Stockholm Syndrome

Smog

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quick little disclaimer/AN before u start reading, whenever there's a ~ in-between paragraphs it means there's been a time skip!!
and anything in italics is a thought in uh the main characters head yeah
yaaaaay thank s!🤑
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I stumbled out of my shared boxy bedroom, tripping over my roommates' piles of discarded laundry and trash, that had been left to carelessly tumble around our hallway, as I slipped my knock-off Ugg slippers on over my thick winter socks.

Clinging to the doorframe for support, I huffed in frustration and lazily threw some cash, my keys and a wrinkled, slightly crushed - and questionably moist - pack of gum into the pockets of my loose dark grey joggers. With my phone clasped in one hand and the door handle in the other, I flung the wooden barricade open, moving my frame outside.

"BE BACK IN AN HOUR." I yelled into the dingy cavern we called our living space, not waiting for a reply from any of the lurking sluggards inside as I pulled the door towards me, hearing it click shut.

~

Wind swept up my face, enticing the loose hairs of my long braid into a dance, the strands collectively landing on my moistened lips that moved erratically atop my chattering teeth. I suppose my feeble attempt at bobby pinning and lightly hair spraying the rogue strands down was no use; even with my hair tied up it's still similar to taming a lions mane. I fiddled around with my fingers held deep inside my hoodie's front pocket, resisting the urge to pick at my fresh coat of nail polish I had painted on myself just a few nights before while procrastinating doing my array of assignments.

My feet carried me further into town, picking up a determined pace to escape the strong aroma of cigarettes and alcohol that twisted around my flushed pink nose as I passed by a series of overcrowded pubs. I suppose it is a Friday night; time for regularly scheduled gatherings of people to swarm the streets, holler as loud as they want and get absolutely shit-faced with no fear of a consequence to wake up to the next morning, at least for most people. I never saw the appeal; I would rather stick with my tall glass of lemonade and the warmth of my hefty blanket, decorated in Christmas illustrations, that I choose to use year-round regardless of its appearance.

Although tonight certainly didn't feel as comforting or as warm as my blanket, I still felt an unusual calm under the spread of inky black sky above me, cascading down the back of the high street like a tall, gothic waterfall. I've always preferred the dark, often times I find myself craving it on particularly long days when lectures drag on and the blinding luminosity of the sky refuses to withdraw its glare from my eyes, pounding into my brain and imprinting on it a weighty headache that's sure to last far longer than I care for.

Ah, there it is. The big, bright text lit up my flushed face as I stepped towards it.
Tesco Express
A sizeable grin overtook my face and I waddled inside. I sauntered past the vegetables, the magazines, the droopy week old flowers, even disregarding the beloved meal deal section; instead striding towards the beautiful donut display. Jackpot.

~

A chilled bottle of sprite tucked under my armpit, a considerably big paper bag of two (previously four) jam filled donuts cradled in my hand and a big ring of sugary goodness coating my lower face; this is what life is all about. I continued my way down the street once again, at a more settled pace this time as a result of the successful taming of my craving. The sky still loomed dark around me, its splattering array of stars guiding the way to where I needed to be.

~

Sugar fell down my frame as my hand lazily brushed around my lips, returning to my pocket once again as my feet hesitantly connected with green blades of grass beneath me. I carried my weight across the area, my feet certain of the path it had made so many times before.