X Reader Oneshot Book

[D:BH|Connor x Reader] Coping Mechanisms

((Meet detective YOU! Also, fair warning here, this story does deal with some heavy thoughts and some depression and anxiety issues. This is basically a vent chapter. This is all stuff I used to do/still do. If you are sensitive to any of the stuff listed above, please skip this chapter. Remember, I love and care about you all. Have a great morning/noon/evening/night/whatever time it is where you are and ENJOY!))

Written: Friday, 22 June 2018

"Miss L/n?" Connor's voice snapped me from my thoughts. "Yes Connor? Did you need something?" I put on a smile. He looked at me confused. "What were you doing with that pen?" I looked down to the blue ballpoint in my hand and peered at my refection on the screen. Several small blue dots littered all around the base of my neck and covered my collarbones. I sighed. "Just pen Connor, nothing to stress about."

It was a bad habit, I'll admit that, but I was trying to stop. It's a habit I developed when I was forced to take Chinese in high school, imagining my own death and its consequences to those I loved... was somehow comforting to me. I was always too scared to take a blade to my wrists or actually make an attempt to kill myself, so I settled for drawing all down my forearms in pen. If I was having a particularly bad day I would take a pencil or a metal ruler to my arms. Not quite enough to bleed, but always enough to leave marks. Once, I was doing homework with a metal ruler and I lost it. I tried to slice the shit out of my stomach, tried to do some real damage but merely ended up with a few scratches. It was a totally involuntary decision to hate myself that much but my hatred, my depression, the overwhelming battering of the constant anxiety squeezing my lungs till I was gasping for air, was just too much. So practising the many methods I could use to end my existence made me feel as if I had an escape route if I had ever needed it. That caused me to subconsciously take my pen and lightly stab the base of my throat repeatedly, tempted to bleed out on my Chinese teacher's carpet. How the absolute fuck was I gonna explain that to Connor?

"Why are there dots and what's that on your arms?" he asked again. "Old habits, die hard." I let out a breathy laugh as Hank yelled "Preach!" I looked up at Connor again, excusing myself for my two-hourly bathroom break. It's not that I have to go that often, it's the fact I have to wash off all the ink from my arms and now, my neck. Another result of my coping mechanisms. My classmates would always tell me, "Don't draw on yourself, you'll get ink poisoning!" and I would respond with "Good. I'm trying to speed this shit up." before getting some concerned looks. Guess that ink poisoning never really kicked in, huh?

Staring myself in the mirror, I hated who looked back at me. That fake smile, the tired eyes, the ink all over my forearms, everything. Washing up took so much soap to get the ink off and even then it left marks. Another form of coping, another day. My hair swung around my face as I pushed open the door and screamed. "God dammit Connor! You can't stand outside the bathroom like that, you almost gave me a heart attack!" I leant against the wall, running my hands through my hair. "Ugh you just took 20 years off my life span! Now what do you want?" He began to apologize profusely, saying he only wanted to check up on me. He forced my chin up, checking my neck and arms for any signs of "trauma".

After finding nothing, he insisted I take a walk with him. I wouldn't pass up an opportunity to spend time with my favourite android and he turned into a literal tomato when I told him this, making me giggle. Stepping out into the crisp air was a cold rush of relief that I needed so desperately. The water filling my lungs subsided and my heart slowed to its normal rate again. I stood, greedily gulping in the freezing air, until he grabbed my exposed hand, holding it in his and dragging me to a gazebo. We sat together, our warm breath mixing and dancing with the lightly falling snow.

We sat in silence for a moment just enjoy the scenery and each other's company before Connor turned to me, compassion and sincerity painting his concerned expression. "Are you ok, Y/n?" I had has expected this eventually, so now came the time to quench his concerns. I tried to keep my voice calm and level as I began to explain but in spite of myself, hot tears began to spill down my cheeks, the internal wall I'd spent many years building beginning to falter and crack. The dam collapsed, letting loose a storm of tears and thoughts. I told him everything. The coping mechanisms, my dark thoughts, everything.

The thoughts overwhelmed me, threatening to overtake me if I didn't stop thinking. My heart beat like a huge bass drum and my lungs began to fill with that familiar water. "It's ok, Y/n. You're going to be ok. I'm here. Follow the sound of my voice and breathe. In for four seconds, hold it for 7 seconds, breathe out for 8 seconds. Let it all out..." I tried desperately to steady my breathing, but began to sob again when I felt his arms around me. I latched onto him as if he were my last tether to reality and at that moment, he was. We stayed in that position until night fell and the snow grew still.

The next morning at the police station, when I arrived for work, I was surprised to feel Connor wrapping his arms around me and his calm but confident voice saying, "I'll always be here for you Y/n. Anytime you need me, I'm just a call away." he said handing over his number and placing a small peck on my cheek. I blushed and he winked, walking away towards Hank, while I stood there like a lovestruck idiot. Guess I found my new coping mechanism.