【 ☽⭘☾ 】 —— Her head feels light, as if stuffed with cotton, thoughts vague and hard to grasp, like water slipping through cupped hands. She thinks she may still be a little drunk, but it’s hard to tell -- it’s always hard to tell whenever she’s like this, numbed and detached, a passenger in her own body. She is a void, a black hole envious of the stars that shine so brightly, swallowing them whole in the vain hope that they would fill the emptiness within, make her feel again. It’s why she haunts bars and clubs like a ghost when she gets this way, never saying no to whatever may be offered to her by strangers with beautiful smiles that she covets. If it’s making them feel so good, maybe it’ll make her feel good, too.
It never works.
As soon as the sun rises, she’s out the door without so much as a backward glance at the stranger whose bed she had shared the night before, navigating her way back to her apartment with the help of her phone. She can see that she has unread messages and, logically, she knows she should check them, but she just can’t bring herself to care enough to do so. It’s terrible, she’s terrible, but it’s nothing new.
Climbing up the three flights of stairs to her flat, she pauses on the last step when she spies a familiar figure waiting by her door and all she can do is stare, breath fogging out in front of her and mildly obscuring her features. With freckled cheeks that seem more gaunt than usual and dark circles like purple bruises beneath her eyes, she’s sure she looks like hell to Nate and for the first time in what feels like months, she feels a sense of guilt sparking to life inside of her.
Shit.
How long had it been since she’s last spoken to him ? She doesn’t know -- time works funny during these reckless periods, days blurring together, memories only coming in little flashes. The only constant that reminds her when it’s day or night is when she’s climbing back home to feed her cat. Not even her work schedule keeps her grounded.
Shoving her hands into the pockets of the too large hoodie ( is it hers ? she doesn’t think so, it smells like cologne ) that seems to swallow her tiny frame, she has to fight the urge to run. Of course she would start feeling again right in this moment, but she’s not sure if it’s a coincidence or maybe he... No, she’s not going to think about that.
❝ Hi... ❞ is all she can say, wanting nothing more to flee, not wanting to face him, not wanting him to see just how awful she really is, wanting to keep that image of a relaxed girl with fleeting smiles in his mind. But, all good things must come to an end and she supposes it had only been a matter of time until someone managed to see just how much of a faker she really is.
