Archive of Our Own ^beta

Rejected.

For some reason, that word seemed to stand out within the sea of words in the email you are reading. The other sentences that followed that word seemed to blur in your mind, your nail digging into the soft flesh of your hand, a habit you have when you feel this kind of thing. There's a pit in your stomach that grows deeper every second. You're not usually one to make a big deal out of rejected job opportunities but this... this is the fourth time this month. You ran your hand through your hair, resting them on the side of your head as you stare at the email once again.

Inadequate.

You sighed, closing your eyes as you grip on whatever stability you have in your mind. You felt a sinking feeling deep inside you. Shit.

You're never gonna be worth anything, do you? You can't even get a job.

You took a deep breath, leaning on the wooden chair you're sitting on as you anxiously tap the table. It's fine, everything's fine. You can just find another job posting and apply, right? Why are you worrying too much?

Because you've been doing this over and over and over again and it's still the same outcome. You're worthless.

"It's fine," you spoke out loud as if saying it would make the feeling go away. Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn't.

You can't even get one thing done in your fucking life.

You felt your palms go sweaty so you decided that maybe it's time for a distraction. You open a tab and started playing soothing music to help calm your nerves. It's fine, I just have to try again.

What's the point? You're lacking skills, you're lacking a lot of things.

Shut up.

You took another deep breath, leaning your forehead against your palm. And it was as if your day can't get any worse, you felt your chest tighten.  Shit... Shit. Shit.  You felt like the air was going scarce and your heart was hammering inside your chest like a wild alarm.  Shit.  Your fingertips and your toes started feeling numb and growing cold each second that passes by.  Fuck.

Oh no, are we gonna die? We're gonna die.

You felt like your head was gonna start spinning, the back of your neck feeling a mix of tired and sore, all the while your heart still pulsing wildly inside you. Shit. Shit. Breathe.

Tears started welling around your eyes, your hands shaking and when you looked at them they're pale... as pale as you could ever be. "No," a choked-up sob came out of you, your arms wrapping around yourself as you took a deep inhale and long exhale. The soothing music seems to not work anymore, the thoughts in your head drowning it.

If you die, that's probably the only good thing you have ever done so far.

Shut the fuck up, please.

"Babe?"

You turn your head in the direction of the voice, a gentle short calm washes over you for a moment. For a moment, the thoughts and the feeling of your heart palpitating inside you were lowered down. Stan walked in after finishing the last tour for the day and locking up shop, sending Wendy and Soos home. He was still wearing his Mr. Mystery suit. He was probably worried when he didn't feel your lively presence around the house. 

"Stan," your voice almost croaked as you try to swallow the tears.

"Everything alright?" he asked, walking towards you. No. Everything's not alright. You felt like death is gripping you by your chest and squeezing you tight, never intending to let you go until it drags you down to your grave. You are scared as shit. You felt very weak. You feel... dying. But you can't tell him that, right? You've never told anyone that. Why would you inconvenience anyone... with your own thoughts?

"I'm fine," your voice wavered and the fake smile on your lips is not gonna fool anyone especially Stanley.

"Cut the crap," he said, pulling a chair towards you. "You have to tell me the truth,"

No, you can't. Why would you do that? You're already a freeloader as it is.

He's going to judge you or probably laugh at you for making this a big deal. Just brush it off.

Stop being a burden.

The thoughts overlap in your brain as you swallowed hard, trying to think of what to answer to your boyfriend. Your lips tremble, teeth digging in your lower lip as you thought of the right words to say.

"Don't lie to me," Stan cut in, leaning closer to you so he can take a good look at you. "I'm good at knowing when someone's lying,"

"Stan, I-"

Your problems are better off on your own, stop being a whiny bitch.

"I'm..." you looked away from him, hoping that maybe you can tell what's bothering you if you avoid eye contact. Hoping that'll help you not break down. Your heart's still thumping hard against your ribcage. "I just..."

He was being very patient with you, a sympathetic hand rubbing your shoulder. You finally looked back at him after grabbing all the courage you have left in you. "I'm not... good enough, aren't I?" And that's enough for the tears in your eyes to start gushing down your cheeks. "I'm sorry-"

"Shhh," Stan opens his arms, letting you decide whether you want to hug him or not. You did, immediately dropping towards him and wrapping your arm around his torso. His hand fell to the back of your head, gently stroking your hair. "That's not true, you are good enough,"

"I feel... I feel like I'm not doing anything good,"

"Why did you think of that?"

"It's just... none of my goals... I still haven't gotten anything done," you sobbed. "I can't even get a job for starters,"

Stan glanced at your laptop and saw the email, realizing what happened. "Babe, it's alright," he whispered. "Just because you didn't get the job doesn't mean you're worthless,"

"But..." you pulled away for a moment, wiping the tears from your eyes. "Stan, it's been months. Heck, it's been years since my last stable job. I know people say I'm good with what I do but what if I'm not? Because if I am then why can't I find a job? What if I'm just pretending to be... Maybe they were right when they said I'm not good-"

"Don't say that," he stops you, putting his calloused hands to cup your cheeks. He gently wipes the tears off your eyes. "You're the most talented person I know. And these things, they're not easy... Believe me, heck I know. And... it's perfectly normal to feel this. To feel... like you're trash for not being able to do stuff. But... you're not,"

His hand slides down to take yours, squeezing them gently. "The point is... you're trying, babe. At your own pace. And that's what matters,"

Your red teary eyes looked up to his brown ones, a small weak smile tugging in the corner of your lips. "Opportunities are very hard to come by," he said, his other hand leaving your hand to brush your hair while staring at you with love and adoration. "But believe me when I said, I've never seen anyone do what you do as good as you,"

"That's because-"

"Shh, don't reason with me," he lifts a lecturing finger towards you. "I'm right,"

Stan felt how your hands were shaking while he was holding it. "Anxiety attack?"

You simply nod, trying to calm yourself still.

"Did you do breathing exercise?"

"I'm trying,"

"Okay, let's do it, okay? Close your eyes," he said, holding both of your hands. "Breathe in..."

You took a long inhale, keeping your breathing still.

"Breathe out,"

You exhaled. Stan let you do a few more rounds of breathing exercises, all the while whispering words of encouragement to you. Slowly, you felt yourself grow calmer and calmer, the shaking grows to a halt. Your heart still sometimes gets tighter but it's more manageable. When Stan was fully convinced that you are okay, he put his hand to your cheek. "Everything better, babe?"

"Yes," you nodded, leaning on his hand. "Much better,"

"Can I get a hug?" he asked.

You chuckled, leaning to his arms and hugging Stan tightly, taking in the familiar scent of his perfume. "Don't stress too much about work and stuff, alright? Besides, I've been convincing you ever since day one to just work at Mystery Shack,"

"I work at the Shack, Stan," you reminded him. "It's just I wanna do something I'm also passionate about while also earning. I don't wanna be a burden,"

"I understand, toots. And you're not a burden. If I hear you say that again, I'm never talking to you for a day," he planted a soft kiss atop your head and pulled you closer and tighter around him. "I just don't want you getting stressed around those rude jerks. The thought of anyone else bossing you around gives me a heart attack,"

You chuckled at that, lovingly slapping Stan's shoulder.

"But I meant it, okay?" he said, becoming serious for a moment. "You're not worthless just because nobody would give you a chance. Heh, trust me, I know,"

And somehow you knew why he does... And as sad that may be, you felt comfort knowing that out of all the people, Stan knows how you feel and understands you. Maybe that is enough.