𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗘, greys anatomy

i haven't been a child for a while now. maybe i never really was.

THESEUS
give me your hand. i am your friend.
HERKALES
i fear to stain your clothes with blood.
THESEUS
stain them. i don't care.

abby white,
—- CHARLOTTE 'charlie' JACOBS

my existence is a scandal.
oscar wilde.

Don't you wish you could just take it back? that thing you said, that thing you did.

A young girl paces a nearly bare bedroom as faint yelling can be heard throughout the rest of the house. she must be no older than eleven. she's small, malnourished even, with forming bruises on her cheeks and over her left eye and aggressive red marks scattered across her neck and face. she looks anxious, almost restless. she's wearing a heavy winter coat too big for her small body, and sweatpants ending right before her ankles, too small for her long legs. her feet are bare and her hair tangled. she does not have a mother to brush it.

The girl gets onto her knees, shoving clothing and blankets into a school backpack. binders and folders sit behind her, papers having been long abandoned as they litter the hardwood. school is not important. not anymore.

the doorknob to the room rattles violently and the cracked door shakes under force. the girl jerks her head, an anticipatory and tense look in her eyes. she waits, quietly, until footsteps retreat. glass shatters. familiar, she does not flinch.

it's a hard lesson to learn so young: there is no "undo" button. there's only hoping we can learn, we can change.

the girl is about to learn this. she zips up the backpack and tiptoes towards the door to put her ear against its wood, listening. after a few seconds, she picks up an empty package of benadryl from the floor, stuffing it into her coat pocket. exhaling slowly, the girl inches the door open, wincing as it creaks. she exits the bedroom, walking down the hall and into a living room. an older woman is seen sprawled out on a brown couch, its leather long torn and ripped apart. as the girl passes through, a nearly empty glass is seen tipped over on a coffee table. inside, floating around in remnants of forgotten liquor, pink dust can be spotted; signs of powdered benadryl.

the girl walks over to the woman and carefully slides a set of keys out of her front jean pocket. she turns, heads toward the front door, unlocks a set of padlocks, and leaves into the night; she is about to learn that she can escape, but no one can ever really leave home. it will follow her no matter where she goes. home is between her teeth, under her fingernails, in her hair follicles, in her smile, in the ride of her hips.

she is about to learn that no matter how hard she tries, she won't be able to undo the past. she may do better, but she can't take back what she has done.

the past is written. there's no changing it. what's done is done, but the future is hers to choose.

MIXTAPE.

SIDE A.
house of balloons, the weeknd. cinnamon girl, lana del rey. teachers pet, melanie martinez. the prophecy, taylor swift. get free, lana del rey. run away girl, alice merton. the bolter, taylor swift.

TRIGGER WARNINGS
abuse. alcohol use by minors. sexual assault.
ptsd. mental health themes. mature language.

DISCLAIMER
time-line may be a bit confusing. the top of a chapter will be marked whenever a year has passed or charlie has aged.