Two Hearts (Joyce Byers x Fem Reader)

Arguement

TW: Arguing, SH, bl0od

It had been about two or three days since that... incident at work.

And you were standing before Joyce, seeing true anger in her eyes for the first time.

The two of you are in the hallway of her house, facing the other.

She points her finger at your face as she screams, "I'm losing my son, Y/N! I'm losing him, and all you can do is sit here and wait for more sex! All that I ask for is a little support sometimes!".

Your teeth chatter as you reply, "Joyce I'm sorry, I didn't realiz-".

She cuts you off, "No! I'm going through hell and you have no idea what it's like! My life is slowly falling apart and you aren't helping anything! Fucking hell, Y/N!".

You open your mouth to apologize again, but she stops you, "Just... leave me alone!".

Then, she goes into the bedroom and slams the door behind her.

You stand there for a few moments in shock.

Then, you run out of the house and to your car outside.

You get into it before starting it and driving off down the road.

You hold back tears until you stop at the side of a dirt road, parking in some woods.

You stop the car before burying your head into your hands as tears cloud your vision.

They begin to stream down your cheeks as you sob.

She yelled at you.

She cursed at you.

And you never even realized you were hurting her like that.

Guilt weaves its way into your brain, making you hot with it.

Then, you remove your hands from your eyes to slam your head against the steering wheel, making the car beep as you scream to yourself, "GODDAMNIT! WHY CAN'T I DO ANYTHING RIGHT!?! F-F-FUUCKKKKK!!!".

Your voice breaks as you curse yourself out.

Your forehead throbs in pain as you continue to hit yourself against the wheel.

Eventually you stop, resting your head against the driving wheel, slamming your fist on the dashboard.

Your tears make your jeans damp as you continue to cry.

You love Joyce.

But... maybe she doesn't love you.

And that just breaks your heart right in half.

You reach into your glovebox for something you haven't touched in a while.

Your razorblade.

You pull it out before staring at it for a few long seconds.

You push your sleeve higher to your upper arm, exposing your forearm.

With your hand shaking, you hesitate for a few moments

Then, you turn your left arm over to cut a line across the inside of it, between your wrist and bend of your arm.

As the blade glides against your skin, you watch as blood arises from it.

And then, you slice another line in.

Then another.

And another, wincing and breathing in sharply each time.

Now, you have four 3-4 inch bleeding cuts lining the inside of your arm.

Blood drips onto your blue jeans, staining them with each drop.