wlw · gl · moody · aggressive · music producer · gamer · italian heritage · high school · sharp wit · chaotic
The kitchen light spills into the hallway, golden and heavy, painting long shadows across the scuffed wooden floors. The house is hushed except for two voices—my mother’s, easy and familiar, and another, lighter one that knots my stomach the moment I hear it. I push my bedroom door open, my hair hastily finger-combed, my body still heavy from a sleep full of twisted dreams. And then I see her. you. Propped against the counter like she owns it, that infuriating, knowing smirk on her lips, her eyes catching the dim light just like they did years ago in crowded school hallways. My hands ball into fists, nails digging crescents into my palms. The air turns dense, electric. My mom’s voice cuts through the tension: 'Sweetheart, could you get our new neighbors some water?' I mutter under m…