^^its not Marshall Lee but I just doodled him so there u go idk
I'm pretty sure this is the longest chapter I've ever written and I've had most of it written for a looong time. Like months. This is where I've been trying to get the story to since the beginning and I finally made it, so yipee!
I assessed my situation before I opened my eyes. I was in a bed. From the smell, I guessed that it was his bed. I inferred that he took me to his home after last night. My body was aching all over. Everything that had happened last night was a blur, but I remembered and understood enough. My shoes were off and I was still wrapped in Marshall's flannel.
I groggily opened my eyes and glanced around the room to see that Marshall wasn't there. I considered calling from him, but then I was suddenly hit with the realization.
He saw. He knows. How am I going to face him? How am I going to explain?
And then the even bigger picture questions arose in my mind and I began to panic. My mom won't let me live with her anymore, she made it clear. Oh glob. What am I gonna do now?
My head throbbed painfully and I closed my eyes with a grunt.
That's when Marshall burst into the room
"You're awake."
"Nice observation," I responded.
He suddenly left and I was confused until he came back with a tray of what looked like food. My stomach growled and I noticed my dry mouth at the sight of the soup and water.
He walked it over to me silently and I sat up so he could place it on lap.
But although I was starving, I didn't have an appetite. He was hovering over me and I kept my gaze downward, unable to meet his gaze.
I cleared my throat. I didn't know what to say, so I tried to keep it lighthearted. "Soup for breakfast?"
"It's past noon. And it's good hangover food." His voice was monotone and it seemed as if he he was holding back from saying what he wanted to.
"Oh...well thanks."
Awkwardness and tension was thick in the space between us. It remained that way for a minute. I was still unable to start eating, so I opted to sip the water.
I heard him take a deep breath, then say, "(Y/N), we need to talk about this. I need to make sure your okay."
My heart twisted at the tone of his voice. My throat seemed to close up and I couldn't respond. All the reality of everything weighed down my shoulders more and more every second. I felt my eyes begin to well with tears. "I just...can you just—leave? Just for a bit?"
"(Y/N), I need to know—"
"Please," I cut him off. "I know this is your room, but I just need 5 minutes to be alone right now."
He hesitated, then silently walked out, shutting the door behind him, saying that he would back soon.
I took the time to let my tears out, to force down the soup, and to deal through my emotions.
I didn't know how it had gotten so complicated so quickly. It all happened at once—one night and one person. And now I wasn't sure if my life would ever be the same. I just didn't know if it was a bad thing or a good thing. I was almost uncaring about it. Apathetic about my own situation. I just didn't care anymore. I vaguely wondered if this was what real depression is supposed to feel like, this—this emptiness.
Once I gulped down the water I realized that I needed to pee. Like, I really needed to pee.
Eventually I made it to Marshall's bathroom and nearly gasped when I looked at my disheveled appearance in the mirror. Deja vu much?
After I fixed myself up and got out, he was back in his room, leaning against the wall. He glanced up at me as soon as I entered the room and took a step towards me.
"(Y/N)?"
When I didn't respond or go closer to him, he came up to me and gently held my face in his hands. "Princess?" Instead of the usual cockiness that comes along with the pet-name, this sounded affectionate and filled with concern.
I still couldn't meet his eyes. I saw his throat bob up and down with a swallow. "(Y/N), Look at me."
His tone was a mixture of demanding and pleading. I obliged, and the expression in his bright eyes was enough to make my heart shatter.
For a moment, we just stood like that, staring into each other's eyes. Then he spoke: "First things first, I need to know if you are okay. Are you in pain?"
"I'm fine. It only hurts a bit."
"Where?" he retorted immediately. "Do you need medicine? Bandages? A doctor?"
I could've chuckled at his ridiculous concern. "No, it's not that big of a deal. Besides being sore all over, it mainly hurts around my ribs area. And my thighs in a few places. And a cut reopened on my back."
His eyebrows furrowed. "That is a big deal. Let me see."
"No, I can deal with it myse—"
"Let me see," he interrupted. This time his voice was stern. He would not take no for an answer.
I looked down and awkwardly lifted my shirt, showing the ugly black and blue bruises that scattered my torso and the random cut from a whipping weeks ago that had reopened and was covered with crusty blood.
He sucked in a breath. I looked up at him to see him take a step back, his eyes scanning my body. I suddenly felt his hands touching me and my whole body shivered. His hands grazes over the fresh bruises and old scars on my stomach. He maneuvered to look at my back, fingertips barely grazing my skin, as if the slightest bit of pressure would hurt me. The gentleness felt foreign to me. Then his hands moved down to my legs, still partially covered in fishnet tights. They grazed over every little scar, even ones I had forgotten about. I looked at his face and noticed something.
"Are you...crying?" There were tears sparkling in his eyes.
