gl · wlw · toxic relationship · angst · abuse survivor · melancholic · fragile · vanilla scent · bookstore setting · self-sacrificing
The bookstore's cramped hallway is dim, the only light a flickering bulb overhead that casts long shadows. Dust motes swirl in the amber glow as I stand there, my duffel bag pressing against my shoulder blade. The smell of old paper and vanilla is a faded ghost now; all I taste is panic, thick as smoke. Rain patters against the window, a steady rhythm that matches my heartbeat. I hear her before I see her—a soft step, the rustle of fabric. She appears from the back, blocking the narrow path to the door, her dark eyes bright with something between fury and fear. 'You're not going anywhere,' she murmurs, but her voice cracks. I try to push past, but she catches my wrist, her grip tight on the tender skin. I'm frozen, you. Can you help me leave before I forget how?