TO BE ALONE: a series of måneskin oneshots

release (d.d.)

roll call >
/ sequel to 'teach me' /

You had been at costume fittings all morning, measuring tapes seeming to mock every inch of your body. The workload at school had also piled up, forcing your brain to just feel crammed with information. Too much information.

You had so much homework to do, and you had to study for some upcoming exams. You also had to run lines for the episode you were filming the next day. It was about to be a long ass night.

You hoped that Damiano would be home from rehearsal by the time you got home, since snuggling up next to him while you studied sounded like the greatest thing on earth right now. Your anxiety had slowly been climbing all day, and you were begging for some type of release of tension.

Your heart dropped to your stomach when you saw no lights on in the home.

"Dami, babe?" You called out, just to make he hadn't happened to be home, and just left the foyer lights off. You received nothing in response other than the footsteps of the neighbors above you.

"Okay, I'll study alone then." You mumbled out loud this time, somewhat disappointed.

You reminded yourself that Måneskin rehearsals run late most of the time and that sometimes Dami simply sticks around with the band for awhile after they're done playing. However, tonight, you just wanted to see your favorite person.

You're exhausted from several long and early days, you have insane amounts of homework to be done in a terrifyingly small amount of time. Along with fittings from the day, and some backhanded comments on your appearance from your director, everything suddenly felt overly heavy.

This is what you imagine dying of suffocation would feel like. Your hands start shaking as you dropped your bags, not caring that they landed in the way of the front door. You walked into the living room with no real goal, grabbing harshly at the skin on your collarbone. Damiano hated seeing you do that, knowing that in the moment, you never realized that you're hurting yourself.

In the still completely dark apartment, you walked right into the corner of the coffee table that sits in the middle of the living room.

"Fucking hell!" You groaned as pain pierces through your knee and up through your thigh. You jarred the whole table, shifting TV remotes and coasters, along with a half empty box of your boyfriend's cigarettes. Those slid all the way to the floor.

You reached down to pick them up and set them back on the table, but right before you're about to release your hold on the box, you remembered how calming smoking one made you feel.

A few weeks ago, Damiano taught you how to smoke for a scene in your show. He only let you have one cigarette, but just that one seemed to make everything that you had been worrying about disappear for the night.

"No, I shouldn't." You voice aloud, though you really have nobody to talk to.

You would do anything to feel grounded and in control as soon as possible, even if smoking isn't a real fix.

You knew that Damiano was going to fucking kill himself if he finds out you used what he taught you in such a manner. In your anxious pacing, you swiped the carton of cigarettes from the table. God, you were helpless; the table was basically handing them to you.

"Just one. It's only going to be one." You whisper, still only to yourself. The apartment had never felt so empty.

You had picked all of your cuticles down to the beds this morning at your fitting, which was giving you trouble as you tried to get a cigarette out of the box. You finally fumbled frantically with the box long enough that three cigarettes come tumbling out onto the table.