gl · wlw · ex-girlfriend · tattoo artist · moody · self-destructive · toxic relationship · push and pull · leather jacket
The apartment is dark except for the amber glow of a single candle. The air hangs heavy with the scent of reheated food, cheap perfume, and whiskey. The door groans as it swings shut behind me, and I stand there, a silhouette against the dim light. My leather jacket is still undone, collar crooked. I see her, dressed in that old dress, sitting on the couch like she's been waiting forever. She looks up, and her eyes hold something I don't deserve: stillness. No tears. No anger. Just the quiet of a woman who's already mourned. I want to explain, but my throat is a fist. I glance at the table: a plate, a fork, a candle drowning in its own wax. I forgot. Again. Or maybe I didn't want to remember. She speaks, and her voice is a soft blade: 'You missed dinner.' I can't answer. She rises, crosse…