Author Note: This is a reader/OC and Jason Voorhees slow burn romance, and it will eventually contain smut/lemons/sexually-explicit content, so please do not read if that's not your cup of tea!
Also contains adult language, murder/violence, mentions of cancer and physical assault, and animal death.
...
The shower handle squeaks a bit as you turn it on before slowly stripping out of your clothes. You move somewhat stiffly after a long day. You aren't sure how you manage to get so sore from not moving much at all, though you suppose that is actually part of the problem - you really need to be better about stretching and standing up for more frequent breaks during your sedentary desk job, you remind yourself. Steam begins to fill the small, somewhat cramped bathroom as you comb the tangles out of your hair with your fingers and consider your reflection in the mirror for a moment.
Your body shows the evidence of poor heath and hard luck: a long, raised scar runs from your forehead to your jaw along your left cheek where a man had slashed a broken bottle down your face for daring to politely-but-insistently reject his advances. You almost never went out, but that time you'd let your small circle of acquaintances from your previous job talk you into it. People were always telling you to be more sociable, to stop being so introverted and unfriendly. So even though you hated every second of it, you had given it your best effort… and look at the result. As you sat alone in the ER getting sewn up (for none of those former work acquaintances even accompanied you to the hospital) the nurse tried to reassure you that it really was a freak occurrence, that you shouldn't let this put you off of clubs and bars and drinking with strangers… but you sat there mutely and did not give her the comfort of your agreement. It had only reinforced your conviction that people were not to be trusted. The scar is thick and it pulls your skin taught, contorting your lips slightly to the side and causing strangers on the street to stare and no doubt wonder what had happened to you. Some of the more bold ones ask. You never reply.
Men, in your opinion, are garbage. Well, you aren't especially fond of people in general, but men especially have given you plenty of reasons to fear and dislike them and that incident was the shitty icing on the crap cake. You know the statistics, have seen the evidence all around you in the world. There is a fear there, lodged deep in your heart and mind like a railroad spike. A fear that has hung over your head for all of your life. Your father had fortunately never hit or molested you, but he had been distant. He was never fully there, always kept himself hidden away, as did your mother. They never shared their hearts with anyone, including each other, including you. Things were not discussed in your household. They were shoved under the bed, tucked away in the closet, never spoken out loud. Your parents hadn't seemed to like people much, either, though you never knew exactly why. But now they are gone, so you can't ask them now even if you wanted to - which you don't - and they probably wouldn't have replied honestly anyway.
So far you have managed to make it through life without being raped or killed, but it's only because you keep yourself just as hidden away as your parents had - it certainly wasn't for lack of trying on the part of those potential rapists, killers, and just plain old creeps. Your safety has come at a cost, but it is a cost worth paying, in your opinion. All you need to do is watch the news, read the statistics, see women all around you being hurt and abused and taken for granted, and all too often murdered at the hands of their lovers, both current and former - and even by the fathers of their children. How could one hope to love in a world so full of evil? Who could be vulnerable with another when that person could use that vulnerability to make your life a living hell, or even to end it? No, you thought, it was better to be alone with yourself instead of alone with another.
Below your clavicle and down your sternum lives another scar that spreads out across your mangled right breast, the discolored skin pulled tight and dimpled where the cancer had ravaged your body and the doctors had cut away your flesh and the invader within it piece by piece. Even though it is gone now, you can still feel where the port had been placed beneath your skin to administer the poisons that helped keep you alive. You run your fingertips over the spot as you regard your scarred and somber face in the mirror for only another moment, then step into the hot spray of the shower to wash away another day and prepare for a busy morning.
Now that you've secured a boring-yet-stable job as a medical biller where you can work from home, you can isolate yourself almost completely as long as you have electricity and high-speed internet. So you and your pair of milk goats are moving to the forest, where you've always felt the most at peace. Your chosen spot is rural enough to provide the solitude you crave, but not so far out as to make necessary resources inaccessible. The feed store is only twenty miles away and you can order most of your own supplies for delivery online - and anything you can't order could be picked up in that same town where the feed store is. It was perfect: a quaint little cabin with a quaint little barn just a short hike away from Crystal Lake, but far enough from other lakeside vacation homes and the notorious campground that you shouldn't be disturbed by whoever disregarded the local legends to party it up on the shores of that lake. You have heard those legends yourself, but you aren't really the superstitious type. Still, it's an interesting story: a killer stalks these woods, the rumors say. The vengeful soul of a boy who had drowned and then came back as a man, or rather as an unstoppable force that kills all who dare step foot in his territory. Jason Voorhees, they call him, and he kills to avenge his Mother and the child that he'd been, choking and struggling at the bottom of that lake while the camp counselors in charge of his safety looked the other way, too busy having premarital sex or something like that. If these supernatural stories had been true, then honestly you couldn't really blame him. But urban legends aren't enough to dissuade you from your chosen new residence and you begin packing your belongings in earnest that morning - you, Nan and Billy will be moving in two weeks, and you can hardly wait. The wilderness calls to you, as does the promise of a simpler existence. Maybe you can get some chickens. You'll need to build a coop to keep them safe, what with all the raccoons and weasels and other critters that would no doubt enjoy a chicken dinner, and while you aren't handy with tools and your carpentry skills are next to nothing, you're willing to try and teach yourself.
...
Two weeks pass by in a flash and then you're hitching up the moving trailer to your pick-up truck where Nan and Billy are pacing nervously beneath the camper shell. As you return to the drivers side door you make a soothing sort of sound at them which goes ignored, and not for the first time you think about how vulnerable it is to be a domestic animal. While belonging to a kind owner would be like paradise with all your needs met with no effort on your part, being owned by a cruel one would be a hell from which escape was impossible. While despite your best efforts you can't control everything about your life, you are at least a little bit less powerless than them. Even though their milk and offspring feed you, you sympathize with their plight and treat them as kindly as you can.
You start up the engine and pull out from the drive as slowly as possible to keep the goats from rattling around too badly in the back of the truck, then head off to your new home and what will hopefully be a less-aggravating life. "Hang in there, guys, only three-hundred-twelve miles to go," you say out loud when Billy sticks his muzzle through the back window to snuffle anxiously at your hair, and you turn on the radio (not-too-loudly), reset the trip odometer, and down the road you all go.
Moving in is always an energy-draining prospect, especially after such a long drive, but you've got enough adrenaline pumping to get through it. First Billy and Nan are introduced to their new home, and you take a moment to watch as they stomp and snort in alarm while inspecting their new surroundings. The barn is cozy and cute, and much nicer than the rather ramshackle one you were renting before. They'll be quite content here once they finally relax. A decent-sized pen is fenced off of the side of the barn and you look forward to expanding it further as time and money allow. Eventually you drag yourself away to begin unpacking your belongings. You don't own much, but moving your few pieces of furniture by yourself is exhausting and you make sure to move your mattress first so that you can pass out on top of it when the sun finally goes down. While the goats are probably still a little jumpy outside in their strange new barn, you fall asleep easily into a deep, contented sleep for the first time in awhile. Alone at last, you think to yourself, making dreamy little plans for the following day and relishing in the knowledge that you are at least a few miles away from any other human… but you are wrong about that. You sleep peacefully, not knowing that you'll find out just how wrong you are very soon.