𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲, 𝐛𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢

𝟼. 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐

Hi <3  Thank you so so much for 6k reads!

Dark content ahead. 

TW: abusive / toxic relationship, verbal abuse, talk of depression, and death.

A gentle reminder that having experienced a severe toxic relationship myself, I will never ever glorify these things. Instead, I am trying to raise awareness of the harsh reality of what it can be like to be in one and the importance of getting out while you can.

Please proceed with caution.

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It's been two weeks since you moved into your new apartment, and the days spent have been nothing but good.

You are slowly learning new habits while leaving old ones behind, adapting to how to live in the close company of two other girls, and getting to know the friend group you have, for the most part, been accepted into a little more every day.

What you have accumulated thus far, you love.

Living with Sasha and Mikasa has been a breath of fresh air that your lungs were so desperately aching for, especially with how much life had run you dry before you decided to leave your past behind and start new.

It's nice here. Everything about it is more than anything you could have asked for. Your wildest dreams couldn't even come close to the life you're living in Trost.

Monday and Wednesday nights, in particular, have quickly become your favorite part of your new living situation, which consists of late-night snacks and a bottle of cheap red wine split for three that Sasha so proudly buys with a fake ID that Connie so poorly made.

However, you're pretty sure the liquor store cashier has a pathetic crush on Sasha, so he continues to allow her to buy alcohol despite the fact he knows her ID is a fake.

Let's say Connie should not pursue the fake ID designing business for the sake of everyone's safety.

On these nights, after homework is out of the way, personal to-do lists are checked off, and junk food and illegally purchased wine are gathered, the three of you eat and drink in the living room on the cream-colored velvet couch while sharing conversations that are sworn to secrecy within the bright white walls of apartment C10. 

These talks remain under the reoccurring realm of best to worst kisses, cringe-worthy past dates, and plans for the future that you find yourself only being able to gander at because who the hell knows exactly what they want to be in life at the age of nineteen.

You barely know your current self; how the hell are you to know the person you will be in the future? It's such an outrageous concept.

As time passes on, you're starting to notice changes in yourself. For the past twelve nights, you've been able to fall asleep without hesitance and wake in the morning without dread, which in your life, as you've gotten older, has become quite rare.

Typically, sleep for you is restless due to the images your mind seems to like to paint so vividly during your time of slumber.

Up until recently, if you weren't dreaming of Lucas' lifeless body, it was of your father and his harsh words that had burned your self-worth down to the very bone. And if it wasn't of your father, it was of other people from your past that you wish you could wipe yourself clean of.

You can't estimate under an accurate time frame how long it's been since you have felt rested because stress, worry, and mourning have blended months, weeks, and days into one great pile of mush. Only the universe knows how long you spent waking, feeling heavy, unsure, or distressed.