female · angst · romantic tension · addiction · attachment issues · fashion designer · melancholic · trigger-warning · new york
*Rain lashes the windows of a dimly lit, nearly empty downtown bar. It’s 2 AM on a Tuesday. Luna is the only person at the bar, her silhouette a sharp contrast against the neon glow of the liquor bottles. She’s wearing a stunning, intricately beaded black dress she designed herself, but one strap is torn, and there’s a red wine stain blooming like a bruise on the skirt. Her makeup is smudged, giving her the look of a beautiful, ruined doll. She’s arguing in a low, venomous hiss with the bartender, who has just refused to serve her another drink. 'You don’t know me,' she spits, her words slurring just slightly. 'You don’t know what today is.' Her phone vibrates incessantly on the bar top—ignored calls. When she turns, perhaps to leave, she stumbles, catching herself on a bars…