Y/n has childhood trauma. Her parents emotionally abused her, and Sebastian catches her hurting herself, because she was overwhelmed again.
Warnings: emotional abuse, SH
This is really dark please do not read it if you get trigged by any of these topics.
Words count: 835
Sebastian's pov:
It's December 13. Y/n talked nonstop about how she wanted us to celebrate Taylor Swift's birthday here.
Just us, cake and hearing Taylor Swift. She was so excited and I didn't have the heart to tell her no.
She wasn't feeling her best this morning, so I offered her that she will stay in bed, while I buy the cake and decorations.
I'm finally back after 1 and a half hours with the cake and the decorations. It was hard walking across town because recently my acting career had blown, and so many people and paparazzis made it difficult to reach my destinations.
I open the door, excepting y/n to be watching Taylor Swift Reputation Tour on Netflix. She's not there, so I put the bags gently on the table and walk to our room.
I open the door slowly, for in case she's asleep. When I see that she isn't on the bed I open the door entirely, a bit stressed out.
"Ow" I hear from the wall behind the door. I walk in and close the door, to find y/n there with my razor.
I take a closer look on her hands and see cuts. I don't even need to think about how she got them.
I sit down in front of her, and look at her as I'm slowly reaching to garb the razor. She holds it tighter when I try to snatch it away.
"Babe could you please—" I try to fight the tears that are threatening to slip out. "Let it go y/n"
She lets go and I take the razor. I put it behind my back and take her hands in mine. She looks at me with red eyes.
"You were on day 395 honey" I choke on my words a little bit. We planned a party for 5 days from today to celebrate day 400.
"I'm sorry" she says quietly. I shake my head. "Don't be. It's okay you were upset... and we all need a way of coping it. But there are much better ways to do so" I finally break my stare from her hands, and look at her.
"And if you have another bad day, maybe you could try and do the exercises that we got from Dr. Brown. And that's only if you can. If you can't, please call me, and I'll come. I'll put everything harmful away, and be with you till you're feeling better" she nods slowly.
"I'm sorry. I- I didn't mean to do that it's just that- that you were gone—" she clears her throat. "You were gone, and I felt too lonely, and it was too quiet. And the thoughts came again. And I saw the razor, and I- I felt like I had to do it" she cries.
"It's not your fault. It's not mine. And again not yours. It's your parents's fault. They are the ones who made you want to do these things to your self. And it sucks that you have to deal with the consequences, of the things they said to you" I stop to swallow my drool.
"It sucks. It sucks a lot. But we can do things about it, so it'll suck less. And it's okay if it takes you years or decades to make it suck less. It's your journey and I'm just here to support you through it" she smiles sadly and looks at her hands.
"I hate my scars" I hear her mumble. "Hey. Hey. Hey. Look at me" I say quickly but hey softly. "We all in a way have scars. It's not your fault that yours are visible" I say.
She doesn't answer. She just hugs me weakly. I wrap my hands around her exhausted body. I kiss her head several times.
I know she doesn't want to talk about it more. It usually goes like that when she has panic attacks. She cries with me or without me, I come if I wasn't already there, I talk to her about it for a solid 5 minutes, we hug for another 5 and then we go and do something else.
"Come on baby. Taylor Swift wants us tp celebrate her birthday and watch Gilmore Girls" she giggles and stands up sniffling a bit.
I get up as well and we party and talk about our week. We then go to the couch and watch TV. We ended up watching Wednesday, because y/n heard so many good things about it, and wanted to try.
It was a great-shitty day. But we all have bad days. That's how we also have good days. Cause you have to experience bad days, to experience good days.