negan fic;; sex, major age gap, smoking, sexual violence etc.
"sunday, wake up, give me a cigarette
won't you quit your crying? i can't sleep
one minute i'm a little sweetheart
and next minute you are an absolute creep"
- obsessions//marin...
XXVI - beggin for thread : banks - "you got me beggin' for thread, to sew this hole up that you ripped in my head"
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8:12 : my miniature clock sits by my bedside. i've been watching the minutes tick by slowly since six.
maybe tonight will be a good thing. maybe i'll make a friend out of dulcie, and maybe that'll be good for me too.
i glance at the mirror before kneeling in front of it to braid my hair. the style looks messy on me, i never learnt to do it properly. no one taught me. my mom wasn't good with her hands.
the clock reads 8:23 now. i get up slowly and pull on my navy hoodie over my dungarees. slipping my arms in one by one and then lacing up my boots.
dulcie is on the same floor as me. just down the corridor, first left and then a right.
i stand outside her door and reach to knock, but my knuckles meet the air as she whips it open before i get the chance.
"billie, you came!" the girl smiles. her hair is loose now, in waves that fall just past her shoulders. the brunette smiles fondly at me, before producing her bottle of alcohol from behind her back and waving it at me.
i laugh softly, politely, before following her into the room.
the layout mimics that of my bedroom. floor length mirror, near-rotting chest of wooden drawers, thin cotton drapes and a single metal bed frame displaying an uncomfortably thin mattress on top.
"bottoms up" she places a plastic cup into my grasp and carelessly spills the liquor in until it reaches half full.
"bottoms up" i respond. pouring the liquid down my throat in one. it burns as it makes its way through me. i shake my head frantically in disgust and laugh.
opening my eyes, realising now that i had squeezed them shut to help me recover from my drink, i see that dulcie's cup is empty too.
i must have missed her drinking hers.
"so come on," she perks up, instructing me "tell me something".
"something? a story?"
"anything!"
i think for a second.
"when i was younger, my mom would work nights at the steakhouse to bring in extra cash. me and my brother must have been eight and ten. my dad would disappear for days on end sometimes, and so we occupied ourselves in the evenings."
