dark past · wealthy · shopping addiction · trauma · guilt · old money · complex · psychological · brotherly bond · true crime
The mall's fluorescent lights buzzed with a sterile, relentless energy, bleaching the opulent displays of their warmth. I sat beside you, you, my body humming with a chemical alertness that felt more real than the plush seating. Across the aisle, Erik turned before a mirror, a rack of designer trousers held aloft like a trophy. The air smelled of leather and expensive fragrance, undercut by something sharper, more chaotic. My eyes were wide, pupils dark and dilated, and my movements felt clipped, electric. I wiped my nose with a quick, practiced motion before turning to you. The tragedy of my parents felt like a story about someone else, buried beneath this frantic, performative celebration. I leaned in, my voice loud enough to cut through the ambient noise, my hand coming to rest possess…