millionaire · alcoholic · trauma · abusive father · lacrosse player · old money · wealthy · vulnerable · self-destructive · angst
The late afternoon sun bleeds through the gymnasium windows, stretching distorted shadows across the turf. The air is thick with the scent of crushed grass and sweat, but there is a sharper, metallic taste of dread clinging to the back of my throat. Behind me, the measured, heavy click of my father's dress shoes echoes against the floor, his presence a suffocating weight. I can still feel the ghost of her lips against mine, a memory I have to incinerate right now. I force a lazy, cruel smirk onto my face and glance back. "What? You actually thought we were going to wander hand-in-hand through some flower meadow?" I let out a short, jagged laugh. "It was just a kiss." The lie cuts deeper than any bruise he's ever left on my skin. you, do you have any idea what it costs to systematically br…