I'm Not Her (Bendy x Reader) UNDER HEAVY EDITING

1: Why did you leave?

Waking up had always been hard. Most people can agree with this. It's usually "I didn't get enough sleep" or "I'm too lazy". Of course, there were some people who couldn't find a reason to get up. They had nothing to get up for. No family or friends to go to, no real reason to keep existing.

You were one of those people. You were one of the people who really didn't have anything to keep waking up for. Sure, you had some family, but you didn't have the best relationship with them. The only person you could've considered yourself close to was your mother but she was dead. She had died a few years back from cancer. You were still living with her at the time, but were able to keep the house. Barely. It took a bit of help from some of your family, but you were able to eat and pay the bills on time.

That morning, you weren't feeling too well. It was one of those days where you just felt awful. Maybe you could call in sick? Your boss was pretty forgiving about that stuff. She was your aunt, afterall.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, letting your feet hit the old carpet. Your mother never liked wooden bedroom floors. She was always scared you'd fall and hurt your head on them when you were little. Getting up, you walked over to your closet. You looked through the clothes you had, not sure what to wear. If you decided to go to work, you would need to dress at least somewhat nice.

"I... I feel sick," you mumbled, taking a few steps back from the closet.

You grabbed your phone from your nightstand, pulling up your contact list and calling your Aunt Margeret. One ring... two rings... three-

"(y/n)! Is everything alright, sweetie?" Margaret said, her voice full of concern.

"I'm not feeling too well. I don't think I'm gonna make it to work today," you said.

"That's okay, (y/n). Is everything okay? Would you like me or Kiki to stop by?" Margaret asked.

"No, it's fine. I just feel sick," you said.

"Alright. I'll let you take some time off. Call me if you need anything," she said.

"Mhm," you humed.

"Good. I love you."

"Love ya, too."

"Bye bye."

Silent.

You set your phone down, turning back to your closet. You pulled out a pair of gray sweatpants and a (f/c) shirt, putting them on. You started to feel even worse than before. Did you make the right decision calling in sick? Was your aunty really okay with this? Is she disappointed in you?

"It's fine. It's fine. They love you, they care about you. They want the best for you. It's okay to take a break," you said.

Sick was a sort of code word in your family. You and many of your cousins had developed some sort of mental illness, mostly anxiety, and "sick" was the word you used when the illness was kicking in. It started because you always described the beginning of your panic attacks as feeling so nervous you were nauseous. So, feeling "sick" usually meant you were having a panic attack.

You left your room, heading to the kitchen to get something to eat. You opened the fridge. Nothing. You sighed, turning to the shelves. Nothing. Pantry? Nothing. You were out of food. Again.

"I should've just gone into work," you mumbled.

Deciding to at least do something productive, you grabbed your phone, jacket, wallet and keys, slipped on your sneakers, and left your house. You were a little grateful that you were forced to leave your house. You hadn't really left outside of going to work so you were feeling a little jittery.