Aileen

Aileen -`✮´- twenty. Red dead redemption. Supernatural. the walking dead. lana del rey.

jensenacklesballsack -> highbythebeqchh

you met him under the hum of neon and summer air, his accent heavy, his laugh heavier. he’d been leaning against that old truck like he was born to, a cigarette already lit between his fingers. he offered you the next one like it meant something more than smoke, like sharing a drag was a promise neither of you planned to keep.

the night stretched long and reckless. country roads turned into backroads, windows down, smoke curling out into the dark. the radio played low, a song older than either of you wanted to admit, while his hand brushed yours every time he shifted gears.

a beer bottle doubling as an ashtray sat in the console, the bitter scent mixing with nicotine and night air. and when he finally cut the headlights, pulling off into the trees, the moon spilled silver across the truck bed.

you climbed in beside him, laughter still caught in your throat, and he followed with a grin sharp enough to make your chest ache. clothes came off in slow layers, not all of them, not everything but just enough to feel like sin, just enough to make your pulse stumble when his rough hands found your skin.

he said your name like he’d known it forever. like he’d been waiting for the chance to let it fall from his lips.

i don’t usually do this.

me neither.

but both of you were lying, and both of you knew it. so you let the lie burn between you, cigarette after cigarette, as if the pack could hold the night together, as if the smoke could keep the dawn away.

by the time it was down to one, the air was heavy. thick with smoke and heat and something heavier, something you didn’t dare name. you lit it anyway. you shared it, your shoulders pressed together, his voice low and rasping in your ear as you both blew the last of the night into the sky.

and just like that, she was gone.

and just like that, he was alone.

one hell of a night. one hell of a pack.

—

It wasn’t love. It was infestation.

He got under her skin and stayed there, crawling in her bloodstream, setting up camp in the hollowed-out parts of her. She breathed him. Drank him. Let him carve out every soft part of her until all that was left was a girl who didn’t know who she was unless he looked at her.

Everything she did was for him. Every outfit, every word, every smile it was rehearsed in the mirror like a prayer. Her whole world revolved around the thought of maybe he’ll come back tonight. Maybe he’ll want me again.

Maybe he’ll stop fucking her.

Maybe I’ll finally be enough.

Even as he ghosted her. Even as his scent changed. Even as he stopped saying her name and started calling her “baby” like it meant less.

She still waited.

Curled up in his old hoodie on her dirty bedsheets, mascara crusted on her cheeks, lips bitten raw. She didn’t eat. Didn’t sleep. Just scrolled through old texts and stared at the timestamp on his last message like she could will it to change.

Outside, the world was ending.

Buildings burning, sirens screaming, red skies splitting like an open wound but all she could think about was him. Not the fire. Not the panic. Not survival.

Just him.

He hadn’t looked at her in weeks.

He hadn’t kissed her in months.

But she swore she could still feel his fingerprints on her skin, like bruises that refused to fade. She whispered his name like a curse, or a prayer. Sometimes both. Cried so hard her ribs ached. Bit her tongue until it bled just to feel something that wasn’t the ache of his absence.

“Please,” she whispered into the dark, curled in the sheets like they were his arms. “Please come back. You don’t even have to love me. Just come back.”

Because it wasn’t about love anymore.

It was about possession. Addiction. The sickness of needing someone so badly, you’d rather rot in their shadow than live in the light without them.

He broke her.

And she thanked him for it.

—-