𝑽𝑨𝑳𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑨 | 𝐓.𝐒 |

𝒙𝒙𝒊𝒊. 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐚'𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰, staring out at the sprawling city that seemed to suffocate her. The light from the streetlamps blurred and flickered, not from any fault in the electricity but from the storm raging inside her. She didn't have to look to know that the half-empty bottle on the table beside her was still there, an old friend she had fallen back on too many times. But it wasn't just the drink—there was something else, something that had once been her salvation and was now her downfall. A dangerous dance with oblivion, where the world became softer, quieter, until it was no longer there at all.

Her thoughts drifted like smoke, curling around the fragments of her memories, the things she didn't want to see. The ghosts of her past, the things she had buried so deeply, were clawing their way back to the surface, demanding to be reckoned with. And so, she let herself slip into that familiar haze, the one that promised to silence the noise and drown out the pain. But as always, it was a false promise. One that came with a cost.

The weight of it all pressed down on her chest, thick and unyielding, as though the air had turned into something heavier, something she couldn't quite escape. Each breath felt like an effort, but the numbness was the real enemy. It crept up on her slowly, inching its way into her mind, wrapping around her thoughts like vines choking the life out of a tree.

She could feel it working its way through her veins, pulling her under. The world around her dimmed, the colors fading into muted shades of gray, until all that was left was the faint, persistent hum that filled her ears. It was familiar—a terrible sort of comfort, one that had been with her since her world had shattered all those years ago. It dulled the sharp edges of the memories, of the faces she couldn't bear to think about. But it never took them away completely. It only blurred the lines for a while, and when it wore off, the pain came back twice as strong.

The city outside her window looked just as it always had, indifferent to her suffering. She clenched her fists, trying to ground herself in the present, but it was useless. The past was stronger, pulling her under. The faint scent of something burning filled the room—opium, mingling with the smoke from her cigarette—and for a brief moment, it was as though she was back in that world. The one she had escaped from. The one that still had its claws in her.

She hated herself for slipping. For allowing the ghosts to win, for letting the numbness be her refuge once again. But the truth was, it had never truly left her. Not since that day. It was always there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for her to fall back into its embrace. And tonight, she had. She had relapsed into that darkness because it was easier than facing the pain.

The knock on the door snapped her out of the fog, but not entirely. She turned her head slowly, her vision still hazy, as if she were seeing the world through a thick veil. There was another knock, and she didn't need to guess who it was.

"Val." Thomas's voice was low, his tone firm but laced with concern. She could hear it through the door, even in her haze. He had come for her, again. Always pulling her back when she wandered too far.

She didn't respond. Didn't move. She just stood there, caught between wanting to open the door and let him in and wanting to stay where she was, drowning in her own darkness.

Thomas knocked again, more urgently this time. "Val, open the door."

She swallowed hard, her throat dry from the poison she'd ingested, her mind fighting to push through the fog. The sound of his voice was like a tether, pulling her back, grounding her in the reality she had been running from. But she still hesitated, staring at the door as if it held the answer to whether she could face him—face herself.