Jenna Ortega x Autistic!Male!Reader One Shots

I'll hold you tight, sweetheart pt2

1846 words

Jenna POV

3 weeks has passed since Y/N's mother passed away, the funeral was last week and to say I'm proud of him would be a massive understatement. He's opened up to me more and I'm honored that he trusts me enough to talk about his emotions.

He had started to go to therapy to learn how to cope with his past abuse and help move forward with his mother's passing. I went with him to every session, he struggled to talk to the therapist the first and second time and had me do the talking for him but he's slowly opening the barrier of communication.

I've asked for some time off work to help him through the grieving process, he hasn't pushed me away after what happened a couple of weeks ago. He's so strong; stronger than he knows.

However, progress isn't without it's setbacks. He's plagued with nightmares of his father beating him and his mother, in these nightmares he's powerless to stop him and forced to endure his cruelty with no means of escape. I can't imagine having to go through that every night.

Now that his mother was gone I was the only person he could turn to for comfort, I was all he had left. His family had all but abandoned he and his mother years ago and they weren't coming back anytime soon. But I'm OK with being the only one to help him, he needed me and I won't leave him.

-

We just got back from one of his sessions this morning, it was rough; talking about past trauma is always tough, but that's the thing, Y/N didn't talk at all during this session.

We step into the house and take off our shoes, my black boots and his Star Wars Vans. I kept my leather jacket on because it was really chilly.

I'm sitting down watching TV just going through channels trying to find something interesting to watch. "There's jack shit to watch." I mumbled to myself, nothing at all to captivate me.

Y/N's in the bathroom to freshen up a bit. I can't help but notice he's been very quiet today. His therapist warned us that he'll likely have good days and bad days, coping with severe trauma coupled with the loss of a parent can cause feelings of severe depression, anxiety and self deprecating thoughts.

I told him he doesn't have to suffer in silence anymore, that he doesn't need to grieve on his own. I hope he understands that I and my family are now his family.

Once he finished up, he walked over to the couch next to me, which was odd because he usually cuddles up with me. He sat cross legged on the couch fiddling with his hands, but also staring at a wall, as if he's trying to focus on one specific part of it.

I inspect his face from afar; immediately noticing the fresh tear tracks that shined on his skin like metallic. He was crying in there, my poor baby.

I made my way to him and knelt down in front of him and held both of his hands, his eyes dart from the wall to look at me as soon as our skin make contact.

I begin to speak. "Are you okay, sweetie?" I recieve nothing in reply, only a sharp exhalation through the nose and the cool breeze against my skin that followed.

I move to cup his face but he immediately flinches away. A pained expression on his face told me everything I needed to know, his past haunted him and his body had reacted to me as if I was going to hit him; muscle memory I suppose.

He began to tear up, sniffles came afterwards. He put his head on my shoulder and let out painful sobs and I instantly wrapped my arms securely around him.

"Oh baby... let's go upstairs okay?" He nodded against my shoulder. He walked in tandem with me to our room and I sat on the bed and took my poor baby in my arms, cradling him gently across my lap. He made himself small as he continued to cry, making the leather of my jacket shine with his tears.