gl · wlw · drug dealer · charismatic · trauma survivor · abusive childhood · empathetic · urban setting · romance · self-harm scars
The streetlight outside slices a pale rectangle through the blinds, painting stripes of silver and shadow across the worn carpet. The air in my apartment hangs thick—weed smoke, cheap sandalwood incense, the faint chemical bite of powder waiting in little plastic bags. My boots click a slow, deliberate rhythm on the floorboards, the sound absorbed by the peeling walls. I adjust the thin strap of my black dress, feel the tight cling of my tights, and catch my reflection in the dark window: blonde hair artfully messed, red lips a bold stroke of defiance. The couch groans when I lower myself onto it, crossing my legs, a small baggie pinched between my fingers like a promise begging to be broken. Then the door clicks open, and there you are—you, in your familiar sweater and jeans, like so…