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she grew up with the knowledge that alcohol was bad for her and boys were good for nothing. she was told that starry nights are beautiful and the world is messy, that an unclean bedroom would breed misery and leaving the kitchen sink piled with plates would ruin her whole life. she learned that nothing was nicer than the wind in her hair and words that scratch themselves into her head until nothing else matters. she's still drinking, though.
he reminded her of the ocean. she'd sit and watch as he rushed back to her and then pulled himself away like each wave that'd crash in the sea, taking a piece of her heart each time he disappeared. she wished she could learn to swim in his ocean, but she's still choking up water from the last time he'd let her drown.
it's funny, almost. how she lets him crawl back to her every time he breaks her heart. how she lets him use her, even after it'd taken her ages to fix herself up with bandages and tape and glue and whatever other materials she could find to mend her broken heart, only to have him pull apart her makeshift stitches again. she'll take it again and again, though, because she's a selfish being and if this is all she can get, she'll take it. she'll take it a hundred times, take the pain intensified by a thousand if it means she gets to have even a tiny, minuscule part of him. she doesn't think she'll ever get over him. she can't, not when she's more addicted to him than any drug. not when she craves him more than any drink she's ever had.
he remembers the day they met fondly. his apartment was small as shit and he'd been tripping over empty boxes from back home with nearly every step, but he had no motivation to throw them out, not when he was so busy trying to spit a vlog out every single day. his channel was a bit smaller back then and he'd still been friends with everyone that'd done him so wrong. he'd finally decided to clear out the boxes and she'd been checking the mail when he--quite literally--ran into her, all the while talking loudly into his camera as alex trailed behind him.
she'd caught his eye instantly. she was wearing a cherry-printed dress and he thought she looked sweet, her hair pulled over her right shoulder. he didn't quite know what to expect from her but she became a staple piece of his life. if she could go back and never meet him, she doesn't think she would, and she hates that. hates that if given the opportunity, she knows she'd do it all the same over again. because she loves him. and she hates that.
she's found that she's an open book, although she hates it, to anyone who pays her any mind. david had told her this one night as they'd walked back from a movie together, their arms brushing against one another's. "y'know," he'd told her, voice nothing more than a mutter as he shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced over at her, watched as she kept her eyes on the sidewalk ahead of them, watching her own feet take the next step, watching as they crunched dead, fallen leaves. "you really shouldn't spill your whole life story to the first person who acts like they care." she'd given him a look back then, a little bit hurt, shoulders slumped and defeated. he'd given her a smile, nudged his shoulder against hers. "you're lucky i care. i don't know how the universe made someone like you."
