Outside Work We... •[TNN One-shots]•

Survive •|| MARJOREECE + OLIVE ||•

Prompt: Olive is a survivor, and this is her story.

[TW: !! MENTIONS OF SEXUAL ASSAULT AND SELF HARM !!]
(READ WITH CAUTION!!!)

The hoodie hung low over Olive’s eyes, sleeves past her fingertips. She’d forgotten what it felt like to be warm. The hallway lights at school buzzed overhead, but she didn’t really hear them. Not since that night. Since the shortcut. Since the alley.

It had been a month. Or maybe more. She didn’t keep track.

She hadn't cried. Not really. She’d sat in the shower until her skin turned blotchy red, until her fingers pruned and the steam burned her throat. She bled that night. Quietly. Without a sound. Red soaked the sheets before she could stop it.

And still, the next morning, she made breakfast for herself like always. Sat at the table like always. Laughed at a meme Arri sent. Smiled when Marjorie said she looked tired.

It was easy, almost too easy, to disappear.

But her bones ached now. From hunger. From silence. From the weight of pretending.

Reece noticed first. He had passed her room late one night and saw the light still on. The sound of running water in her ensuite. The sharp, repeated turn of the tap being twisted on and off, over and over.
He didn’t knock. He just stood there, brow furrowed.

The next morning, she was wearing a hoodie again. In April. He didn’t say anything. Not yet. But something in his stomach twisted.

Marjorie noticed second.

She was doing laundry when she found the blood. A towel, stiff and stained. Sheets that weren’t crimson when she bought them. The sleeves of Olive’s school hoodie frayed at the ends— nibbled by teeth, torn by something desperate.

She sat down on the floor, the towel in her lap, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. “No,” she whispered. “No, no, no.”

°•°•°--**--°•°•°

That night, they sat her down. No lectures. No scolding. Just a quiet living room, the TV off, and two people who saw her.

“Olive,” Marjorie said softly, kneeling in front of her. “My darling… what happened?”

Olive didn’t answer. Her throat closed. Her fingers dug into her sleeves.

Reece sat beside her, silent for a moment before speaking in the voice she remembered from childhood bedtime stories. “You don’t have to say it. Not if you’re not ready. But you don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”

And that was when she broke.

Not loudly. Not with screams. Just a soft, cracked sob, like the whisper of a glass breaking in slow motion. Marjorie wrapped her arms around her. Reece held her hand. And for the first time since that alley, she let herself be held.

The silence stretched, thick and aching.

Olive didn’t lift her head. Her tears had soaked into Marjorie’s shoulder, her sleeves clinging to her arms like wet bandages. Reece didn’t move. He didn’t rush her. He just stayed, his thumb gently tracing circles against her palm.