𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐈 everyone knows who she is. Worldwide model, covered in many vogue magazines, walked catwalks, and runaway. But people don't know what happens behind the curtains. Despite the many scandals that have plagued her reputation...
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Things were finally looking up for us.
I stayed awake in Lucas's arms as he lay asleep, peacefully, for the first time in forever. His face was serene, his breath steady-so different from the tension he usually carried. I couldn't remember the last time he looked so at ease, and a part of me didn't want to move, didn't want to disturb this fleeting peace. But the weight in my chest wouldn't let me rest.
I hated how my addiction almost got in the way of his victories. How my problems always seemed to interfere with everyone else's lives. It felt like I was a disease, spreading into their worlds, slowly killing them from the inside out until there was nothing left but the wreckage I caused.
Recovery wasn't a straight path- it was a jagged, unpredictable road. But how could I look at him and shatter his hope? How could I tell him that sometimes, late at night, I wondered how much easier it would be for evervone if I just ceased to exist? That I've sat in the bathroom, staring at my phone, my finger hovering over the number I knew by heart-the one that would lead me back into a spiraling abyss. Back to the pills, to the darkness that almost swallowed me whole.
How could I tell him that despite my best efforts, the urge to fall was always there, lurking beneath the surface?
Lucas was in this mess because of me. Because his father looked at me the way he did, and Lucas couldn't stand it. He felt protective, and in his effort to shield me, he'd ended up hurting himself. He kept everything inside to protect me, to protect his sister, to protect us all. He let the anger and the pain fester until it consumed him.
And I was the spark that ignited it all.
1 was a mess-a hurricane in human form. Everywhere I went, I destroyed something, left things broken and scarred in my wake. The most innocent souls couldn't escape it; the clean hands became stained, the hollow bodies haunted.
I was like a disease. And sometimes, the urge to cure it was overwhelming. To jump off the edge, offering everyone the antidote to the damage I caused. I imagined giving them back the peace I stole, the cracks I made in their walls.
Maybe then they'd be free of me.
Maybe then Lucas would finally have the life he deserved-the peace he deserved--without me tainting it.
But I couldn't say any of that. Not now, not while he slept, not while we were both still fragile, holding on to what little we had left. Instead, I buried it deep, sinking further into his warmth, telling myself that for now, this was enough. That maybe, just maybe, I could be something other than the wreckage in his life.
But the doubt always lingered.
I shiver, my body trembling as I lay there in Lucas's arms, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on me. He was so strong—so much stronger than I could ever be. He had endured more than anyone should, all for me. He covered bodies, fought battles I never should have dragged him into. He pulled me out of voids he never should have been near, strayed me away from paths people our age shouldn't even think of.
