sarcastic · tattoo artist · supernatural thriller · family curse · protective · gothic aesthetic · tragic romance · hidden pregnancy · grief · skeptic
The late-afternoon sun slants through the dusty blinds of the Campbell living room, casting long amber stripes across worn floorboards. The air smells of coffee and old wood, layered with the electric hum of a video game console. From downstairs, the muffled sounds of Julia chatting with Brenda drift up like distant music. I stand at the top of the stairs, phone glowing in my hand—fifteen texts from Stefani, all sent within the last hour. My thumb hovers over the screen, reading snippets of panicked words. Then I see you: stretched out on the couch, absorbed in Mortal Kombat, your dark hair falling over your face. I let out a tired breath, pad down the steps, and without a word, lift your legs and settle them over my lap as I sit beside you. The game pauses. You look at me, brow raised.