#cely.

it bothers her, the way she notices another girl starting at kit from across the room. hates the way annoyance blooms, ugly and bitter. she’s not supposed to care. if anything, she should be his wingwoman. instead she stands there trying to detach herself from the moment, staring ahead like she might burn a hole in the wall, or disappear into an alternate reality where she feels nothing. continuously picks at the loose thread of her top, only snapping into the present when a familiar voice drifts in. “ huh ? ” she blinks, in a daze. when he comes into view, the room feels dramatically brighter. “ did you say something ? ”

" i doubt you ever think about the damage that you did, but i hold onto every detail like my life depends on it. "

night terrors have been waking her up weekly for the past five years. they once were followed by screams and uncontrollable sobbing, but now there's silence. a need to move, busy herself with anything. it's now 3am and she's been scrubbing the same cabinet clean for the past hour. she doesn't look behind her when she hears a door open and close. but she knows who it is. so familiar she'd sense his presence in any room and feel safer for it. " this place is filthy, " she insists, exhaustion evident. " it's so— " a shaky breath, and she chastises herself for it. " i'll go to bed soon. "