GENEVIEVE'S HEELS RESTED in the crook of her finger as they wove their way through the old stone streets, dim street lights guiding the way and casting a dull yellow gleam on the buildings around them. it wasn’t a long walk from clementine to the expensive part of town they both lived in ( as if nearly all of the town wasn’t the expensive part ) but the melange of substances thrumming through gen’s bloodstream made it feel as though they were suspended in time, floating through the quiet, copper lit streets of the island. heels off, she walked tucked underneath the slightly more sober ( a margin only existent due to his drugs of choice or lack thereof ) fitz’s arm, the two chatting in a moment of their scattered, substance fueled camaraderie. “ do you ever think, ” gen began, a rare and honest lilt, fueled by the drugs in her system and the quietness of the street, “ about how easily we could lose everything, ” pluralis majestatis, gen’s thoughts only truly on herself. “ one photo, in the wrong dress or doing the wrong thing. one bad moment, looking like an idiot. getting tied up in the wrong job, or the wrong marriage, or a fucking missing persons case. the way your reputation could just unravel at any moment, it’s like standing on the edge of a cliff, ” she bit her lip, eyes unblinking, straight ahead, “ i think maybe i fucking love it, it makes me feel like an actual real person. alive. ”
( @ofasphodel )
