Natasha Romanoff/Scarlett Johansson x Daughter One Shots

I should've noticed (S.J)

tw: eating disorder, self harm

"Y/N, time for dinner!" calls Mom from the main floor.

Is it bad that those are some of my most hated words?

Dinner means food. Food means guilt. Guilt means throwing up.

It's not that I want to do it. I don't want to do any of it. It's more of a need. Because after it, after the cutting and the vomiting, I feel okay. And that's what I need.

I put down my pencil, done with my school work. I can already see the look on Mom's face when she sees how much my grades have dipped at the end of the semester. Disappointement mixed in with a little bit of pity. I can hear her soft voice as she asks me what's wrong.

I want to tell her. I really do. But at the same time, I'm terrified. I don't know why. She's never given me a reason to be, but nonetheless, I don't want her to know what I do.

"Y/N?" Mom calls again from downstairs.

I clear my throat. "Coming!"

I step out of my room for the first time all day. Mom had been at the office all day, so there was no one to force me to get out of bed.

I walk quietly down the stairs, my hands in the pocket of my hoodie, not wanting to leave the comfort of its warmth.

Mom is already sitting at the table, one steaming bowl of pasta in front of her. Another bowl is set in front of an empty chair, my seat.

"Hey, baby," Mom says.

"Hi, Mom. How was work?" I ask politely, sitting down in my chair.

"Oh, it was good. We finally..."

I don't listen to what she's saying, instead focusing on the battle in fromt of me. I disect the food: Pasta, tomatoes, chicken, cheese. Each new addition to the list adds more weight to my shoulders, more guilt.

"...anyway, how was your day? I hope you didn't get up too late!" she laughs.

I chuckle along with her, faking a smile, "No, Mom. I got up around 9," I lie. I woke up at 11, but I didn't actually get up until 1 pm. I just didn't have the energy.

"What'd you have for breakfast?"

Nothing. "I had some toast and fruit."

"I didn't see any dishes in the sink," she raises an eyebrow at me.

"I washed them, like a normal person," I say.

"Okay..." she says skeptically. "Do you want some garlic bread? It's in the oven."

I shake my head. I already have enough to deal with.

Mom's eyebrows knit together. "But garlic bread is your favorite."

My heart hammers in my chest. Does she know? She can't know. I don't know what it'd do to her if she knew.

"I...I just don't really feel like it today," I tell her.

"That's okay, sweetie," she smiles.

We both pause. It's the first time Mom and I have eaten together in a while. It would've been nice, but my own problems are ruining it.

She reaches for her fork, waiting for me to grab mine. My hand shakes as it makes its way towards the utensil.