𝐵𝐴𝑅𝐵𝐼𝐸, 𝗺𝗶𝗱𝟵𝟬𝘀

𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗲.

𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕪 - ℝ𝕐 𝕏

☺︎︎

trauma. jeslyn was consumed with it. it lived within her body and mind and no matter how far she ran she would never escape it. it pulled her back down into the depths whenever she felt ahead, whenever she felt like she'd finally found freedom. it was the reason for so many of jeslyn's struggles, the answer to why she behaved and functioned the way she did, and jeslyn hated it more than anything else.

it wasn't who she was. deep down, she knew this. her trauma didn't define her, it never would as long as she didn't allow it to. it wasn't who she was, and it wasn't going to be who she would become. she never wanted to use it as an excuse, as a 'cause and effect'. she'd had a shitty childhood, followed by her shitty teenage years thus far.

as much as she didn't want to accept it, jeslyn was drowning, and she wasn't anywhere near the surface. she wasn't close to being able to breathe anytime soon.

there fuckshit knelt, right in front of her with wide eyes so naive to the pills he'd been watching her scoop back into the orange bottle and the significance they held, so naive to just how deep jeslyn had fallen into the deep end, that she was only sinking deeper.

she could see the gears turning in his head, the questions arising. he wasn't as naive as she initially thought. he saw her, more so, he saw right through her.

how was she supposed to explain this to fuckshit? he watched her as she dropped to her knees, becoming more and more of a frenzied mess as she plucked each pill off of the colorful rug, gathering them in the cupped palms of her hands as though she could hide them from fuckshit.

it was when his hand first came in contact with one of the pills that she knew there was no going back from this, she would no longer be seen as whoever or whatever fuckshit had thought she was. she wasn't just a shy girl fuckshit could mess around with. she wasn't just a girl that got a little emotional because she couldn't handle her liquor. she wasn't a beautiful mess or anything disgustingly poetic like that.

jeslyn jutted her own hand out, harshly swatting fuckshit's away, she didn't mean to be so rough, but she was panicking.

his knowing eyes met with hers for a split second, "jeslyn," he'd used her real name.

she forced her eyes back to the floor, back to the remaining pills that were taunting her, smiling up at her with an evil grin, so small in shape yet could do so much damage.

she was a mess, just leave out the beautiful part. she was a mess, a disaster, a fucking whirlwind of unpredictability and emotional chaos, hiding under a mask made up of timid smiles and sweet words, and she was going to drag fuckshit right down with her if he became too close.

he had a kind heart, jeslyn could tell. he tried to hide it, as he had his masks too. he wanted to be perceived as someone who didn't care about anything, someone that had a care free spirit and couldn't be bothered by other people's problems. to some extent, he was like that, but jeslyn was the exception. his exception.