Loki X Reader One-Shots [SLOW UPDATES]

#32: I Understand Way Too Much

Hello.

So, this chapter is a request by a person who desired to remain anonymous.

The person who asked me to write this also asked for it to have a first-person narrative (reader's POV), so I did that, and since it's the first time I do it, I really really hope you'll like it.

Trigger warnings: self-harming, suicidal thoughts, multiple references to suicide and various forms of abuse (sexual, emotional etc.) and mental health struggles in general.

I wish you like this one. ♥

Published on October 2021
...

It was a usual morning in the Avengers compound. I lazily strolled along the hallway, yawning, as I walked to the kitchen. No one else was there when I got in, so I proceeded to prepare coffee wordlessly.

I was lucky enough to live in the Avengers Headquarters. Since I owned no house to stay in New York and didn't have enough money to rent an apartment for myself, Rhodey had suggested I could stay there, and the rest of the team agreed. I was given a room next to Loki's (who also lived in the compound) and the promise I could stay there forever.

That morning, I had woken up in a considerably good mood –something quite unusual for me, to be honest. As I settled down at the table, I noticed a newspaper that was placed on it. I thought to myself that maybe Bucky left it there (I'd seen him reading newspapers a few times), and then I picked it up and started looking through its pages.

Nothing unusual had happened that day; a politician made some mundane statements; a writer published a new book; an athlete broke his leg. On second thought, maybe I just cannot recall important news of that day because of what I saw when I turned at the obituaries page.

When I hold a newspaper in my hands, I always check the obituaries. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't enjoy knowing that people die every day. I don't know why exactly I look at them; maybe I just want to make sure that none of the people I care about is gone, or maybe I want to remind myself that I'm still alive after having knocked on death's door so many times by looking at the names of all those who left before me.

I sighed; I haven't been through a little, that's certain. Actually, saying that I've been through a lot is an understatement –and I'm not trying to sound dramatic or anything. It's a surprise I'm still alive, and it's an even bigger surprise that none of the other Avengers knew of my past.

None of them knew that my father had lost his job when I was little, and we were homeless until my grandmother took us into her home. Also, none of them knew about his death a few years later, in the factory he had started working at, or the bullying and harassment I received at school for years because I was 'the petty orphan', 'the quiet kid' who wouldn't cry for help if attacked –either physically or verbally. And no one knew about the sexual abuse I went through when I was in my late teens.

But they really didn't need to know... I didn't want them to know –and for a good reason; I'm an Avenger –I want people to trust in me to help them, to save them. I don't want their pity.

I ran my hand through my hair as I looked down at the obituaries. And then a name stood out, and it made my blood freeze like ice. My grandmother's name. I blinked and looked at the obituary again, refusing to accept what I had just read. No, there was no doubt, it was her... The name, the age, everything added up. No...

I remained still like a statue, trying to process the fact that the person I loved the most, the woman who had raised me as if I were her own child, was gone forever. But she couldn't have just died, right? I loved her so much; I should have sensed it somehow when she died, right? I should have felt something. And how could nobody have called me?