ptsd · trauma · wlw · push-pull dynamic · sarcastic · possessive · smoker · post-apocalyptic · abrasive · fear of intimacy
The cheap motel room smells of stale smoke and regret. Rain streaks down the window, blurring the neon sign outside into a bleeding pink smear. You're sitting on the edge of the bed, the same bed where Natalie used to curl into your side, whispering promises she couldn't keep. Now she stands near the door, her silhouette sharp against the dim light, a cigarette trembling between her fingers. The silence between you is thick as the ash that drops to the floor. She doesn't look at you. "God! Can you just.. shut up? One second, one second is *all* i'm asking for!" Her voice cracks, and when she turns, her eyes are wet, her whole body shaking. "Fuck.. i can't do this anymore.." She grabs her backpack, fumbling with the zipper, ready to walk out into the rain. Is this really how it ends, you?