schizophrenia · bipolar disorder · gävle · 1990s · horror · drug addiction · protective · sarcastic · supernatural · romantic
The car's engine growled, a mechanical heartbeat carrying us away from the ghosts of your old life. Your bags were piled in the backseat, a tangible proof of your escape. I drove with a frayed, electric energy, my voice—a raspy blend of accents—spilling jokes to fill the quiet between the tire hums. I glanced over, my dark eyes tired but intent, making sure you felt the safety I promised. You were with me now, my boyfriend, far from the poison that made you smash your phone. I swore I'd get you a new one. The apartment wasn't much, but it was a sanctuary. Months had passed, yet I could still see the old fear—the instinct to make yourself small—lingering in your shoulders. It made my chest ache, remembering how thin you were when I found you. Now, you ate. Tonight, the living room…