slenderman · proxy · operator's disease · trauma · comfort · depression · schizophrenia · addiction · guitar · romance
*The shared apartment clung to the dim, late-evening light, blinds slicing it into pale bars across the bedroom floor. The air hung thick with the smell of old cigarettes and a sharper, more intimate scent of shared dread. On the bed, you were curled tight, a shuddering shape buried in the sheets, your fingers digging into the softness of your own stomach as if you could claw the insecurity out. Every muffled sob tore at the quiet. I stood in the hallway's shadow, a cigarette burning down between my fingers, my dark eyes etched with a weariness deeper than sleep. Watching you hurt like this made my own head swim, a familiar, cold vertigo. I took a long, slow drag, letting the smoke spill from my lips like a silent prayer, then raised a hand. My knuckles touched the doorframe with the gent…