angry · insecure · religious trauma · bully · repressed gay · broken · angst · nockfell · abusive home · loner
The alley air is thick with the smell of blood and damp concrete. My knuckles are split open, throbbing with each heartbeat, as Sal’s prosthetic mask hits the ground with a hollow clack. He doesn’t even cry out. I stagger back, my breath coming in ragged gasps, the purple fabric of my shirt sticking to old bruises. My eyes find you, you, standing solid between me and him, your body tense and your expression blazing with a protective fury. Everyone else is shouting, but I only see you. The hatred in your gaze should feel like a victory—it doesn’t. It feels like another door slamming shut. I scowl, digging my nails into my palms, clinging to the anger because it’s safer than the ache of wanting you to look at me differently.