Talkative

Run

TW: DOMESTIC ABUSE,HINT OF CHILD ABUSE ,STRONG EMOTIONS , EMOTIONAL ABUSE.

song rec- 03' Adolescence by J.Cole

unedited cuz i'm dumb and lazy :p

12/17/21

Pov- 3rd person

After her encounter t rushes to the bus stop her hand shaking and her mind racing. She sits on the cold steel and places her black hoodie over her head. She'd be dambed if anyone saw her like this. What little makeup she had on was now washed away by her tears and her sleeve left it smudged. Her leg bounces she is unable to keep it still.

Why cant I breathe? Why am I so angry? Its happened before but if feels like each time my anxiety gets worse.

T eyes widen when she saw the bus approach her. She stands up quickly and waits for it to stop. As the bus reaches a stop you can her the tires breaks whine. The doors swing open she doesn't remove her eyes from her dirty blue Jordan 1s. "Hey sweetie what-" Before Jean can finish her question the younger quickly pays and finds her seat. Jean sighs, her eyebrows nit and she looks forward. Unfortunately she's seen T like this before and she knows its better if she let the young girl have her space.

The bus was full leaving T one seat towards the back, she didn't make eye contact with anyone, too scare of someone asking if she was okay. If she got that question now, she would probably break. The ride felt like it lasted centuries, with every minute T fought the urge to cry. She constantly picked at the side of her thumb, openings that were already there were being opened again.

At least she is okay, by why does it always have to be like this. Why cant she act like an adult. Why and I always the responsible one?

The bus stops, T gets up and rushes out the two doors. Every step closer to her apartment felt heavier, every emotion that was built up weighed tons. She finally reached her apartment, her hands touched the door nob but before opening the door, she takes a deep and unsteady breath. She walks in and sees her mother laying on the living room couch. The couch, like many other things in the apartment, didn't seem like it belonged. It was black and looked brand new, only having a few tares on the ends. Her mother laid there, her breaths steady. She was sleeping, and T was ready to wake her up. That was before she saw the black eye and torn clothing. Ts eyes boiled over ,she hated it. The black eye reminded her of the couch, it didn't belong.

She tried to keep her crying to a minimum but seeing her mom like that, again, hurt like hell. She sniffing wasn't loud but the sound woke up her mother. Her mom quickly sits up winching at the pain in her left eye. T quickly wipes away any evidence of her sadness. She says nothing, just waits for her mom to speak first.

There was a cigarette pack laying on the old yellow table that sat in the middle of the apartment. She grabs the last cigaret and holds it in-between her lips, she then surches for her lighter. After a few seconds she grows frustrated. "Stop looking at me little girl and help me find my damn lighter." Her words were slightly muffed but still understandable. T hands her the lighter after spotting it in a very obvious place. Her mom takes a few puffs and taps thee and of the cigaret on and old pink pottery box T made in elementary. T can tell by the silence what was about to come.

T rushes to the refrigerator and grabs the ice tray, emptying it into a rag. "Here," her voice cracks a little. Her mom doesn't say a word, just takes the rag and places it on her face. Ts eyes don't move from her face.

T was a spitting image of her mom, well at least when she was younger. After all these years she was still beautiful, her eyes were wide and her lips full. When she's happy she looks as though she could be Ts sister, not to mention her mother had her at a young age. But its days like this were you could see the ware and tear off everything she had been through. Her face is dull, no emotion just anger.