𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑. 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘭 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴

𝘤𝘥 & 𝘷 | 𝘢

DARK SIDE OF IT:
VALKYRIE
CAROL DANVERS

[ tw - multiple mentions of self-harming, incidents leading up to sh, [kind of] eating disorders, mentions of a razor, mention of self-harm scars, mentions of depression/mental illness. Please read only if you're comfortable reading. ]

Third

Please read at your own caution.

Y/N sat curled up in the corner of the bathroom, legs tucked in tight, squeezed against their chest. Tears streamed slowly down their face as they weeped into their knees.

They thought they were clean. At least, they had been for a few months, and they thought it was getting better. Clearly it was a front they'd built somewhere along the line.

They'd been crying in the bathroom for about half an hour before Val and Carol got home. Y/N had been out for the day, having gone to work on a cup of coffee and the meakest slice of toast possible. Y/N had barely gotten out of bed this morning if it hadn't been for the smell of fresh coffee sitting on the bedside table for them, left by Carol.

So, having gotten up, and managed to brush their teeth that morning, they finished the coffee and the slice of toast before heading out to the car, and driving the twenty minutes to work - where they had sat, bored and tired for seven non-stop hours. Their lunch break consisted of another coffee and a toilet trip, where they sat crying in the last stall before wiping away any reminder of mental illness and dabbing their eyes dry with tissue and resuming their desk job.

By the time they'd gotten home, it was half 5, but they had no energy to make a start on dinner. Instead, they found themselves in the bathroom, locking the door before they slumped against it. After every five minutes of crying, drying, calming down, and repeating the process, they'd managed to move from the door to the further most corner of the bathroom, hoping to get as far away from it as they could, as if they could escape reality that way.

Eventually, with tear streaks settled down their cheeks, Y/N looked up, the light above them fuzzy in their eyes. They blinked slowly, pushing any last tears from their eyes in the hopes that they were, in fact, the very last.

Slowly but surely, they pulled up the sleeve of their long-sleeved shirt to reveal streaked scars along their pale skin. Slashes of reddish brown appeared on the soft tan of Y/N's skin, where they'd attempted to release at least some of the tension built up inside. Y/N hadn't intentionally hurt themselves for three months. Carol and Valkyrie still had no idea. Y/N hasn't told them, in fear that they'd get irritated and start throwing things and leave. Y/N couldn't tell them. Not now. Not when they were so good to them and all Y/N could give back was half of their best.

Y/N's eyes searched the room, looking for that tool they'd kept hidden from themselves, except from when they actually had to use it. Thing is, Y/N knew where they had left it the last time, but imagining that they had no idea where it had gotten to seemed to be the only amount of excitement they were feeling.

The razor sat where it usually sat: on top of the mirror cabinet, pushed back a little so that it could not been seen unless it was being looked for. It rested on a piece of tissue, out of sight and out of mind, or so Y/N thought.