Annie X Fem!Sick!Reader - Commission (1/3)

It has been twenty two years since the doctors have diagnosed you with a a bad heart.

Two of which, you have actually been happy.

It was the worst when you were young. Too young to know what was going on except that you knew you weren't allowed to do the things that others could. Your fathers made sure of that.

When it was recess at school, you saw the others run outside to play tag, or jump rope, or just run around, free as a bird; while you sat inside, finishing your work, reading a book, drawing a picture, doing anything but moving around. It was on the very good days when a teacher would let you walk around outside, but always held tightly onto your hand, fearful that you might try to escape.

Try to run.

Try to jump.

Try to be free.

You now knew you couldn't though. It was too strenuous on your heart. You would have two seconds of freedom before you went into cardiac arrest and a coma. Maybe never wake up again. It apparently wasn't worth the risk.

But you didn't know that back then. All you knew was that since birth you were trapped, forced to walk and never leave the safe ground. 

Never fly like the others.

So of course you pulled and yanked on the teacher's hand, trying to break the vice-like grip, until they finally hauled you back inside and made you sit. 

You had once tried running inside when you were little, but had gone only a couple steps before you fainted. That was the first and last time you had ever ran. You woke up later on in the hospital, your parents right beside your bed. They forbid you to ever run again, and you listened, but your little brain only made the connection between running inside and bad.

So you never ran inside again, but you kept on believing that outside was fair game until your parents put a stop to it some years later. Again.

Over the years you gradually began to understand your condition, but you never really began to accept it. The kids in your school though were even less understanding and accepting of your condition.

"C'mon, play with us _____!"

"I can't, I have a bad heart."

"Wow, what a friend you are!"

"But-"

"No way!" "Never talk to us again!" "You suck!"

In elementary school, you were alone. It was a living hell for you, so you dropped away into the background, talking only when talked to, doing only when told to. 

You became that emo girl to everyone. That Gothic girl. And you played the part perfectly from grades 6-8. You never really looked good in black, but that became your wardrobe. You dyed your hair dark as tar, and covered your face in that dreadful black gunk people call make up. Your vision was already awash in sorrow, so who cares about some looks? Your world was already black and white, so you decided to fit in.

Your parents were a little concerned, but they wrote it off to a teenage phase even though you had hardly hit them yet.

Your brother as well did nothing to help your depression. If anything, he worsened it. He was your age, but went to a different school. An all boys school as you went to a co-ed. He was also a soccer star and his school was a sports elementary school. Because of his passion, love, and aptitude in the sport, he changed schools shortly after grade 4, just as your alienating began. He used to be the only thing you had, but then he became a thing to be avoided, less you see the happiness in his eyes. The fitness in his body. The heavy breathing after a long run. 

The pity in his eyes.

You were truly alone in this world, with no one to confide to in your problems. Either through denial, embarrassment, or mere unwillingness. You were even more afraid of telling your parents, less they call a psychiatrist. The thought of talking to someone about your problem scared you more than facing them. Of course, you longed for a cataclysm, something to finally flip you right side up.

And it was in the spring of grade 8, that that finally happened. You were fed up with everything, with life itself, and cutting your wrists only scratched up your body; it didn't do enough of anything to get to your soul.

You walked down the stairs and searched through your garage for your father's tool box, and upon opening it you took out that recently sharpened exacto-knife. Hiding it in the folds of your clothes, you walked up to your bathroom. Your brother was at soccer, and your parents were cooking in the kitchen. They shouldn't see you. 

Or notice you.

You weren't worth a glance anyways.

It was finally time for you to do what you should have done so long ago. But you never had the courage for it. No more though; today everything would change.

You could finally put an end to your pitiful and miserable existence. 

The accident of you.

Entering your bathroom, you closed the door but didn't lock it. 

You didn't have to. Why would anyone walk in?

You stepped into the bathtub and sat back against the tub as if taking a bath. It was dry. Nobody had taken a shower recently.

Pulling back your long black tee, you opened the knife. Finding that certain artery flowing through the wrist in your left hand, you positioned the knife-

And cut.

You felt your life blood flowing out in gushing floods, and hoped that it would be over soon. You stopped praying long ago.

And it hurt.

A lot.

But not as much as your soul was hurting. Not as much as it hurt to be staying inside alone all those years at school. Not as much as it was to be lonely.

So you closed your eyes and relaxed, your wrist on your leg, and the knife still in your limp grip. You made no sound but tears were rushing down your cheeks.

You almost wished someone would find you, but you wished to die even more.

You lived alone and were going to die alone.

You opened your eyes and blinked one last time. Faintly, you thought you heard someone calling your name. 

Oh well. Nothing mattered anymore.

"Good bye world." You whispered, and closing your eyes, you prepared to face the nothingness of death. Even now you could feel yourself slipping away...

Until the door- and your eyes- burst open, and your blond-haired father came rushing towards you, wide-eyed and in a flustered panic.

