[Trigger Warnings: This story includes themes of suicidal thoughts, drug use, and trauma. Reader discretion is advised.]
𝙸ɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀᴋᴇ ᴏҒ ʟᴏᴠᴇ
In the haunting melodies of their youth, Zephyr and Theo discover a love that transcends time, only to be t...
Audrey Said She Saw You Out Past Twelve o'clock Just Because You're Hurting Doesn't Mean I'm not If It Doesn't Go Away By The Time I Turn Thirty I Made A Mistake And I'll Tell You I'm Sorry
Gracie Abrams
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A shout tears through the fog of my dreams, yanking me awake. My eyes flutter open, and the sunlight knifes through the curtains, stabbing into my skull. Every beat of my pulse sends a fresh wave of pain crashing against my temples. My head feels like it’s been split open, and my eyes, God, my eyes, are so swollen, it hurts to blink. What the hell happened?
Then it hits me, hard and fast, like a punch to the gut.
Fuck. Theo. The meeting.
Panic surges through me. I scramble out of bed, my body sluggish, weighed down by the clothes I never bothered to take off last night. I don’t remember falling asleep, hell, I don’t even remember getting into bed. All I remember is thinking about Theo, and the ache that followed.
From the living room, another shout breaks through the haze of my thoughts. I stumble toward the door, my fingers fumbling on the handle. Voices, Mia’s voice, sharp and furious, and then… Easton. What the hell is he doing here?
“You asshole! You should’ve told her it was Kai who wanted the meeting, not Theo. Do you even have a brain in that thick skull of yours? You know how she gets when it’s about Theo!” Mia’s words come out in a rapid-fire stream, each one more furious than the last. There’s a tremor in her voice, though, like she’s barely keeping herself from falling apart.
I swing the door open and step into the hallway. Mia stands in the center of the room, her back to me, her auburn hair a mess of waves, hands planted on her hips. She’s wearing the same oversized sweater she wore yesterday, but now it looks crumpled, like she hasn’t slept either.
Easton is slouched against the wall, his black hair perfectly slicked back, his jaw tight. He looks good, like he always does, too good, which is part of the problem. He’s the kind of guy who never has to try, and yet everything seems to fall into place for him. But right now, he’s just standing there, arms crossed, taking Mia’s verbal lashing with the blank expression of someone who couldn’t care less.
