it chapter two | reader insert [✔]

one | the phone call

It's weird how memories can come back to you with only one look. 

"It's okay (Y/n)," Mackenzie Knox had one arm wrapped around you as she spoke, rocking you back and forth, "he didn't deserve you."

"It's n-not fucking okay, K-kenzie," you cried back, feeling your head go dizzy as memories from the night you found out about his dirty affair flooding your mind. 

And it's incredibly funny when the scars of your past can haunt you both physically and mentally.

"He did d-deserve me, that's what he told me. He t-told me that it was my fault, was I n-not good enough for him? D-d-did I do something wrong?" 

The pain from being in such a toxic relationship had broken you down slowly, and this was the final hit. The hit that sent you spiraling into madness as you sat on the couch of your best friends apartment, sobbing your heart out while she comforted you. 

"Of course you were good enough for him, and no. You didn't do anything wrong. He was the one who cheated, and that makes you the better person," Mackenzie reassured, but it didn't make you feel any better about yourself. Was it supposed to?

"I j-j-just don't get what I-I did wr-wrong!" 

Your stutter was getting worse nowadays. 

You weren't entirely sure how you got it- maybe you were born with it? The point is, you couldn't remember. In fact, most of your childhood was a blur nowadays. 

It was probably a bad thing, forgetting where you grew up, the people you were around (if any) and just... your whole life as a child was gone. A dark hole that whenever you tried to search into, it would send back echoes of anxiety and strange feelings of absolute terror. 

Those feelings felt so... familiar. 

"(Y/n)... I know it must be so difficult for you right now. But I'll always be here for you, alright? You know that, right?"

You looked up at your best friend for the first time this evening. You hadn't met her eyes the whole time you showed up at her front door, stumbling into her house and collapsing on her couch in tears, explaining how you had just found out about your husband of 14 year's affair with another woman. 

"Josh ch-cheated on me," you whispered. She gave you a sympathetic look. 

"I know, baby," she wrapped you in a hug again, and she held you while you cried. It felt good to be held by someone. 

Another hour or so passed. But time was a blur, a blur that you weren't entitled to try and keep up with. For the first time in your life you felt like you just wanted to fade out of existence, a little voice in your head telling you that you were worthless. 

You listened to that voice.

You knew you were crazy. You knew that normal people didn't hear fucking voices in their head when they were trying to sleep, or when they tried to think about the dark hole that was their childhood. 

The voice would get louder and angrier when she would look at her left palm. 

The long, unfamiliar scar trailed down her palm like a slit in paper. Whenever you tried to remember where you had gotten it, you would be overcome with emotion. 

Raw, hard, frightening emotion. Terror playing a big part, but sadness and guilt was mixed in there as well. And, oh god... the pain. 

The large pain that was the large scar of your old burn mark that ran down your abdomen, that you'd carried for as long as you could remember. It didn't hurt much anymore, but it was definitely there, but the problem was you couldn't fucking remember it's origins no matter how hard you tried.