"_____!" He yelled, and grabbed your limp body in his big arms. "_____! What are you doing?!" He was scared, and yelling, and hugging you, and then letting you go to grab a towel to hold against your wound, and then hugging you again. You were a little too weak to put much effort into anything, so you just lay there taking it. When you turned your dead blue eyes to meet your father's nervous gaze, you saw your other- not biological- father at the entrance to the bathroom, a worried expression on his usually stoic features.

Why were they here?

Why did they look like they cared?

"Levi," you heard the father that was holding you say, "Call an ambulance, I have no idea how much blood she lost." Surprisingly, his voice wavered. His voice never wavered. 

You lifted your good hand- which was now covered in blood and no longer holding the knife- up to your father's cheek. It smeared the perfect skin with crimson liquid. Levi had already ghosted out of the room to call the hospital.

You saw tears form in the eyes of this strong man. He lifted the hand that was not occupied with your body and wrist up to his cheek with your hand on it. A tear slipped out of his eye down your combined clasp to drip on your face. You blinked. Why was he crying?

He never cries.

"I love you," He said hoarsely, "Don't you ever do this to me again, you hear? Nobody likes seeing you like this... It hurts us all; Levi, me, your friends, and Derik. Don't do this to us... I love you even if you can't do the things that'd other can, don't I? We all love you _____... Please..."

Then your hand slipped out of his grasp and you lost consciousness.

The next thing that you remembered was that you were in the hospital, hooked up to an IV. You heard the static beeping of a heart monitor, and when you looked over to your left, your father was clasping your hand. He was bent over his chair, and looked like he was sleeping. Levi must have taken Derik home to get some rest, but this father would never leave you; that just wasn't something that he would do to either of you, his children.

So you lay there, mulling over what had happened the night before. If this was indeed the next day.

You went over all of the events, but somehow a couple of your father's words stuck out to you the most: Nobody likes seeing you like this.

You knew what he meant of course, that it hurt people that you were hurting yourself, but was there another meaning? Maybe not one that he meant, but... 

These unspoken words rang in your head, and you vowed to yourself, from here on out, you would live in understanding of your condition.

At least as far so that it doesn't visibly hurt the people around you.

So that you can protect them from yourself.

So that they can be happy.

And you remain in your world of lies.

Alone.

Forever.

Like always.

You had just began to embrace it.

~~~

That summer, you went to all of Derik's soccer games. You wore your new pastel-coloured summer dress, no make-up, washed out natural-coloured hair, and cheered him on as loud as your father Levi did. Derik was Levi's biological son, and adopted many the same loves as he did. Soccer being the foremost love.

You smiled, you giggled, you acted like that cute sister. And by the end of the summer, you had almost convinced yourself that you were.

Almost.

You had already apologized to your family for the distress that you caused them, and promised to change.

So you did.

Your relationship with your brother strengthened again, and you guys were as close as peas in a pod once more.

Come high school, you were a new woman. You were friendly, kind, outgoing in your own way, gentle, girly, easygoing. You had lots of understanding friends, and you almost enjoyed life.

Almost.

You were so close.

But you didn't. You were practically living a lie of your own construction. 

Smiling when told to smile.

Crying when told to cry.

Laughing when told to laugh.

On the outside, you were the most optimistic person out there.

But on the inside, you were dying.

Dying from the lies you told yourself. Dying from the lies you told to others. Dying from no one understanding you. Dying from others not being able to.

You even had the occasional break down, either in a cold rage or in a deep depression. You would just start crying when you were all alone, then start getting angry and shout into your pillow so none could hear you. You would punch the wall, and then curse yourself for hurting your hand. Then you would break down, silently sobbing, and pick up your pills, or another knife.

But you would never finish yourself off.

You would usually just end up blubbering on the floor of your room, asking the air why you were born like this. Screaming, and then hiccupping, and then shaking, and then finally exhausting yourself and falling asleep. These rants went on for a couple of hours.

They were typically all to the same degree of depression, but the occasional broken lamp would happen, to which you said that you knock them off in your sleep. Those occasions were rare.

But they happened.

After you graduated St. Rose Private High School, you went on to one of the best universities in the world- Sina University.

Where only the very rich, very smart, or best athletes in the world can attend. To which you are both very well off and smart. The fees were very expensive, but if you are among the finest individuals, you might be able to get a full scholarship, like the person who changed your life.

She was above the average intelligence, but not anything special. She was pretty, but not a stand-out. She dressed more like a boy than a girl, and wasn't an especially nice person. She could be gentle at times, but was more frequently rude. She was an amazing athlete though, but there was almost never anything certain with her- how she would act, what she would say- if you didn't know her as close as you did. But it was definitely certain that you would do absolutely anything and everything for her. She was the most special person you had ever met.

The light and love of your life.

Her name, was Annie Leonhardt. And this is the story of her and you, and how she was the cataclysm of which you learned what happiness truly was.