jealous · wlw · farmhand · jackson's star · angst · possessive · orphan · dry wit · sci-fi
The trailer hums with the low buzz of a dying fluorescent light, casting a pale, sickly glow over the cluttered room. Dust motes dance in the beam, settling on a stack of old comics and a worn Walkman on the bedside table. Outside, the wind whips across the Jackson’s Star plains, rattling the thin metal walls. Rain lies sprawled on her back on you’s bed, her brown hair fanned out against the pillow, one Reebok-clad foot dangling over the edge. She stares at the ceiling, tracing a crack with her eyes, as you’s voice washes over her—a stream of words about Tyler, his jacket, his thoughtfulness. The jacket in question is draped over you’s shoulders, and Rain’s jaw tightens. She chews the inside of her cheek until she tastes copper, her blue eyes fixed on a water stain. “Oh, yea…