THE SHIELD ⇾ one shots & preferences

| Dean Ambrose | One Shot | You Are Not a Burden

A/N: I am not in any way trying to romanticize self-harm in any shape or form. My intention is to help others that are possibly struggling with situations like this in real life. If you struggle with self-harm, please know you are not alone! I'm here to listen if you feel like you need to talk. You matter and you deserve to be happy. You are important!

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It was one of those days, the heavy weight of the world crashing down on top of you. Everything in your body felt weak and you felt numb. A feeling you had succumb to inevitably. No matter how hard you tried to fight it off, the outcome was always the same. The pain and suffering was favored. You felt trapped inside your own head, thoughts soaring through your mind with no intentions of deteriorating. It was slowly killing you.

You thought it was getting better, you really did. You met the Shield boys about a year ago. They saved you. They had been taking a walk after a late night house show when they came upon you fighting with your boyfriend in one of the back alleys. He had always been abusive. You constantly had bruises, but he never stabbed you until that night. Even after Dean had pulled you into his arms and told you that you were safe, you had a hard time believing it. It was normal to live in fear. They bandaged you up and offered to take you with them for a while, at least until you figured everything out. Needless to say, you stayed with them. They were happy to have you join them. They made you feel a little better about yourself. Your depression subsided. You finally felt like you were moving past this part of your life. You were wrong. Recently, you've been isolating yourself from the boys. You locked yourself in your hotel room most of the time, sometimes even refusing to come to their shows.

You walked over to your makeup bag and searched for your favorite utensil, pulling it out and walking back over to your unmade bed. You sat there staring at the scars on your left wrist. There are roughly a dozen clean, horizontal cuts along the top of your wrist. You run your fingers over them and feel the small engravings on your skin. Some healed a little quicker than others. So many thoughts still invading your mind.

You don't have to do this Y/N, fight it off. Don't give into the temptation. You repeat this in your head a few times, but it's never enough.

You twirl the blade between your fingers. You are never going to be good enough. No one would care if you died. No one wants to be with a broken girl. You deserve to feel pain. The thoughts could continue on forever. Tears stream down your cheeks. You can't handle it anymore. You're too weak to fight them off anymore. You just can't.

You place the blade to your skin, opening up a new wound. You never cut deep; you were too scared to. Just enough to feel a dull ache momentarily. It fades within a minute, leaving you craving for more. Feeling like you deserve more. You drag the blade four more times across the delicate skin. The numb feeling you had before has now subsided. All you felt was the ache in your wrist, and the satisfaction of the blood on the surface. It was enough to shut your mind off temporarily.

You'd been cutting on and off for years. It started in high school. With the abusive home life you experienced, alongside the so called friends you associated with. You had it a little rough. You always resorted to cutting to make yourself feel a little better, to even feel something at all. It was an addiction, no matter how hard you tried; you could never beat it. You tried to get help. In high school, you attempted to talk to your best friend about it. He told you to keep everything bottled up, and not put your problems on other people. He also said it wasn't his job to be there when you needed a friend. That nearly killed you.

You haven't talked to anyone about it since. You knew you had a problem, but with the way your supposed-to-be-best-friend reacted, you've never shared it. You wanted to, but you couldn't risk the same thing happening again. A small part of you wished that the boys would find your scars and talk to you about them, but at the same time, you didn't want to be a bigger burden on them. You didn't want them to see you differently either; a broken, depressed girl who really wasn't worth saving. You didn't want them to have to worry about you. Isolation felt like the best option. No matter how scared you were. You just couldn't put that on them. You couldn't lose them like you've lost everyone else in your life.