Manifest Imagines

y/n's thoughts are back ~ michaela & jared

tw: suicidal thoughts [ detailed, descriptive ], sh, ed [ ana ], cursing, depression, anxiety

pls only read this if you're comfortable, there are a lot of heavy mental health topics and it's super graphic <33  also, i'm sorry the first two one-shots are already dark

pairings: michaela stone x fem!reader best friend, jared vasquez x fem!reader friend, michaela stone (wife) x jared vasquez (husband)

The thoughts are back -- worse than ever.  You're sitting on your bathroom floor, in shorts and a cropped tank top, cuts all over your body.  You're so close to giving up, and you're scared.  You're afraid of yourself, of what you're capable of doing to yourself.  You haven't eaten anything in days and there's a bottle of pills and a knife sitting next to you, just taunting you to pick up one or both of them.  You do the only thing you can think of -- call your best friend, Michaela, and her husband, Jared, for help.

Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up, please pick up.

"Hey, Y/N, is everything o-?"
"Michaela, please come here, I need you.  Please.  I can't do this anymore.  I-I'm scared I'm gonna kill myself," you tell her, your voice shaking so much you don't even know if she understood a single word you just said.
"Okay, okay.  It's going to be okay, alright?  I'm gonna be right there.  Just hang on, alright?  I'll be there in less than five minutes, okay?  I love you, Y/N.  Everything's gonna be okay."
"I'm scared.  Can you stay on the phone with me, please?  Until you get here?  Please, Mick.  I'm so sorry.  I'm so sorry, hun."
"No, no, it's okay.  Don't be sorry, my love.  And of course, I'll stay on the phone with you," she says, and you can hear her footsteps through the phone, and her keys jingling in her hand as she yells to Jared.
"Jared, we need to go.  Now.  Y/N needs us."
"Right behind you," he yells, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and grabbing his phone off the nightstand.

"You still there, Y/N/N?" Mick asks you, getting into her car.
"Ye-ah.  I don't know how much longer I can stay."
"It's alright, it's alright.  I'm right here.  Thank you for calling me.  I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't."
"I'm sorry."
"Shh, shhh.  It's okay.  I'm almost there."
You hear her tires screeching, and within seconds, Michaela and Jared are in your apartment, running to your bathroom.

"You stay here.  I think it should just be me who goes in there," Michaela tells her husband, and he nods, sitting down on the back of the couch.

"Hey, Y/N?  It's okay, it's okay.  I'm right here," she says to you gently, picking you up bridal style and carrying you to the couch.

"J, please clean up the bathroom for me, baby."
"On it," he replies, running and picking up the knife and bottle of pills off the floor.

"Please don't call anyone.  I don't want to be sent to a psych ward, Mick.  You know I can't do that," you plead with her, grabbing her arm.
"Okay, okay, I won't.  I am right here.  It's okay.  Close your eyes.  It's alright, baby," she whispers, kneeling down in front of you, stroking the side of your face, and tucking your hair behind your ears.

Jared comes back into the living room with a bottle of rubbing alcohol, a bag of cotton balls, a container of Vaseline, Q-tips, gauze, medical tape, and a pair of scissors.

"Perfect.  Thanks, love," Mick says to him, taking some of the supplies before turning back to you.
"Hey, baby, we're gonna clean you up now, alright?  It's gonna sting a little."
You laugh, and she gives you a look.
"Just do what you gotta do.  I'll be fine," you reply, turning your head to face the ceiling, and closing your eyes once more.

Jared and Michaela clean you up and bandage your wounds.

"We're gonna take care of you, alright, baby girl?  We're right here.  We're not going anywhere."
"I love you guys so much.  I'm so sorry you had to see me like this, let alone get here in the middle of the night.  I feel horrible."
"Don't do that, Y/N/N.  We're here for you always," Jared replies, moving your legs to sit down before placing them on his lap.  Michaela does the same with the other half of your body on the other side of the couch.  You wince as your arm rubs up against the back of the sofa.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she says, and you shake your head.
"It's alright.  It's all my fault, anyways.  I'm so sorry, guys," you reply, a tear rolling down the side of your face to your ear.
Michaela wipes it quickly, telling you, "No, no.  As Jared said, I'm glad we could be here.  Everything's gonna be okay.  We've got you.  You can rest now."

Within minutes, you're fast asleep, your head in your best friend's lap, her one hand playing with your hair, and the other on her husband's shoulder across the couch.

word count: 828 (<--- lol)