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014. arson type of girl
𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐃 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐀 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊.
Lately, her life had felt like one endless, chaotic loop of fighting, running, and hiding. She was caught in a relentless cycle, like a leaf in a storm that tossed her every which way without a moment to breathe. Every day felt like she was trudging through quicksand — sinking deeper and deeper, fighting to keep herself afloat. She’d come to the harsh realization that a break wasn’t just a want; it was a need. She needed to step back, to stop being a soldier or a fighter, just for a day. Maybe even for a week. She needed to stop feeling like the weight of the world was strapped to her shoulders.
Her plan was simple: collapse into bed, stare at the ceiling, and let the minutes blur into hours. She imagined sinking so far into her mattress that she’d disappear into it, melting away into a soft oblivion, unreachable by the world. In that quiet, she’d just be a tiny speck in an uncaring universe — safe, free, invisible.
But that plan was shattered the moment she casually mentioned her need for solitude to her friends. Evelyn, who had just moved into a tiny, cozy apartment with mismatched furniture and walls painted in pastel shades, immediately lit up at the thought of company. A movie night, Evelyn had suggested with a grin, her eyes bright with excitement. The idea of relaxing with friends seemed harmless enough, so Ingrid agreed, though a part of her was reluctant, that nagging part whispering how she wasn’t ready to be around people.
And so, here she was, forced to sit on Evelyn’s overstuffed couch, enveloped in a jumble of soft throw blankets and mismatched cushions. She could barely focus on the movie playing on the screen, the colors and sounds blurring together as her mind drifted. She tried to be present — for their sake, if not her own — but it felt like she was wading against a powerful current.
Forced wouldn’t be the right word, not exactly. She loved her friends, but lately, every interaction felt like pressing on a bruise, raw and tender. Being around people — even those she cherished — had become overwhelming, each word or laugh a reminder of how worn and fragile she felt beneath the surface. Yet, she’d do anything to shield them from the weight of her own struggles, even if it meant pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t.
She let her gaze wander across the room, drawn to small details that grounded her in the moment. The faint, sweet smell of vanilla candles mingled with a smoky undertone, a lingering scent of cigarettes, though she wasn’t sure whose. She sank deeper into the couch’s embrace, feeling the fabric press firmly against her, a soft anchor keeping her grounded. Beside her, Dylan had slumped against her shoulder, his head heavy as he drifted off. His breathing was slow and even, his quiet snores filling the room in a rhythm that was almost soothing.
