"You've got your own suit of armor kid, and it's not the good kind,"
"I get it from you,"
Spencer Anna Stark was six when her mother fought and won full custody over her. Her life is downhill from there, with her mother gaining an addiction to drug...
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Warning: pretty much this entire chapter is a trigger warning. When it gets to the big stuff (abuse, self-harm, etc) I'll put another warning, but please, read at your own risk! Stay strong, loves!
Also, the end is kind of sappy and cliché, get over it, it was cute, and yeah, I may have cringed a little myself, but it still felt right so deal with it, it's fanfiction, we like fluff. <3 ;)
Also I have written and rewritten this over and over with desire to have it perfect, and I'm still not totally pleased. Ah, well, the struggles of a perfectionist, I hope you enjoy it, though!
Spencer shot up in bed, gasping for air, gripping at her throat, an unreleased scream on her lips from the nightmare she had just had. It took her several moments to realize she was safe. No longer back in that hellish apartment. Sometimes she could still feel unwanted hands on her and it was terrifying. The pitch black room and consuming silence began to add to her anxiety and the last thing she wanted to do was lose control and accidentally wake the kids. She shot out of the bed and quietly rushed out of the room and down the stairs.
Spencer hated feeling weak. It was one of the worst feelings ever. To her, weakness equaled being powerless. It came hand in hand with tears, fear, and shame, all things she dealt with way more than any child should. So when she woke up from a nightmare and barely made it to the living room before she broke down sobbing, she hated herself even more than she already did. She clutched the teddy bear that had been lying abandoned on the cushion next to her moments before tight to her chest as she let herself shake.
Too many emotions had made their way into her heart within the past week. She had spent a long time trying to make herself numb, that way, it didn't hurt as bad. She didn't realize that in doing that, she was just saving it all so that it could later wash over her like a wave, ready to drown her. It didn't help that her most suppressed memories had been brought back up the day before. Now every single thing she had hidden and denied and pushed away was right in her stomach and, in a panic, she began to stop breathing. Anxiety barged into her already hurting heart like an unwanted house guest and demanded control.
She buried her hands into her hair, her nails digging into her scalp as she gasped for air. Every single bad thing going on in her life ran through her head like a silent movie, causing her to freak out more and more. Her mom was dead. She was living with her dad who asked too many questions. She was at a safe house because she was in danger. She was alone.
