiting for your mother to wrap it up.

After taking out a bandaid and cover up the bite on your finger, she kisses it like she would when you were younger. Being pleased and no longer bleeding onto the floor, you lean over and kiss her cheek.

"Bye, Mama! I'll see you when I get back from work." You spin around on your heel make your way from the bathroom.

"Oh, and tell Daddy I love him when he gets home from work!"

Your mother watches your back until you're completely out of sight. With a heavy sigh passing through her lips and her heart speeding faster than normal, all she can do is hope.

"I hope she has a good day to where she won't bite herself tonight."

***

You park your car in front of the Freddy Fazbear's Pizza place, eyes shining like a child's on Christmas morning. Clutching the steering wheel tightly, all you can think about is getting the money and helping your parents. You're childish, not stupid. When they told you that money was tight, the first thing you did was start to look for a job. You had many jobs picked out before this one but they never accepted you fully. They never told you directly, but you knew that they thought you were awful. Everyone gossiped behind your back like immature teenagers.

"For Mama and Daddy," you whisper to yourself before taking the keys out of the ignition and getting out of the car.

Even from the outside, loud music strung through the air and straight into your ears. One look at this building from the outside and you would know it was a kids place. If the name doesn't give it away, the bright colors painted over the bricks will. Mostly red and purple. It caught peoples' eyes. You march up to the front glass door, pull on the door handle, and walk inside like you owned the place. There were two jobs available at this place: guarding the animatronics late at night or being a waiter for little kids' birthday parties that were held frequently. Your mother usually wanted you home before it got really dark so you took the only option you had left.

When your eyes are hit with multicolored lights and kids running around cheering and yelling for the band up on the stage, everything felt just as chaotic as you are. It felt nice. Up on the stage was the famous Freddy Fazbear and his band members, Bonnie and Chica. The littlest kids that were too young to understand what was going on, stared up at the stage with awe. The older kids around seven to eight cheer and try to climb on stage, immediately pulled back off by their parents. Shaking your head, you head over to the office area to retrieve your uniform.

"You're the new waitress, right?" Someone calls out behind you.

You stop in your tracks, turning your head back to see a man dressed in a plain gray guard uniform. His messy brown hair was sticking in many different directions while his hat laid over the worst parts. His eyes shined little, telling you that he must hate his job. How could you? You found it amazing.

"Yeah, that's me! Where can I get my uniform?"

"It's in the office laying on one of the office chairs. You can use the back bathroom to get changed." He nods at you once before going to leave.

"What is your name, Mister?" You ask with a smile.

"Mike," he looks you up and down. "What's your name, Missy?"

"(Y/n). Most people call me CC though. I don't like the nickname but I guess I have grown used to it."

"What does CC mean?" He quirks a brow at you, seeing that you had gotten a little down looking.

"It means coo coo. People think I'm crazy." You look down, eyeing your bandaid to avoid eye contact with the brunette.

"Well (Y/n), I can promise you that nothing is weirder than this place. I'll see you around." He waves once then turns around and leaves.

You head for the office with a cheesy grin plastered to your face, grabbing up your waitress uniform and heading for the back bathrooms. This was only the second time you had been in the pizzeria, and the last time you didn't get a chance to look around. While searching for the back bathrooms, signs were saying things like, "This way is Pirates Cove!" and "Head this way to meet Foxy the Pirate!" Being a little curious, you hunt down Pirates Cove only to realize that it had been abandoned. Pursing your lips, you walk inside the room and see that nothing was wrong with it. There was plenty of space for children to run around and play while parents talked amongst themselves. In the far right corner was this stage closed off by big, dark purple curtains. You set your outfit down on one of the dusty tables and head over to the stage.

"The signs said there was another animatronic this way," you mumble to yourself, lacing your slim fingering around the edge of one of the curtains. You pull back the fabric and peek inside, seeing treasure chests pushed up against the wall and spiderwebs littering the ceiling and corners. You look back to your side and see the paper taped to the curtain saying, "Out of Order."

Looking back to the stage, your eyes clip to the animatronic fox standing in the middle of the stage. He seemed to be powered down unlike Freddy and his friends. The top half of his body was hunched over and his head hung. You climb onto the stage and walk over to him, eyes sparkling with most curiosity.

"You're beaten and have some scars but I don't see why you're out of order, Foxy." You run your fingertips over the torn cloth in the middle of his chest.

You bend over and look through the torn cloth to see his metal skeleton. He looked so much older than the others. It didn't make sense to you at all. The owners of this pizza place could easily fix up the pirate get him to sailing the seas again. He looked so alone.

"You're out of order, huh?" You look up to his face, seeing the flipped up eyepatch and unpowered eyes staring back at you.

A saddened smile itches onto your lips and you get no reaction in return. Just like you expected. Even if he was just some lifeless robot, you felt like you had something in common with him. Loneliness. Rejection.

"I'm out of order, too. I know how you feel, Foxy. No one should be left on their own like us." You trail your hand over the slick metal of his hook.

"Just because you're not up on that stage in there singing doesn't mean you can't be just as great as the others." You give a final nod to him before making your way off the stage.

You dip your small, fragile body through the curtains only to poke your head back through to look at Foxy with the same childish smile you always had. You just wished he was able to return it.

"I'll definitely see you around, Matey!"

You race over, snatching up your uniform and leave Pirates Cove to go searching for the bathrooms once again. While you leave the room, two soulless eyes flicker a dull golden color before flickering out completely.

But let's just say, you were heard. Every word that passed through the cracks of your teeth. Not only did they mean something to you, but they meant something to someone else as well.