Maze Runner One Shots (Requests Open)

What's Supposed To Happen (Brenda)

This involves self harm along with no comfort to go along with it. I understand it's not something easy to stomach so please either proceed with caution or wait until I upload again. Take care of yourself

They're there. They'll always be here. They've faded, and they'll keep doing so overtime, but they'll never truly leave. Nothing I do and no amount of time can wipe them from my skin.

They're healing though. They've gone from angry and red to faint lines.

Nobody knows. Not one soul knows what I've done to my arms for so long, and I'm planning to keep it that way for a long time. Until they're only visible if you squint, I'm keeping my arms completely covered. It's just easier than the alternatives. Interrogating, pity, anger, disgust, all of them.

I wouldn't exactly call myself better. The urge is still there, sometimes more prevalent than usual. I have to remind myself of all the cleanup, shame, and risks that come when it's done.

I'm still doing better than I think I ever have. I've adjusted well to the Safe Haven, I've found a routine that works, I've made friends, and Brenda and I are finally together. While I have plenty of reasons to relapse, I have plenty more not to.

I kept glancing between Brenda and the grass under us. It felt nice to run my fingers through. The cool dampness seemed to keep me on my feet, guaranteeing that I was truly in the moment with her.

I like listening to her speak. It doesn't even matter what about. Her eyes light up when she's happy, glistening with joy. Her mouth twitches as a giveaway when she's frustrated, an unconscious way of self control. Her lips upturn into the ghost of a clearly fake and bitter smile when she's upset, something that hurts to see.

I know her. I know so much about her.

She knows me. She knows so much about me.

She'll won't know that part anytime soon though.

I'm listening to her tell me about the incompetent new guy that's been making her job harder. I'm listening to the way she rants while also talking with her hands. I'm listening to how she goes faster when she's especially annoyed at one of his actions.

I'm lucky now. I appreciate having her in my life.

I used to not appreciate life at all though.

I thought about it long enough for my eyes to travel to my arms just to realize that my sleeve had rolled up to the point where you could see them.

I froze as my eyes widened, my brain short circuiting at my carelessness. I met her gaze as my heart stopped just for her to be intently looking at my expression before her eyes started traveling to the problem. Practically on autopilot, I pulled my sleeve down before it hit me.

"What was that about?"She asked slowly, narrowing her eyes in suspicion.

"Nothing. I'm just . . . cold. It's really cold tonight,"I tried to dismiss.

"So cold you just had to panic?"She pointed out.

"I wasn't panicking. I was just cold,"I said firmer, shifting in my spot as I did my best to not look away.

"Let me see your arm then."

"No,"I immediately snapped, starting to glare at the grass as my face burned worse by the second.

"Just let me-"
"Leave it alone,"I demanded, quickly standing to leave before this could somehow escalate further. I love Brenda. I really, really do, but she can react to things in ways completely different than I imagined. While she's usually levelheaded, she has a tendency to surprise you with new things you didn't know. That and she's only human of course. Her desperation to protect those she cares about is one of the best things about her. Even if that means protecting them from themselves.

I didn't want her to know I was one of those people.

I didn't have a choice as she grabbed my arm to stop me from running off. When I yanked my sleeve up, there was the worst sound I've ever heard.

Fabric ripping.

Strong. She's so effortlessly strong. So strong that instead of holding me back, she ripped my shirt, finally putting my most sorrowful secret on display.

I could only stand still in shock as she looked between the sleeve in her hand and the scars on my arm. They were fairly clean, not something rigid or rough that would come from a fight. Something so organized and thought out, there was no way anyone but my unsteady but focused hand could have put them there.

She looked between my arm and me, her eyes wide with horror at the sight. I didn't say anything to try and cover up what was now so obvious. So I took my arm out of her hand, placed it by my side, and said nothing at all.

"What the hell, Y/N?"

I winced at her snappy tone as I was stuck between immediately running as far as I can or listening to what she had to say. Because yeah. Sure. She's hotheaded. But she wouldn't let that just distract her from how comfort was the only thing I needed right now. She'll know. After a second maybe, but she has to realize.

"What was the point of that? What could have possibly ran through your damn head?"

Nothing did. Not really. That was one of the reasons it was so easy to do after the first time. It made me numb to how much pain I was actually in. And it's easier to be numb than hurt.

Her eyes narrowed in a dark glare as she quickly stood, walking closer. I stayed in my spot, waiting. Just waiting.

"Answer me."

I don't know how to say it. Not really.

"Damnit Y/N, answer me!"She suddenly screamed. I flinched at the not sudden but still unexpected change before backing up, just wanting to be alone. "No! You don't get to leave!"She snapped, grabbing my arm and pulling me towards her. I nearly stumbled for a moment, only for her to force me upright before shoving the scars I see everyday in my face. "What the hell?! You've always sounded so strong every time I talk to you! And instead you did this with what?! Some basic knife!"

I pulled my arm away and kept it to my chest as I backed away quicker, giving her a pathetic glare. My eyes threatened to burn with tears that I blinked away while still watching her. Her words seemed to mix together, barely audible over my racing heart. I knew she was still yelling though. I could hear the loud yelling.

I didn't think she would yell like this when I told her one day. I didn't think she would yell. Nobody would be happy about this, but resorting to insults without a second thought was awful.

"What was the plan?! Hide them forever?!"

No. I would tell her one day. While we were alone, I would sit her down and explain that I used to cope with all the bad things that have happened and the result of it by hurting myself.

It wasn't supposed to go down like this.

My chest ached, heavy with regret that I assumed she would understand after a minute. My throat closed up, making it impossible to swallow the spit forming in my mouth. My face was burning more and more, a mix between shame and anger at both myself and her.

She wasn't supposed to react like this. She really, really, really wasn't.

With my stomach churning worse, painfully even, I focused on her to take away from it. Then, I remembered she was the cause of it, proving that to be useless.

As my breathing threatened to get heavy, giving away everything, I found my nails digging into my arm to stop it. As if it would give me control over the situation, as if it would bring me a way to turn back time, as if it would get rid of the scars, I scratched at my arm, a familiar but still uncomfortable sensation that I can never quite fix. Everything but the pain was blocked out. Even her screaming seemed to go away. Nothing about the situation was real. None of it was supposed to be real.

Not like this.

It could've happened anyway. I would have settled for tears. I would have settled for walking away. I would have settled for silence.

It was never supposed to go down this way.