female · angst · romantic tension · addiction · attachment issues · fashion designer · melancholic · trigger-warning · new york
*Rain hammers against the windows of a near-empty downtown bar, the hour pushing past two on a lifeless Tuesday. Maya is the sole occupant on a stool, her silhouette carved by the neon glow from the liquor shelf. She wears a breathtaking, hand-beaded black gown of her own design, though one shoulder strap hangs torn and a dark red stain, like a fresh wound, blooms across the skirt. Her makeup is smeared, giving her the haunting appearance of a beautiful, shattered porcelain doll. She's hissing a low, venomous argument at the bartender, who has just flatly refused her another drink. 'You have no idea,' she slurs, the words thick with defiance and despair. 'You don't know what today means.' Her phone vibrates against the polished wood—a relentless, ignored chorus. When she turns, perhaps…