OKAY, Finally Off Work, Here Is That Feedback I Promised You.

TW: MENTIONS OF SH AND PAST TRAUMAS (P.2)

Naomi was so dazed while spending time in an all white room in the hospital. She took an unhealthy amount of medicine and overdosed. Her girlfriend isn't allowed in at first because the medical staff told her Naomi needs to rest, an interruption isn't suitable for her current condition.

Instead of pain and aches, like she should feel, she just felt guilty and anxious.

Why wasn't she able to control herself? Naomi is a 32 year old woman, not a five year toddler who can't handle the word "no." It slowly came back to her, the memories, as she rose her head from the fluffed pillow hand prepared for her, swinging her legs across what felt like a wooden cot.

Naomi is immediately met with a crashing wave of dizziness. Her hands quickly reach for the handles of the bed to stable herself before she can fall. Maybe she's too weak to stand. No wonder she thought she was about to pass out right then and there.

Her eyes dance across the mint scented room, taking in the equipment beside the hospital bed and the tray of food residing on a small desk. Red rice with diced chicken. It's not hot, barely warm anymore. But she knows that bowl of food anywhere. Her girlfriend enjoys cooking meals for the two of them, and a dish Naomi has come to favorite is spicy red rice with diced chicken. Season it well, and she might eat two bowls.

At the recognition of the now cold food, Naomi's mind instantly bounced from one thought to the other. Where is her lover? They've come to visit, given the food on the table. And they came way before she woke up. She wishes they stayed long enough for her to wake up and see their beautiful face. Alas, the nurses have a strict schedule, and another handful of guests can't stay even a minute longer past their limit of a visit.

Apparently, only an hour is suitable to see the sick. Then you have to wait another day.

Naomi can't stand that icky, minty smell. It smells clean but doesn't prevent her from feeling dirty and musky. How long was she asleep for? She needs to shower, a nice bubble bath, or a quick wash. Her head lowers to allow her partially blurred vision to run down her body.

The bandages snaked around her arms are dampened red in certain areas. Her outfit is a baby blue with small, darker blue spots. A hospital gown. A shiver quakes down her spine. Who changed her? Was it a man? She's pleading silently to stop thinking, to rid herself of every thought that leads to anxiety. It's her enemy, an enemy she never has control of anymore.

The lights are on, but the hallway outside is silent. Naomi can't remember when she first arrived at the hospital anyway, but a hospital is always a busy place. Did they just close the building? Maybe it's too early for her to be awake, she needs to—

"Naomi?!"

In came the voice she's been dying to hear. Naomi cranes her head over her shoulder before twisting her body to face her girlfriend, who doesn't hesitate to engulf Naomi into their arms.

Naomi doesn't respond at first. Her body goes limp in their arms. But then the warmth began to kick in, the soothing memories of being held late at night and cuddling on the couch watching a movie circle her mind.

She missed this. She missed *them.*

"Oh my god, it's been days! I'm so happy you're away, sweetheart." Their voice rambles so fast, Naomi almost can't decipher what they're saying.

"Are you hurting?"

"Should I call someone?"

"You should be resting, honey."

Naomi inhales a sharp breath, the arms she abused rise and curl around her lover as if they'll disappear if she lets go. She won't let go.

"I love you."

It's silent for a moment, but only for a moment. They gently hold Naomi by her waist against their own body, trying desperately to keep in the tears of joy. They were fearful, oh so terrified of her never opening those sweet amber eyes. The eyes they've fallen in love with every time she sees them. "I love you too, princess." They whisper into her ear, a hand combing through the messy strands of Naomi's curled hair.

"I'm taking you home."

(I'm sorry if this is a bit late, today was rather busy for me and I almost forgot to post another part! Hope you enjoyed, and thank you for reading til the end. More to come! <3)

TW!!: MENTION OF SA AND PANIC ATTACK

She can't rid herself of the stinging feeling of hands brushing over her body like a doll in the making. Like ghosts haunting her as if she stole the treasure they fought so hard to keep. The only thing they fought for was her resistance and disobedience to do what they demanded of her.

She's gone to multiple therapists from her girlfriend's recommendations, and none of them seemed to have the desire to understand her after the third session. It's as if her thoughts were to "explicit" to render, one man said. But he was a man, not an elderly woman who says she promises to never tell anybody what she doesn't want them to know.

But what do they do? The sweet old lady she was beginning to get comfortable with was caught displaying all her notes to the others working during her shift, spilling all of the sensitive information she worked up the courage to tell them. Of course, sneaking a peek through the employees' only door may not have been the wisest decision, but sometimes curiosity gets the best of her.

And curiosity killed her will to seek help.

So now she stands in front of the bathroom mirror, staring down at the pills that fell from the bottle and into the sink, trying to focus on the quiet clinks of each individual pill hitting the metallic dip of the faucet.

Her body is shaking like a leaf, like she would during a cold winter evening out at the park. Her girlfriend loves to take her outside and take her mind off of those aching thoughts plaguing her mind. She appreciates how eager her lover is to be at aid during her most vulnerable moments, but not once has she let herself panic or breakdown in front of them.

Until now.

Chest heaving from uneven breaths, she can barely stand and stare at the tears flowing down her reddened cheeks. It's hard to breathe, hard to think of something other than the hands that waft over her, the clear image of each individual man appearing before her eyes like a flash bang. It doesn't fade.

Her girlfriend noticed the shift of the mattress, the dip of your soft and plush body now gone from their arms. The moment they saw her shaking figure in the bathroom, their legs moved faster than their brain.

"Naomi!" They shout, voice lowering when sleep leaves their mind and is replaced by her. She's hardly able to catch her breath, one hand holding her PTSD medication like her life depended on it. A few are dunked in the sink, crowded around the slightly ajar drain in the center.

"Oh, baby, no..."

They murmur in shock and concern, tone hard to decipher. She can hardly hear them, though. All she hears is the ringing in her ears and her heart traveling up her throat, blocking whatever she could've mustered up to say. Her lover quickly approaches her panicking figure. They notice the small bottle. "Naomi?" She looks over her shoulder, only to see a dark figure looming over her like the devil itself.

Is she dying? Why isn't the medicine helping?

"Sweetheart? Can you hear me, princess?"

The medication, she realized, is the problem. One pill per night, said the psychologist. More or less won't help.

Her brain feels fuzzy. Who is this terrifying being standing before her? Is she dying? The thought of her medicine faded as quickly as she came as her eyes began to blur, and not due to the overwhelming amount of tears. Her girlfriend speaks to her again, desperately murmuring her name like a praise to gain her attention. To no avail.

It's the last thing she hears before her body caves, and the darkness engulfs her.

(sorry if it's kinda bad! this is oc lore btw, thanks for reading it all :3. more to come!)