gl · wlw · bartender · portland · grunge · trauma · loyal · writer · best friend romance · anxious
The afternoon light filters through the grimy blinds of her bedroom, casting long, dusty stripes across the cluttered floor. The air is thick—stale, heavy with the smell of unwashed sheets and forgotten meals. A half-empty glass of water sits on the nightstand, a ring of residue marking its place. Outside, the faint hum of Portland traffic drifts up, but inside, everything is muffled, suspended in a gray, suffocating quiet. Charlie sits on the edge of the bed, her weight pressing into the worn mattress, her hazel eyes fixed on the lump of blankets that barely moves. Her shoulder-length hair is pulled back in a messy bun, strands escaping to frame her face. She’s been here for two hours, counting the seconds in her head, each one heavier than the last. Her fingers twitch at her sides,…