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Summary: Dom finds out about your past with hurting yourself, and wants to help
Trigger Warnings: Past self harm (in form of cutting), mentions of past troubles eating (not graphic), talking about other people's drug addictions (Cocaine leading to heroin use) (All of this followed by Dom comfort)
If any of the themes disclosed above are too triggering, then please do not read this imagine. Your wellbeing comes first. - Lana 🤍
Word Count: 3,750
Y/N's POV
Hoodies, very quickly become one of the staples of your wardrobe when you're trying to hide your body.
For so many reasons, I will go to extreme lengths to hide my body away from the rest of the world. One of the main ones, is my scars.
My thighs up to my stomach is covered in scars of my cuts. I'm two years sober now, but some of the scars are not fading, they would've by now, I think a few of them will always just stay with me, a forever reminder of how low I fell.
I was at the brink of collapse during early 2017. I had been kicked out of my parents house, and I was living with two people who I no longer associate with, but as I was living with them, both of them were hardcore addicted to cocaine.
I never took it myself, and since we all had separate rooms, I mostly stayed in my own room and kept that room clean and in the beginning, attempted to keep communal rooms like the kitchen and bathrooms clean.
But the house quickly became a massive fucking drug den. They brought other people who were their addict friends to do drugs with them in the house, and some of those people were addicted to so much worse than cocaine.
They brought dangerous people home. People older than us, criminals, outright smackheads, I've stopped feeling bad for saying that, and all around bad people. I count my blessings every day no-one ever physically hurt me.
But that time for me was by far the worst in my life, every day was emotionally draining. Either of them could disappear for about a week and they'd either been arrested and held for hours by police until they sobered up, or they'd be on drug binges and out partying for days back to back.
I tried to cope with it, as I'd known them both for ages and ages, but I just couldn't take it. My final straw was when both of them started to become addicted to heroin as well as cocaine.
The needles around the house, the people they were bringing home, it was all too much. So I packed my things, and just left. I couldn't stand that house anymore, I was either going to lose my mind, or they were going to die.
And I wasn't sticking around to see either of them happen.
So, in the middle of a local coffee shop at 9:30 in the evening, with three bulging heavy backpacks with me, I called up Steph in floods of tears, told her everything over the phone, and asked her if I could stay with her until I got back on my feet again.
