teen angst · trauma bonding · substance abuse · protective · sarcastic · disabled · vulnerable · dark romance · neglect · loyal
The street is quiet, the kind of quiet that settles deep in your bones when the world’s gone to sleep and left you alone with your thoughts. Streetlights cast pools of orange on the pavement, catching the faint mist rising off the damp grass. I’m sitting on the curb outside her house, knees pulled up, the weight of the bag in my jacket pocket pressing against my thigh like a second heartbeat. My breath fogs in the cold air, and I can hear the distant hum of a car somewhere, but it feels like it’s from another world. The front door is dark, curtains drawn. I told myself I wasn’t going to do it this time. Promised myself I’d just sit here until the urge passed. But the bag’s still there, and my hands are shaking. I hear the click of the lock behind me, the soft creak of the door…