𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐚 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

[e.p.] | i need you here

REQUESTED BY: saira31833

(y/n) is going through a dark period in her life and turns to self-harm and contemplates suicide at some point. Edmund finds out about her self-harm and comforts her, helping her through her thoughts. TRIGGER WARNING: Self-harm, suicidal thoughts, loss of family member

Edmund Pevensie had been my boyfriend for a month and a half when my sister overdosed on morphine. I knew she'd been an addict and I had tried to get her help many times to combat her addiction and her unhealthy thoughts. She had practically raised me and I loved her unconditionally. Her death took a toll on her. 

I started harming myself. I started cutting my wrists and I stopped eating for a while. One day, Edmund came to my apartment unannounced and surprised me by bringing me my favorite fast food. I knew he was worried about my lack of eating because he'd been buying me food and even bringing me groceries. He thought I was in a financial situation and needed help there. He didn't know and I hadn't planned for him to know.

He walked into my room when I was cutting my wrists, the tears streaming down my cheeks in warm rivers. When he said my name in that sad tone I looked up, in shock. I could barely meet his eyes. How was I supposed to explain the blood on the knife and the cuts on my wrists? How was I supposed to tell him I was so close to committing that it hurt me? I began to cry and he rushed to me, getting on my bed and holding me closely, not caring about the gushing blood that was getting all over his clothes.

"Baby, shh, it's okay," He soothed and held onto me, a hand on the back of my head, holding me to his shoulder.

"God, Edmund, I can't do this anymore," I sobbed.

"What's going on? Talk to me, my love," He said.

"I-Ed," I said, crying even more.

"Shh, it's alright, I'm here," He said. I could feel his tears falling on top of my head because they were so warm. 

"M-My s-sister," I sobbed.

"(y/s/n)?" He said, "What about her? You said we would meet her soon."

"She's dead," I sobbed, "She overdosed. She's gone."

"(y/n)," He said, "I'm so, so sorry, baby."

"You're not mad I didn't tell you?" I asked.

"Babe, no!" He said, a look of sadness coming over his eyes and he held onto my upper arms. 

"You're not mad that I'm doing...this?" I began to cry.

"(y/n)," He said, "I would never be mad at you for this. I just can't believe I couldn't help you any sooner. Will you let me help you now, love?"

"I-Edmund," I said, crying even more.

"What was she like?" He asked.

"She was wonderful. She had this amazing sense of humor and she never took anything seriously. She was responsible while I was around and practically raised me when both our parents stepped out of our lives. Whenever I was sad, she always made this soup, some kind of gumbo. She got it from mom's old cookbook, one she'd bought at some truck stop in Louisiana. That was long before we moved out to London. I loved that gumbo. It was her symbol of love to me." I sniffled.

"You really loved her," Edmund said.

"So, so much," I replied, holding onto his torso.

"Would it be alright if I made this for you?" He asked.

"W-What?"I asked.

"If you don't I understand. It was her's to give to you, but if it would make you happy, I'll give it a shot," He said.

"Ed..." I wiped my nose, "I'd love that."

"Let's just stay here a while," He said, "do what you need to do, but we're going to get through this together once we go out that door. Is that okay?"

I nodded and he held me closer. And we both held onto each other as we cried. It was comfortable. It was good. It was home.