The Horrors Of Which My Past Has Haunted Me (Darkiplier/Damien x Reader)

A Simple Life, Really

"(Y/n), I need those photos for the front page article. Have you finished the editing on them?"
A reporter with his chocolate brown hair tied back into a bun and his azure irises staring back at me with a sweet tenderness in his usually focused eyes and furrowed eyebrows. This man was a hard worker and one of the head journalists here at the Los Angeles Times. He also just so happened to be your closest friend, someone I would trust my life with if I had to.

I remember the day we met like it was yesterday. Three years ago I was someone who felt lost and confused, thrown into a life that felt like it didn't have any meaning. I took a freelance photography job here, just trying to sustain my life while I still could. It was harsh, most of those days of feeling like I lost a huge part of myself and didn't even have reason why.

But then Seàn came through and saved me from that hole, giving me the hope I needed to keep moving forward and fill the voids within myself. I will forever be indebted to this man for all he's done for me.

"Yep, they're all done!" You lift up the folder with the pictures of the crime scene from downtown, in a disco dance club. A man was found shot in the heart in the center of the dance floor in the early morning. They couldn't find much evidence to who could have done this other than a pink Afro left stranded by the back exit.

His name was Abe and he was a detective.

There was something haunting about that name that I could only ration it as the feeling of loss. A feeling that felt all too familiar in the blank, missing pieces of my mind. Much like looking into a shattered mirror, the reflections I see are broken and fragile.

He takes the folder, smiling softly as he looks over the well taken photos. "You've improved so much, (Y/n)! You really are great at this!" I look down to my lap, a little lost in thought as I stared down at my lap, picking at the sides of my nails anxiously. Old habits do die hard. "(Y/n)? You okay?"

Looking up to Seàn again, shaking my head to clear it and smiling gently back at the young Irishman. "Of course I am! Just fabulous!"

He rolls his eyes and sighs. "It's okay to be honest about how you feel every once and a while."

I chuckle sarcastically, leaning back into my chair with a deep exhale.

"I'm fine, really! Just a bit of sadness about the case we're discussing in this article."

"But we've done tons of articles like this. Really, this is nothing compared to that serial killer we wrote about a month ago." He sighs softly, coming further into my office and sitting down in front of my desk as he lets the door fall closed behind him. I was now the department head of photography and journal editing, clawing my way up after three years of hard work. "What's so special about this one?"

I look down to the floor, sitting up and gripping the edge of my soft office chair slightly. "I'm not really sure, actually. There's just something so familiar about him. It feels like I knew him fairly closely, but the more I look at him the less I recognize him." I look up to my close friend, biting my lip softly with a deep feelings of confusion. "I don't really know Seàn. It's not really worth talking about.."

"Everything is worth the time to talk about, but if you really don't want to discuss any further that fine." His eyes wrinkle slightly with the smile he gives, taking my hand in his and squeezing it reassuringly.

"Thank you, Seàn." I sigh and stand, letting go of his hand and fixing my well fit pencil skirt. I look over to the window, now too dark to see out into the sky. "It's getting pretty late. We should head out soon."

Seàn nods softly. "Come on, I'll walk out with you."

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I sigh deeply, kicking my black heels off next to the front door of my apartment and collapse onto my bed, absolutely exhausted.