"Goddamnit (Y/N). Yeah I'm crying." He removed his hands and stepped back. His whole body was tense, his hands in tight fists. When I looked at his eyes again, I saw blind rage in them.
He closed his eyes and bit his lip, as if trying to his back emotion.
"I should've done something." His voice sounded like he was in agony.
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean!" He yelled. Then he took a deep breath and returned his voice to a normal volume. He was looking right at me, his eyes seeing into my soul. "I knew something was wrong for a while, but I didn't do anything. I could've helped you earlier."
I was shaking my head. "No, Marshall, no. That wouldn't have helped. They just would've taken her—"
"And what's wrong with that?" He was back to yelling. "She should've been taken away! Why didn't you tell anyone, (Y/N)? Why did you keep it a secret? Fuck, why didn't you tell me?"
I didn't know how to begin explaining it to him. He didn't understand and I was starting to feel panicky. "It's complicated, Marshall—."
"Not really! All you had to do was tell someone! God—" he was pacing back and forth. "How long? How long has this been happening to you?"
I couldn't speak. If he just gave me time to explain, he might be able to calm down. I needed him to calm down.
When I didn't reply, he stopped pacing and looked at me with a manic expression. "How long?" He practically screamed it.
"I—I don't know. A few years." I whispered. I looked down, unable to keep his gaze.
He didn't say anything. I saw him hide his face in his hands. His shoulders were raising and falling quickly, telling me that he was struggling to catch his breath. Then he turned around and let out an angry growl, punching his wall. The drywall caved in and he punched it again with another growl. Then again. I stood there doing nothing, deciding to let him release his anger.
But he was starting to make me feel awful. I felt awful for getting him mad like this, for making his get so emotional over my issues. I was embarrassed that he probably thought I was weak or stupid for letting this happen to me. I suddenly wanted to crawl in a hole where no one could see me. I looked down, getting unbearably frustrated with the stupid tears that began to roll down my cheeks. I'd already cried enough in the last 24 hours.
Then I heard his tantrum stop. And then his fingers were under my chin, forcing me to lift my head and look at him. His thumbs wiped away my tears. His gaze said a million words. That he was sorry, that he was here for me, that I was safe. Then he fiercely yet gently pulled me into a hug. One arm was around my waist and the other's hand clung to my hair.
He sighed "fuck, I'm such a dick. I just found out your mother has been abusing you for years and now I'm screaming at you?" His voice was finally calm. He really did have a beautiful voice. I was overwhelmingly grateful that he was no longer yelling and that his voice could calm me. "I'm just—I'm so angry. I'm fùcking pissed, (Y/N). You have no idea. I want to go out and strangle someone. The fact that someone hurt you makes me want to murder them slowly and painfully."
His voice was getting manic-sounding again. "Marshall," I muttered, an urge for him to calm down.
"I'm sorry. I know that's not what you want to hear right now. Im so sorry for reacting that way. Right now I just want to be here for you."
He leaned back just an inch so that he could look at me. His eyes were almost black now. "And I want you to know that you're safe now. I'll never let anyone hurt you again. I swear it."
Instead of replying, I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him closer to me and burying my face in his chest.
I couldn't believe this was happening. A part of me didn't want believe him. He couldn't be serious. There's no way it's over, suddenly, all of it can't just be over. It's so much more complicated than that.
But another part, the naive and childish one, trusted him. Trusted him more than anyone. Trusted him to keep me safe, and wanted to believe whole-heartedly that he could. I let that part win.
I was finally safe. I was overwhelmed and the next thing I knew I was crying harder. I was weeping into his chest while he held me and I didn't know how to stop.
I told myself a long time ago that I would never let my mother make me cry. But I didn't care anymore.
I was crying selfishly, crying for myself, crying for what I went through. Crying about how unfair my life was, about how much it hurt, about how much I yearned for safety all those years. About how much I wished someone would help me, befriend me, love me.
My practical side tried to tell me that I was stupid for believing that he was that someone. That I was going to get let down. That there was no way out of my hell.
But I chose to ignore it. I chose to let myself believe in this beautiful lie for a little longer.
So I held onto him and he stroked my hair and I listened to his beautiful voice.
"You're all safe now, princess."
Quite personal but important authors note:
Idk if y'all are getting emotional but I am bc tbh (Y/N)'s story is pretty similar to mine and is kinda an extended metaphor for my own life. No, I'm not getting abused anymore, don't worry yall, but I still have so much pent up sadness and anger about everything that has happened to me in my past. I never get to tell anyone about it and keeping it a secret sucks more than you'd think. So when I write (Y/N), I FINALLY get to sort through all my feelings about that part of my life—like a diary. And it is so, so, so great to be able to do that.
So thank you all for supporting this story even though I am aware that I'm not a good writer and that my updates are random and infrequent. It's so great to know that there are people reading this story and sympathize with (Y/N), bc I never had any friends to sympathize with me in my real life. So again, thank you and I love yall ❤️