Work Text:
Dark.
That’s all I see. Darkness.
The black out curtains I had bought a year ago, which at the time felt like a good idea, now seemed to be the very thing that kept me trapped. Kept me from venturing out of my room. In a way it kept me trapped in my own misery. As long as those curtains remained closed, there was nothing out there.
No job.
No friends.
No one to call me, theirs.
No problems.
No hobbies.
And the more I thought about it, the more I realized I really didn’t have those things. Sure, I had a job, but it was just routine now, it didn’t provide stimulation or change.
Alright I had friends, but … did they even need me? Did they even care about me?
“OPEN THE DOOR!”
Wrecker’s voice bellowed through the door I had locked. My comm had been buzzing constantly for the past day, but I managed to ignore it. It all felt too much and not enough.
“I’M NOT GOING AWAY!”
I rolled to the other side, pulling my blankets up to cover my ears and face. I didn’t want anyone to see me, I didn’t want anyone to know how much I failed. How far I had fallen. I didn’t want to admit to myself I needed help.
I’m not even sure what happened or what exactly triggered me. Was it the fact that my best friend had another guy fall for her, and I didn’t have anyone? Or the fact that the guy that fell for her was someone I was fond of, somewhat? Maybe it’s just realizing that there’s something wrong with me. Something that everyone else sees that I don’t.
Am I really so horrible?
Maybe I really am boring, like some have said.
People forget that I exist often enough. Hell when I go to a restaurant there are times when the server forgets I’m even there.
No one ever contacts me unless they need something.
Maybe it would be better if I just disappeared.
The door breaks open, as strong, heavy footsteps come to my bedside.
“Talk to me, cyare.”
I turn to see Wrecker, his eyes wide, his one good eye full of worry and emotion.
“Wrecker?”
“Talk to me, sweetie, what’s going on? Who hurt you?”
“No one.”
He gently sits on the floor beside my bed and holds my hand, “Talk to me.”
It takes several silent minutes before I try to open my mouth, I subtly wipe a tear and finally the words come out, “I’m not needed.”
“What do you mean?”
“In life, I’m not needed.”
“Bullshit.” I flinch at his cuss. “Of course, you’re needed. What makes you think you’re not?”
I shrug.
“Don’t do that.” Wrecker squeezes my hand, “Don’t just shrug, explain to me your rationale, tell me why you think you’re not needed, why you don’t matter? Because you do.”
“No one remembers me.” I swallow, “Everyone thinks about me, but no one ever speaks to me.”
“What about me? Don’t I count? I’ve been calling and stopping by to check on you.” His warm large hand brushes away the strand of hair dangling over my face.
“Of course, you matter.”
“Well I need you.” His hand gently cups my cheek. “Who else will go on culinary adventures with me? Who else will make sure I’m getting the right amount of sleep? Or eating right?”
I smirked, “You have Hunter, Crosshair and Omega for that.”
“Fine, then who will make my heart quicken with just a smile? Who will make my breath hitch just with a look of your eyes?” Tears well up in my eyes as he gently presses a kiss to my forehead. “Cyar’ika, you matter. You matter more than you know. You’re everything to me. So please, don’t hide away, don’t disappear on me. Don’t …” he swallows back the lump in his throat, as tears begin to prickle his eyes, “Don’t leave me alone.”
“Wrecker … are… what … what are you…” The words keep failing me.
“I’m trying to say that I can’t stand the idea that you’re not okay. I can’t stand you thinking you don’t matter, when you do.” Wrecker takes a moment to simply stroke my forehead with his thumb, “Sweetheart, have you … have you thought that maybe you need help?”
I looked down at our hands, it had been something I thought about for a long time. Something that constantly played around in my head, but I always came back to the fact, there are others who needed it more. Others who deserved that allotment. I wasn’t worthy to take that space, wasn’t worthy to have someone try and fix me. Which I know wasn’t true, I know I deserved help just like everyone else, regardless of what my brain tried to tell me. Truth was I was scared. Scared of what asking for help really meant.
“It’s scary.”
“What is?”
“Asking for help.”
“Why?”
I take a deep breath, letting out a shaky sigh, “Being vulnerable. Opening myself up … what if I can’t be fixed? What if it makes it worse? What if everyone realizes how pathetic I am?”
“First, you’re not pathetic. You are never pathetic. You’re ill, love. And when you’re ill, you go see a doctor. Second, it’s not about fixing, it’s about managing. Managing whatever symptoms you have. Maybe trying to figure out what triggered you, or if you need medication. And finally, sometimes it gets darkest just before the dawn.” His hand is gentle as he slowly and smoothly strokes my head, “It might get worse before it gets better, but that doesn’t mean you’re alone. I will look after you. Help you. You won’t be alone.” He presses the gentlest kiss to my forehead. “But none of it will work until you’re ready to get help. So in the meantime, can I simply hold you, remind you you’re not alone. You are important. You matter. And you’re loved. Not just by me, but by everyone.”
I can’t talk as I try to fight the tears that are welling up, I shift on the bed, Wrecker, lying down beside me as he pulls me close, holding me, and hiding me from the world in his arms.
“Also, I’m sorry, love. I broke your door. I’ll fix it later.”
“ ‘tis okay.” I sob out, crying into his chest, and holding him close as I finally start to see the streaks of light shining through the darkness.