Scarlett x daughter one-shots

staying alive (that would be enough)

"Are you trying to kill yourself?" Rose murmurs, lifting her hand to my face. 

I almost scoff.

"What do you mean?" I laugh it off.

OR

Reader is spiraling. Rose helps.

OR

the hopefully angsty fic that's in first person

(i'm in a silly goofy mood 🤪 y'all don't know how hard it is writing an angsty fic in first person. I want to burst out laughing every time i read over it)

(Rose is older for the sake of this chapter)

:::

YOUR POV:

I don't know when it started. All I remember is this: the feeling of wanting to throw up, dashing into the bathroom, almost throwing up in the sink, the feeling of an empty stomach, and those steps repeating over and over again.

It's Rose who notices first.

Sweet, innocent, caring Rose.

Rose, who watches me closely, observes me. Watches me for a second too long and I notice. Asks me over and over, "have you eaten yet?" I can lie. I do. She sees through me. Through my lies.

Rose, who almost cries when she sees me exit the bathroom after a meal.

She corners me when Scarlett and Colin are away on a trip.

(Break from the world, they call it.)

"Y/N," she whispers, gently. We both know we can't keep on pretending something isn't wrong with me.

"Are you trying to kill yourself?" Rose murmurs, lifting her hand to my face. She trails her thumb across my cheek just like Scarlett would when she's comforting me.

I almost scoff. "Are you trying to kill yourslef?" Rose shouldn't be asking me this. I'm supposed to be comforting her, assuring her everything's going to be okay. 

"What do you mean?" I laugh it off. Rose sees right through me. I'm not pretending for her. I'm pretending for myself. That's all I can do.

"Why can't you eat?" her lip trembles just a bit. Why is she crying over me?

I can, can, can. I can eat. "Can't" taunts me.

"I—I—" I can't bring myself to say it.

She sit next to me during supper that day. 

Rose sneaks me more food onto my plate every time it's almost empty. 

To be fair, it was never full to begin with.

It's Rose who helps me.

Rose, who frowns when I push the plate away, claiming I have a stomach bug or that my stomach can't handle anymore food. Rose sits me down on the couch, watches me eat, talking about nonsense because she knows I'm not paying attention. 

And as soon as I finish, I head to the bathroom, fingers shoved down my throat, choking, sputtering. Nothing but bile comes up.

Rose follows me.

It goes like this:

She holds my hair back.

("You need to stop," Rose sighs, threading her fingers through my hair, and humming my favourite song.

She's tired of me. She sighs ever time I refuse to take another bite, sighs whenever I head upstairs after a meal.

"You don't have to do this," I choke out.

She whispers pretty lies into my ears.)

It goes like this:

She allows me to sob in her arms.

(I walk into Rose's room at two in the morning, eyes coloured red. She opens her arms, letting me ruin her nice pajamas she loves, so, dearly.

I collapse into her arms, sobbing about god knows what. She pretends to sympathize, nods every time, offering solutions. 

It should be the other way around.

She should be the one to sob in my arms. I should be the one holding her.)

It goes like this:

She makes me watch a movie every night until Mum and Dad come back, claiming it's time for a movie night. 

(We both know the real reason.)

("Come on, Y/N!" Rose laughs, "you still have't touched your popcorn! You know how long it takes to make popcorn as perfect as that?" she gestures to my untouched popcorn.

I slowly grab a handful and she watches. Watches me every time my hand goes down to grab some more. Follows me every time I go somewhere so she knows it's not the bathroom.)

It goes like this:

She confronts Scarlett and Colin when they come back.

("Darling," Scarlett coos, holding me tight, "why didn't you tell me?" 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I hold onto her like it's the end of the world.

"It's going to be okay. You're going to be okay. Everything's going to be alright," she whispers between my sobs. I like the sound of those words. I beg her to tell me more pretty lies.)

("Y/N," Colin soothes me, "we could've helped. Tell us, please?"

Tell, tell, tell. I don't want to tell.)

It goes like this:

They send me to therapy.

("I don't need to go to fucking therapy," I lash out, ignoring the glances of sympathy laced in their eyes.

Rose manages to calm me down, wrapping me in a hug.

"I don't need to go to fucking therapy," I repeat. "I don't. I don't. I'll get better on my own. I swear.")

It goes like this: 

I slowly get better.

(Rose bakes me a cake. Something about eating more. On it, says, Congratulations, Y/N! in her funky hand writing. She's only started tracing words using icing a week ago. I can't blame her.

We eat it for dessert.)

It goes like this:

It'll get better.

:::

A/N:

wasn't kidding when I said silly goofy mood. I'm cringing every time I read over this. First person makes it even cringier. As always, requests are open!