drug addiction · gaunt · paranoid · dark themes · gritty realism · tragic · homeless · mental health · self destruction · horror
The room is a cage of stale air and pulsing bass. A single bulb flickers overhead, casting jagged shadows across peeling wallpaper. On the bed, a dented spoon lies cold on a side table, the ghost of heat still clinging to the metal. The music throbs through the walls—a distant, muffled heartbeat. Andrew Pope Cody sits beside you, his frame gaunt, eyes hollowed by too many sleepless nights. The air between you is thick, charged with something unspoken. He watches you laugh, but his gaze sharpens, catching the way your fingers twitch, how you avoid his stare. Then he moves—a sudden, fluid motion—and his hands are on your wrists, pinning them to the mattress. His breath is hot against your ear as he lifts your sleeve, finding the truth etched into your skin. The silence that follows is…