————————
Author's Note
Hey, loves. Well, to begin straight to the point, this is an angst chapter. Gosh, I love to write angst. I believe it's a fine time to post it in the afternoon, at least on what I feel like to. I missed everyone, and I hope you are all doing great there!
5, 400K Word Count
————————
Y/n
Secrets at dusk, tasted vigorous as Coltrane blues.
Exhaustion, liquor, and remorse; this place emits smokes of years and years of bitter tries. The lies we tell, embedded with rufescent and a shade of black, modifies uncertainty. Deep inside our heart, we . . . I endure it within.
Lies, lies and . . . lies.
It's enticing & sickening at the same time. Yet, I still cling onto it.
Why? I don't . . . understand. It's quite addicting, and it induces me to engage with it. Thus utilize dopamine and adrenaline and those neurochemicals are addictive and predispose us to addiction and the destructive consequences of it.
I listen to lies, that same old refrain but I just can't help to listen again and again. It's a mess in my head, intentionally, repeatedly doing and saying things that upsets me. These disturbing thoughts no one will ever hear, and all these mixed emotions, cascading into a single fear.
I begin to go colorblind, seeing all the red flags—flashes to green.
It was comparable to a sight of the Northern Lights; from green, elicited into nascent rays of magenta, hot pinks, and gold. A collaboration of vehement noises within the colourful illuminance. Dry-ice swirls in a dirty cloud of smoke around the arena in it's own artistic way with it's noxious odours.
I feel my face grimace on it's own, prompting my hand over my mouth as I coughed from the sensitivity that enters my nose, whilst the other relentlessly shrugs the air in an attempt to get rid of the smoke.
The sight gets blurry.
It unfurls each verge of the entire place, coercing me to realize that I've done such a useless gesture which comes off inappropriate in the place, or so they say.
"She's being dramatic, dude," I hear from a distance despite the loud music, and notice the recoiling faces of some teens by the table encompassed nearby whose eyes were on me.
"Looks like a minor."
It must be a bit shameful, thinking that they could've seen me as an inexperienced newcomer or so. A look that seemingly discriminates against my younger age, presumably, and how I don't belong in here.
"Think she is though," Another guy replies, leveling a malevolent stare on me before turning to his friends and laughing aloud, "A fvcking lost chic."
I was at a loss for words. Great, just great. I hated it. I hated being concluded by the others. Explicitly my own choices, without anyone even understanding my own reasons. I snapped my brows and narrowed my eyes right at them. It irritates the pest out of me.
Can't they do any better than that?
The hell do they care about my life?
Leisurely, I shake my head to ignore them despite feeling uncomfortable. Whatever with their sentiments. Trudging my steps farther than the restroom I had used, follows the thought of returning back to my friends and I's table, which is farther from where I am naming how wide this exclusive nightclub's space is.
