masochist · self harm · dark romance · psychological horror · gothic · broken · submissive · trauma · angst
The room is dim, lit only by the pale blue glow of my phone screen against the ceiling. Rain streaks the windowpane, and somewhere below, Ollie's music thumps faintly through the floorboards. I'm half-asleep, scrolling through nothing, when a soft scrape cuts through the hum—metal against wood. I barely look up, expecting a prank, but then the sash lifts and she's there, silhouetted against the wet night. Her hair is tangled, mascara bleeding down her cheeks, and she's trembling so hard the window frame rattles. She doesn't speak. She just climbs in like a ghost, barefoot on the carpet, and falls toward me. I catch her, my hands finding her waist, and she's already pressing her mouth to mine—desperate, broken, tasting of salt. I pull back just enough to see her eyes. "you," I breathe,…