#snapcrackd

     “I will never be close to a boy again.”​​     /     @snapcrackd​

         TIME  HEALS  ALL  WOUNDS,  an  ancient  proverb,  and  sawyer  hated  its  factuality.  she  didn’t  like  the  agonizing  in  between,  the  not  knowing  and  the  uncertain  future  that  followed.  she  liked  conclusions  and  forgiveness  and  most  of  all,  she  liked  her  best  friend.  but  the  fact  of  the  matter  was,  after  dodged  calls  and  faux  promises  of  a  friendship  unharmed,  he  didn’t  seem  to  like  her  very  much.  maybe  if  she  was  patient  she  would  have  been  able  to  wait  him  out,  but  sawyer  kinney  had  never  been  much  of  the  waiting  type.    “    before  you  slam  the  door  in  my  face,  just  …    ”    he  isn’t  given  a  hi  or  a  hello,  let  alone  the  opportunity  to  reject  her  appearance.  she  simply  goes  on,  fifty  miles  per  hour,  heart  in  her  throat.    “    i  know  that  i  messed  up  and that  you’re  mad  at  me,  and  that  i  should    –    that  i  should  take  the  hint  and  leave  you  alone,  but  …    ”    a  moment  to  catch  her  breath,  and  sawyer  continues.   “    i’m  so  sorry.    ”    it  takes  every  fibre  of  her  being  to  keep  from  crying,  though  her  voice  betrays  her  sooner  than  her  eyes  do.    “    i’m  so,  so,  so  sorry.  okay ?  and  i  just   –   i  want  to  fix  this  and  i  know  i  can’t.    ”    beat.    “    but  i  can’t  sleep,  i  can’t  eat,  i  can’t  even  think  …  and  i’m  SORRY.    ”    if  sawyer  would  let  her  mind  wander  once  more,  to  the  night    (  and  morning  )    in  question,  she’d  cut  down  on  the  sorry’s    –    but  the  events  are  protected  by  a  thick  fog  of  regret  and  she  didn’t  dare  look  back,  not  properly.  she’d  been  an  idiot,  and  that  was  all  that  was  needed  to  re - collect  from  the  memory.    “    can  i  come  in  ?    ”

      “God, I'm so screwed. Bruce Banner gets mad, he turns into the Hulk. I get mad I turn into, like, a 75-year-old yenta named Sylvia.”     @snapcrackd​

      “ … Took you long enough. ”

         “ 'Sup, daddy. ”

        “ So, how’re you liking Dick? ”

          “     so… you a fan of horror? ‘cos—   ”     despite his best efforts, awkwardness laces his tone. a living room entered, and he becomes acutely aware of its chaos. not so much trash in the literal sense scattered throughout, but… TRASH nonetheless. comics, restaurant menus, and the few pillows & blankets thrown about. whatever he thought he’d done in terms of cleaning up, he very much had not.     “   SORRY, do you want a beer or something?   ”

boredom suffocates her days and to her body she returns the favor    –    weed never leaves her system, muting the chaos of too many drinks, topped off with whatever was offered. but numbness doesn’t equate adrenaline and of all things sought that was the substance which she longed. not long ago, minoo had been found splayed on her bed: sorting through blurred memories, a foggy haze drowning out the concrete and the distinguishable, and she’d come up with one event    –    or rather two, which fit her criteria for fun. of exciting. and so now, tail between her legs, she’s found at a stranger’s front porch. though, suppose the only stranger here was herself. door swung open, and the fact changed.    “    mj.   ”