Sage Rose Parker, a seventeen almost eighteen year old girl getting ready for college with her two friends.
Having the world on her shoulders and her past in her mind she's down to break.
An alcoholic as a mother and an abusive father in jail didn'...
The room is silent, but the thoughts are loud, twisting like threads in a tangled web.
I try to focus, push them aside, but they cling— too familiar, too real.
His face appears, flickering in my mind, a smile that feels too distant, too much like a lie.
The past lingers, heavy as a storm cloud, and the future? It's too far to see.
But the present— it's right here, too close, too uncertain.
I pretend it's fine, that I've got this, but the weight grows, and I wonder if I ever will.
The threads pull tight, dragging me back, but I move forward, one step at a time.
The answers aren't clear, but the journey's begun, and somehow, I'm still here. ~~~~~~~~~~ I jerk awake, sweat sticking to my skin as the remnants of the nightmare cling to my thoughts. My chest tightens, every breath coming out in short bursts, like I'm drowning. I can't stay like this. Not now. Not ever.
Groaning, I run a hand through my hair, feeling the weight of the past pressing down on me. The memories flood in, but I push them back. I don't have time for this. I've got things to do, a life to live, and all of it's tied to the fucking mafia.
I throw my legs off the bed and plant my feet on the cold floor, the chill biting at me, but it helps clear my head. My eyes sting from lack of sleep, but that's nothing new. Sleep's a luxury I can't afford. Not when I'm running on fumes. The darkness of the room is suffocating, but I ignore it, as I always do. The only thing that matters is the next task, the next mission, the next order to follow.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I grab it, eyes narrowing at the stream of messages. It's all work—updates, orders, the usual. I don't bother reading them all; the important ones are marked with red flags. I swipe through them with practiced ease, letting my mind float just enough to keep from sinking under the weight of my thoughts.
The air feels thick around me, and for a moment, I let myself just sit there, staring at the screen, before I snap out of it. I shake my head, forcing my body to move, to act. I can't let myself go down that road. Not when there's too much at stake.
I make my way to the kitchen, grabbing the first thing I can find, which is usually just some coffee and a stale sandwich from earlier. I don't even taste it as I eat; it's just fuel. My stomach growls in protest, but I ignore it. I can deal with hunger later. Right now, I've got work to do.
The hours pass in a blur—meetings, calls, setting up plans. My office is a mess of papers, maps, and half-finished notes, but it's organized in my mind. I don't need much to function—just the work, the grind. I push myself harder, forcing everything else to fade away. The nightmares? They'll wait. They always do.
