[CONTAINS SMUT] ‼️18+‼️
~~~
Scars are permanent. So are first impressions. Due to the attitude and comments Stephen Strange has made towards Y/n there's no surprise she despised him. Thinking no more of her after a few encounters he was struck with...
Dipping into the warm water, the bubbles popped with contact against your skin, the s/c glistening under the soft light. The candles flickered ever so slightly, a contrast to the outside city night life, each glowing flame like the passed sunset. One you missed might you add.
Your thoughts were jumbled in bags of emotions and all you needed to do was scream. Let it all out. So, bending your legs, your head submerged, screams leaving in spouts of air bubbles and muffled out more by the music.
Head out the water, suds dripped down your face until your hands pushed them away, gripping at the roots for a moment. "Felt good," you sigh out, letting the water run off the bubbles until you saw the green paste seeped under the mounts of soap. "Fuck,"
Out the tub, towel wrapped tight, you click the lights on and pat a small towel over the wound, almost hovering as to not irritate it. Leaving it on the wound, for a second you press down to feel no pain. Was it already healed?
Removing the towel, you glance down then to the mirror as a scar ran diagonal towards your neck, slightly from behind your shoulder. Your heart dropped instantly.
"Be beautiful," she tilted your head up. "Be gracious," her stick smacked your back then your stomach to fix posture. "Be unrecognizable, merge with the crowd... but catch their attention," a grip on your chin was sudden making you gasp. "Understood?"
"Yes, Madam," you nod.
"Make sure you woo them, make them feel sorry for the poor pathetic girl you look to be... that you know you are to be," her stern gaze looked down at you. "Your every imperfection is the downfall in your work,"
"Yes, Madam,"
"With every blemish," she pokes your face with her cane, flipping your cheek from side to side, "with every loose strand of hair," each slender finger tugged at your hair roughly. "With every scar... your worth declines," she looked at you after taking a step back. "Not that you had much to begin with... Now, if you come back with anything less than double this month's rent you lose a meal for every 5 dollars less than the aim,"
"Yes, Madam," your heart raced.
"Be grateful it's not a meal per dollar, now off you go, those wallets won't steal themselves," she smacked the back of your calf's making you hurry away.
Whether water or true tears didn't matter, your body was left numb with every drag along the line you made. Did Anna and Loki see this? Was the suddenly washed away paste the reason? Your heart dropped at the thought of someone seeing it so when you drained the tub and rushed to your closet, you flung on a hoodie to hide it.
"Breathe... breathe," you repeat to yourself. "Only a scar- it's only a scar, don't worry," you stare at yourself in the vanity before seeing the reflection of what you wore. Whatever was left, whatever held you together in the moment broke as you strew it across the room, slumping into a chair.
Head in hands, sobs left lips like melodies of a broken heart. One torn from a chest of a healing victim without any regard. All confidence was shattered and lost, all acceptance was miles away from reach. You accepted all your flaws that she had pointed out to hate.
All but the idea of scars left on you.
And with that, Madam Eudora was correct, her every word was the truth and your mind had resorted to that of your 12 year old mind. That mindset you had washed out had crashed down like raging rain, flooding your mind.
~~~
"Y/n?" Wong peers into your room. "Please do not be undressed, I would not- Y/n?"
Your head lifted from its position you hadn't moved from. Scrambling back, you rush to get something to cover your scar, "uhm, yeah, hey," combing back your damp hair, you quickly turn back with a smile. "Oh, thanks," you see the pizza and other foods Anna must have gotten him to bring up.
"Are you alright?" Wong placed it on your desk, looking at you.
"Of course," you shrug, opening the pizza and taking a slice.
"Well, I'm here to check on your wound, make sure it-" his hand raises but you flinch away. "What? What's wrong?"
"Uhm, it's fine, it's all healed and stuff..." you mutter moving away as he tries to reach for it again. "Fuck off, Wong, ever heard of personal space?"
"I know you are under a lot of emotional weight, I may not understand exactly what you feel, but let me see the healing-"
"I said fuck off," you growl, conjuring a small purple blade. "It is healed, it is fine, leave it or leave," you point to the door.
"Y/n," Wong's voice became slower and cautious. "I need you to show me... not as a colleague but as a friend," he raises both hands as you shake your head. "Y/n-"
"I don't want anyone to see it..." Your eyes flurry shut as the shudders of air left your lungs. "It's just a scar but... please just leave it," whimpered words made him sigh.
"Alright," he abandons all attempts. "But listen here," he meets your line of sight. "Marks on the outside are evidence of strength within, and beauty is not defined by imperfection on the exterior, rather the horrid traits within one's soul,"
"Sorry... I didn't mean to be so rude... but, uhm, thanks," smiling softly at him, he gives you a simple nod, leaving only to stop when you pipe in again. "Uhm, Wong?"
"Yes?"
"Do you... think that Christine is better than me?" Nibbling on your inner cheeks, you tense at his laugh.
"And it matters why? We should not compare ourselves to others; better or worse. Those who love us most will make sure to remind you, and make sure to express it,"
"And... what if they haven't ever said they loved you?" You whisper.
"Then they are either in denial or are severely undeserving of your love," he gave a solemn nod, once you returned it Wong left.
Moving towards your bedside table, you grab the small frame with a picture of the sorcerer supreme, alongside other small reminders, pushing it all into a small box, his hoodie right at the bottom. Wiping away his drawings, and wiping the small stray lines he had made, you were able to close the box and flush it at the very back of your closet.
"Undeserving," you mutter, wiping your hands.
~~~
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