genevieve wasn't genevieve anymore. she was olivia again. it was still in her motel room, and all you could hear was the sound of rain and cars passing by.
olivia hated being olivia. she hated olivia. the only thing she liked about olivia was how she looked. she hated everyone else. she also liked saying the word "hate".
anger was pulsing through her. her breaths were heavy and dragging. everything about her was red, burning.
suddenly, she was outside. the rain seeped into her skin, and she could feel her hair growing heavier with the weight of the water. she liked it.
she was running, too. straight towards the road. she saw headlights. she didn't stop.
brakes screeched in her ear like a wild animal. the front of a car nudged her hips as it slowed to a stop. a familiar face peeked out a window. two months ago. delaware. she felt his lips on her neck and blinked.
"why are you running?"
YOU ARE READING
niche
Short Storyfor some unknown reason, olivia never stopped running once she hit the ground. she was everywhere, leaving fingerprints on pillows and ink settled into skin. she keeps running right into walls and fly traps, breaking herself down to the point of no...
