Detroit: Become Human - Connor RK800 One Shots

#05 Hurt to Heal *WARNING*

Oh my goodness! I actually didn't think this book would get so dark so soon, but in some way I feel like I'm venting all my raw emotions into this. Man, I sort of feel bad for mistreating Connor in this one. I feel like I need to bring this up as well:

IF ANY OF YOU, AND I MEAN LITERALLY ANY ONE OF YOU ARE EXPERIENCING SIMILAR THINGS, PLEASE I'M SERIOUS (like Connor mentions explicitly throughout the story) TALK TO SOMEONE ABOUT THIS. NO ONE DESERVES TO SUFFER IN THIS WAY. YOUR VOICE IS IMPORTANT, you are a precious, unique person (no kidding, your fingerprints prove that). Look, we all have our own problems, and we can all work them out together. If talking to me is the thing that will save you, I'll be more than happy to help you. And I'll make an oath right now (I'll stick to it too), the next chapter will be a lot lighter, easygoing and fun with lots of fluff.

And if you're someone reading this in the future where there is a chapter after this (by the way past me says hi and thank you so much), I recommend reading it in the same day because I don't want to leave you on a bad note and influence you in any negative way. I know I say this a lot but I love you all, every single one of you and please look after one another, you'll make the world a better place.

- bee ❤

KEY:

(BFF/N) = best friend's name

It felt like drowning. You were drowning in an ocean of pitch black, struggling to tread water and struggling to breathe. Everyone watched, powerless, mere shadows in the distance. To them you appeared fine: a happy swimmer, staying steadily afloat. To you, your head was underwater, being dragged deeper and deeper down by a force unimaginable to all but you. This place where you were drowning, the skies weren't blue, they were overcast, a grim shade of grey, threatening a chaotic storm to come. Even if those bystanders did know what you were experiencing, they would never be able to truly understand exactly how you felt. So you didn't tell anyone, keeping yourself under lock and key, bottled up until there was nothing left but a hardened shell. A façade you created so no one would know. And when you cried, you cried when and where no one could see. You made sure your pain was more than skin deep, and only that. You figured that centring your pain physically draws attention and that's the last thing you needed. So your wrists were unscathed, leaving those who desperately wanted to know requiring further investigation. And they wouldn't, better if they didn't.

You looked over your desk, your eyes caught a glimpse of the android detective, talking to his sarcastic, crime-solving partner. Fuck, even he had more than you did. A stable, well paying job that he genuinely enjoyed and he was surrounded by people who cared about him. He had happiness. Compared to Connor, you were more of a robot than he was. No one could emotionally get to you, except yourself, when the curtains were closed. Sometimes when you looked over, Connor would look guilty, embarrassed or happy. You kept more of a steel expression than he did. In a way, you envied the perfect android. You wished to be happy too, but with that shadow looming over you, there was no way you could ever have what he had. Speaking of Connor, for some unknown reason he was now heading directly for your desk, eyebrows furrowed into an expression of heartfelt concern or whatever the hell that was in his chest to keep him functioning. He casually sat on the edge of your work space, perched carefully.

"Detective (L/N), you haven't been very productive in these last few hours. Your stress levels are also critically high. Have you been getting the required amounts of sleep?" Oh, so that's what he was worried about, office productivity. So then why did he just ask about your health? Maybe they were part and parcel to each other, maybe they linked together. Your eyes darted to the computer screen you were meant to be working at, an open file that was still incomplete. Your upper lip twitched in disgust.