Her Scar | Jacksepticeye/Antisepticeye X Reader

1 / Y/n / The Disaster

My body feels stiff. Everything aches. A sharp pain shoots through my skull and suddenly, I remember. Being chased by a man, him capturing me. Slitting my throat. I move my aching arm to touch my throat. I'm not dead.

My fingers land on a bandage and pain runs through my entire body. I realize I've yelled out when people start rushing into the room, but all I can focus on is the only thing I can remember about the man who attacked me; glowing green eyes.

"Miss L/n, you're awake!" The doctor shouts, hurrying to my side.

I turn to him to speak, but he stops me. "Please, you must be in shock. You've been unconscious for weeks now, we thought you would slip into a coma. You were attacked and as soon as you are able, the police will want to talk to you. Now, we managed to save your vocal chords from the brunt of the attack but we still aren't sure if you will be able to speak, so we are going to run tests as soon as you are in stable condition. For now, rest and try not to speak. If you try to speak before fully healing, you may damage your vocal chords and never be able to speak again. That yell as is might have already cost you." All I could do was gasp, touching the tips of my fingers to my throat again before flinching at the immense pain radiating through my body. It was all so much information to take in.

He slit my throat. Or, he tried. He almost killed me. It was the serial killer everyone's been talking about for months now. I sat there in realization, and before I knew it, water started to fall on my hands. It was tears. I was crying. Finally, it begun to sink in that I had nearly lost my life.

***

It was weeks before they would even think about letting me leave. Speaking wasn't impossible, but it was painful. If I tried too hard, I would start to taste blood. They told me I might have to start resorting to paper and pencil but thankfully, I already knew sign language. I was rusty, but with practice, I re-learned anything necessary.

I was currently sat down with the lead detective on the case, talking with him about my release from the hospital. Well, with a translator for my signs.

'When will I get to leave?'

"We were hoping to have you go today, but since we think he will want to finish you off, we are hoping to place you under some sort of protection. Do you have any family out of the country you can stay with?"

'No. Any family I had died years ago.'

"Oh. I'm very sorry for your loss. Is there anyone out of the country you can stay with? Any friends?"

'Just one. I met him in the United States a few years ago. I'm sure he would take me in. How long do I need to be gone?'

"Until the case is solved. We don't have a definite time estimation, so we will contact you when the case is resolved. Do you have a number or email you would like us to contact you at?"

I nod, and reach for a pad of paper and a pen, scrawling out my email and phone.

"We can provide you with transport on our private witness protection plane. You just need to make sure your friend knows you're coming."

'I will let him know.'

"Alright. Just let him know by Friday. The plane leaves then. You will be accompanied by a few of our detectives to keep you safe on the ride. If you think you're in harm's way even after you land, contact the American Police in your area and we will let them know to have someone watch over you. Let us know where your friend lives by Friday as well. I suppose we are done here. Unless you have any other questions."

I shook my head. He nodded once and left, along with the translator.

I sat alone in the hospital bed for a few moments, staring out the window. I touched the bandage on my neck lightly, making sure not to hurt myself. They told me to keep changing the bandage for the next few months, and to be sure to take care of the wound. I moved to the bathroom, unraveling the bandage from my neck. Finally, I look up into the mirror.

I look terrible. Eye bags so deep I could carry all the medication they give me for this stupid wound and then some. Skin pale and lifeless, nearly translucent because all I've done is drink water and take medicine for the last two months. My cheeks have lost all color and I look dead, not just inside but outside.

But all of it is undermined by the gash tearing across my neck, on full display now that my bandage has been removed. Nearly all the skin on my neck is purple with bruising, the skin around the wound white, the wound no longer bleeding but still very raw. I couldn't move my neck too much or it would rip open the grown tissues.

They told me it would take at least three more months until I was healed enough to stop wearing the bandages. I didn't look forward to the next three months.

After re-bandaging myself, I step from the bathroom and grab my phone. I quickly pull up my last contact.

[You:]
Hey, this is out of nowhere and we haven't talked in a while but I have a lot to explain. Before all of that though, I desperately need a place to stay. Would you let me stay with you? I can be in America by Friday, but I need somewhere to stay.

The response comes in, and immediately, I'm filled with a sense of relief.

[Goofus:]
Of course, my door is always open to you. So, what happened?

[You:]
Thank you, this means more to me than you know, Mark. I'll explain everything when I land in LA. I'll see you Friday.

[Goofus:]
Anytime, N/n. Just let me know what I can do.