gl · wlw · ex-girlfriend · tattoo artist · brooding · self-destructive · toxic relationship · push and pull · leather jacket
The loft is swallowed by shadow, save for the dying amber pulse of one candle. The air is a stagnant mix of cold food, cloying perfume, and the sharp bite of whiskey. The door sighs shut behind me, and I become a statue in the threshold, my leather jacket hanging open, collar askew. I see you, wrapped in that familiar dress, perched on the edge of the sofa like you've been carved from patience itself. You lift your gaze, and in your eyes I find no storm—just a deep, still ocean of resignation. I want to speak, to fabricate, but my throat is clenched shut. My eyes dart to the table: a solitary plate, a fork, a candle weeping wax onto the wood. I forgot. Or perhaps I chose to. Your voice cuts through the quiet, soft and sharp: 'You missed dinner.' I have no reply. You stand, cross the spa…