What if it Doesn't End Well? - Hange Zoe x Reader [Fem]

Chapter 1

TW// self-harm, mention of suicide and mental illnesses.

I kind of wished I didn't let Mikasa go and leave me behind. It was the dumbest thing I've ever done. I've told myself over and over again not to trust me when I'm alone; especially when I've just had a manic episode. Only, I hadn't realized it was a manic episode until now, when the work was already done.

I hate scars. I hate lines. I hate blood. I pretty much hate everything I do, except at the very second I'm doing it. The worst part of it is that people suffer more-- battling cancers, diseases that requires strength to win over, severe mental illnesses that they'd have to be put into a psych ward-- those people have it worse than I do, yet I act as if I'm the only person that's ever suffered so much in this world.

I hate it so much. Heavens, one month streak gone wasted just because I missed seeing the strips on my arm. With a groan, I pushed myself to throw away the blade, and countless of blades I've managed to hide from Mikasa. I've promised both to myself and her that I'd stop it, but I knew better, I knew I'd have to find relief some time, which explains the countless blades.

But I'm so damn tired. Not just from harming myself, but from promising only to break it. Mikasa would be so hurt, and she'd treat me like a shitty patient the friend that she is. I hate it, too. I don't want to be treated like a person who deserves good treatment when I don't, I needed her to lash out on me, scream to me, maybe even hurt me. She wouldn't, though. Which is bad and good at the same time.

As I finish treating the lines I've cut, the door creaked open and I prepared myself for her reaction. I've seen it multiple times but I've never been used to it.

"(Y/N)? I brought meal, thought we could binge horror movies tonight." Mikasa's soft and angelic voice spoke from the living room, her footsteps light. I smiled at that, heavy footsteps always caused me anxiety, after Mikasa found out; she immediately changed the way she walks.

It was sweet, I'd have to admit. Though it made me feel special which I'm not, she dismissed it.

"And here I was thinking you're over horror movies since watching the Conjuring 3 in the cinema." I replied, trying to hide my nervousness.

Cutting myself and having the need to admit it to Mikasa always scared me. Her reaction does. I made my way outside the bathroom, slowly to the living room where I saw her in a white dress carrying a plastic which I assume was food inside.

As she found me, her smile and eyes brightened it almost killed me when it faded. For a second there, her eyes lingered to the newly scars on my right arm, before she found my own. "Bad idea, don't you think? Me leaving, that is." She said, forcing a chuckle.

I heard the pain within, the same pain I heard back when we had a good talk only to have me attempt a suicide the day after. Mikasa always tried to cover it up with humor, but the honest friend I am, I'll have to admit Mikasa and humor just doesn't go together.

"It is," I managed to say, hiding my right arm behind my back as I noticed her eyes travelling there again. She saw it once, she doesn't have to see it twice. "but it's fine, Mikasa. It'll fade away and--"

"--and you'll just do it again. (Y/N), I'm sorry, I should've stayed."

She should've, but it was me who forced her to go outside to socialize. She doesn't and will never play a part when it comes to my self-harming bullshit. It's all me, it's all because of my shitty brain that tells me to do it. I've told her that, but she just could never be convinced.

My friend heaved out a sigh, placed the plastic on the couch, and approached me. She placed a soft and comforting hand on my shoulder, and the moment our eyes met; tears started forming in her eyes.