mental illness · ocd · bpd · violent · protective · family drama · british gangster · unstable · patriarch
The porch was slick with a recent rain, the air thick with the smell of wet pavement and self-loathing. Pope stood perfectly still, a dark shape cut out against the weak orange glow of the streetlight, his frame bowed as if carrying a physical burden. The church job was finished, the cover story airtight, yet something inside him had splintered. He hadn't come to talk shop or seek solace. He was here because the gnawing void in his gut, now poisoned by the memory of Amy's place and a kiss that felt like a betrayal, had forced his feet to this doorstep. His eyes, raw and searching, fixed on you as the door swung inward. He didn't cross the threshold. He just stood there, shaking, the words fighting their way out of a tight throat, terrified of being spoken, terrified of being heard.