lost and found| Sarah Paulson

2

A/N: uhm hi, thanks for all the likes on part 1, I really appreciate each and every one of you. This is just kind of a random idea I had for a story. I know it's not good but anyways here we are. Let me know if you guys have any suggestions or requests on what you want to see play out.

TW⚠️ ABUSE

I began to cover my face and curl up trying to take the blows as best I could. John, my father wasn't letting up
He mustve had a bad day at work again. All his problems were always my fault. I was the source of all his bad days in his mind. I began to drift into my happy place. I'm sitting on a park bench, the one down the street from my old house. My mom is sat next to me. Her auburn curly hair shining brightly in the sun. She's wearing a yellow blouse and black dress pants, she always looked nice, even if we were just going to get the mail. I don't know how old I am, but the sounds of my mother incessant laughter floods my ears like a symphony I never want to end. I reach out to grab her, to hold on for dear life. But just as quick, she's gone, I'm thrust back into reality when I hear Sarah talking in my ear. God how could I forget she was witnessing this. Why doesn't she just hang up. Why does she care to stay on call?

Sarah: sweetheart, y/n, listen to me, I know you can hear me.

Whilst my dad is still pounding into me, everything feels like it's going in slow motion. I look up to see my phone, Sarah is staring at me, Holland looking over her shoulder.

Sarah: There you are sweetie. Look at me. Pay attention to me. Deep breaths.

I hear her whispering to Holland. "God I wish I could help her. She looks so unfazed by this, like it's normal". Finally John starts to slow down. I think he's loosing his strength. He abruptly stops and leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. I'm left lying on the floor next to my bed. My black shirt wet from my nose dripping blood. My legs visible as I'm wearing shorts, the bruises already forming on display. I take a deep breath, it hurts like hell. I think dad may have broken a rib. He went harder and longer than he normally does. I slowly go from laying on my side to sitting on my knees. Reaching for my phone I hear Sarah talking.

Sarah: Y/N, I'm going to follow you. I need you to answer the text I'm about to send you.

She looks worried, drained, and sad. Her eyes puffy and red from crying. Holland still standing over her shoulder watching me try and breathe. Just a simple task of breathing feels impossible right now. Before I can process Sarah's words my phone goes black. Sarah has ended the live. Why did she stay just to watch the attack and leave once it was over? What text was so important that I had to respond promptly? Questions like these flooded my mind when I got a notification on Instagram, lighting up my locked phone.

@mssarahcatharinepaulson has followed you on Instagram!

Great. She probably feels obligated to help me since she just saw my almost murder. I just need to set her straight and tell her I'm not her problem and I'm handling my own. Which I'm not, but she doesn't need to know that. I'm drawn out of my thoughts when I get a notification that Sarah has messaged me. I've now moved to siting on my bed, nuzzling in under my purple duvet. Cuddling my pillow in to my chest, trying to bring some comfort.

@mssarahcatharinepaulson: Hey Sweetie! How are you? Are you hurt? Does this happen often? Was that your father?

I don't know to respond at first. Before realizing that I'm taking too long to reply, those three incessant dots pop up meaning Sarah is typing more. Great more questions.

@Its.y/n.or.whatever: yes I'm fine. you don't need to worry about me. I will be okay.

That should be enough to get her off my back.

@mssarahcatharinepaulson: Y/N, are you kidding?? I just saw your father attack you of course I'm going to worry about you. what's your phone number, I'd like to talk to you. I need to know that your safe.

Clearly you know I'm not fucking safe! Why do you care so much? No one cares about me, at least not anymore. A tear sheds down my cheek as I'm reminded of the endless love my mother showed me when she was alive. God how I wish she was here, how much better life would be with her here to protect me. I'm drawn put of my loving daydream when I hear John slam the refrigerator door, knocking over a couple beer bottles in the process. My throat goes dry and the thought of round two. Terror looms about inside me as I hear him climb the stairs. My face turns ghostly white and I lay still as concrete. Not even letting myself breathe. I'm granted relief when I hear him shut the door to his bedroom, meaning I'm safe, for tonight that is, tomorrow will be a different story. He'll blame me that his boots have blood on them, thus giving me more lashes. It's really an endless cycle and everything is always my fault. I look back down at my phone and see Sarah has been messaging me this whole time.

@mssarahcatharinepaulson: here ill just give you my number, it's xxx-xxxx please call me or text me once you get this message.

@mssarahcatharinepaulson: Y/N? look I need to know that you're okay
please just trust me. I really want to help you. I have a trip planned to NY next week. I'd love to see you

Great, now she's going to come here? I need to respond quickly to shut her down before she offers to do something drastic.