Brahms' POV:

I decided to leave y/n to finish her breakfast and went to a room located under the stairs. In the closet, I open a secret door. Now trailing through the darkness of the inside of the walls. I climb up and enter into my second home. My safe place.

I needed to burn off some steam. I hated my parents so much, but why was it so hard for me to accept that they're gone? Even in the afterlife, they had control over me. I still wanted the rules, to use the doll, to speak like an 8-year-old even when I didn't have to anymore. When y/n asked me why I talked like that, it reminded me of who I am. I'm not the 8-year-old boy my family desperately tried to make me. I needed to grow up but never had the chance to. A majority of my life, spent in hiding. I was practically a prisoner in my own home.

I walked over to my desk where Brahmsie was laying and sat down. Some parts of him couldn't be recovered so, small pieces of his face was missing though he was still recognizable. And it was all because of that bastard, Cole. I'm glad he's dead...Although I was still sad over Greta, a part of me could be at ease knowing that he couldn't hurt her anymore. She has Malcolm now, and I have my y/n.

I still remember that day. I pummeled Cole to the ground, took a chunk of my doll and shoved it into his neck. Pushing into his skin and through the jugular, deeper and deeper. I heard his breathing grow coarse and then come to a stop. Nothing but a lifeless body under me. As Greta and Malcolm started running for the door, I stopped them. I couldn't have them run off and tell anyone what happened. I offered to give a half a million in pounds. That was pocket change to me. My parents, before their "trip" gave me all their savings. Enough for me to live in this place forever. They just stared at each other, communicating with their eyes. I could tell they didn't believe me. I showed them the safe, gave them the money and they drove off with it. I waited and waited for police to show up and arrest me. I doubted they would keep shut but I decided to give them the money anyways. It was worth a try. Months passed and nothing. They didn't say a word. I took this as a second chance.

I touched Brahmsie's face, it felt rough beneath my fingertips from all the cracks. I like him better this way; broken. He wasn't perfect anymore, and felt more like me. Was I broken too?