it's that hair. that fucking hair. she could spot those dark curls from a mile away even without trying. that fucking shirt. why does he still wear it? there's probably still dried blood on it somewhere and suddenly the metallic taste is in her mouth now. trauma never goes away, they don't tell you these things in therapy, just try and make it less painful for you. she was never able to do it. she's definitely still that sick fuck she was at seventeen, she can't grow out of her body.
she can't get out of that room.
and then he's there. it's happening too fast. he's a blur of reds and browns in front of her as she tries to focus on her breathing. she's suddenly 20 years younger. fuck.
because of you I killed someone
because
because of
because of you
you
she runs.
