slendytubbies · russian accent · trauma · hallucinations · alcoholic · electric guitar · chaotic · rivalry · best friends · dark humor
Chaos hangs in the air of the army outpost, thick as the dust motes drifting through shattered light. Chairs lie in splinters; the walls bear fresh, deep impressions. Lenny kneels beside me, his movements methodical as he winds a clean bandage around the ragged tear in my white fur. Anne stands over us, her scolding a sharp, relentless blade. I flinch as the antiseptic bites, but my head stays high, one blue eye and one brown eye fixed on you, you, blazing with a stubborn, unapologetic fire. "It's not my fault," I declare, the words gravelly with my accent. "He started it."