#softellie

i was tagged by @softellie thanks hon!! i’ve done some of these before so i’ll try to write some new stuff

i dye my hair a lot and try different styles with it, like i’m pretty sure i’ve dyed my hair 4 different colors in the 4 years i was in hs

although i’m an indoor kind of person, i like taking walks and going out in town (by myself), i just never get the motivation to do so

that thing above, i’m the most unmotivated person you’ll ever meet, procrastination is my second name

i’m surprisingly a quick study when it comes to subjects i love, i don’t have to study anything if i pay attention in class, but if it’s a subject i don’t like, oh boy. it takes me years to remember anything

i was never a die hard fan of books when i was young and i’m still not really?? but the harry potter books got me hooked on books but i either read a book in one go or i never read it tbh

i joined tumblr bc of some friends from other sites but then i got into roleplaying and that was my life for like 3 years???

i have a thing for villains and bad guys/girls, like a lot of my favorite characters are villains or antagonists in general

i have a bad back and suffer of scoliosis and it starts hurting whenever i stay more than a couple of hours on my chair

i have problems remembering words and how to phrase things properly and sometimes i talk with a stutter because of it

i’m mentally ill and i was in a especially bad place 2 years ago, when i postponed my education and almost quit high school even though there were like 2 months left of school

As soon as I enter the building, I know this isn’t going to be anything like I thought. The walls are grimy and stained, shreds of wallpaper still clinging to off-white plaster where they hadn’t been completely ripped away. It’s a big house, sure, and the dust isn’t thick enough that you can’t see how beautiful the wood floor must have been at one point. However, I back up a few steps until I’m outside again, and check the number on the house. 223 Smithland Avenue. This is correct.

I walk back inside, and my shoes sound too loud. The house is utterly silent. He said he would meet me here. Where did he go?

There’s a creaking noise, and suddenly the house isn’t so silent, or so empty, any more. Two rats scramble across the floor towards the refrigerator. Rats. What was he thinking? What was I thinking? Dirt and grease on the walls, dust on the floor, rats under the fridge. This can’t be his house.

Is it his house? It dawns on me, finally, that maybe this was all a ploy to get me to come here….But why? He said he loved me, would love me until the both of us were dead. He bought me flowers and chocolate and perfume, as well as journals and highlighters and washi tape. Why would he bring me here? This is….gross. And dirty. And all the other things I’m not. When he said to meet me here, I had thought….God, I was so stupid. Hadn’t Mom always said not to go alone to strange places?

Why would he take me here? I shouldn’t be here. I stumble back out onto the front porch and down the stairs, my heels making everything awkward. I had dressed up so nice for him: heels and jewelry and a skirt. Had he been lying? Why would he do that? My mind runs through all the possibilities, from misunderstanding to murder.

The grass outside the house—his house? It couldn’t be his—is tinged yellow from all the sun we’ve been getting. The path that leads from the sidewalks to the front steps and cuts the yard in half is cracked. Was there some sort of mistake? He couldn’t have meant to send me here. He was a nice boy—Mom always said so, even though when she learned his age, she gave me a disapproving look. His eyes crinkled when he smiled. How could anyone whose eyes crinkled when they smiled be bad?

I stumble away from the house, my heels catching on the cracks in the path. Weeds grow between the chunks of cement, and not even the pretty weeds, like dandelions. Ugly gray-green weeds. They reach out of the cement to grab me and keep me there. Why would he do this? Why would he do this?