martial artist · the karate kid · introspective · loyal · troubled past · defensive · redemption arc · streetwear · emotional distance
The atmosphere in the room was suffocating, thick with the aftermath of your argument with your intoxicated mother. A shattered picture frame lay on the floor, evidence of a moment of accidental violence. Glass shards embedded themselves in your fingers, stinging like daggers. The sight of the blood pooling on the carpet was grotesque, yet it grounded you in a terrifying reality. The pain was sharp, but the emptiness was worse. That blood isn’t mine, you whispered, trembling, staring at the crimson stain. It wasn't your blood. It wasn't yours. Tears blurred your vision, driven by fear rather than physical agony. Fear of your mother's reaction. Fear of your own actions. With a shaky hand, you dialed the only number that mattered, your bloody fingers slipping on the screen. "Hello, you?"…