polaroid angel - dreamnotfound

˖⋆࿐໋₊ 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺-𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳

"i feel like i owe you an explanation."

his fingertips massage my scalp.

"for.. everything, i mean."

he speaks with a low voice, void of much emotion.

"you, if anyone, deserves to know."

i hum, urging him to go ahead. the lump in my throat is still choking me.

"well i- i grew up here. in a nice, big house with my parents. they were strict but kind to me. and they loved me. my childhood was great. i was never bullied, people liked me, it was just.. yeah, unproblematic in general.

but as i grew older things... changed. i became more drawn back. i was never the most social kid but, i had a decent group of friends. now however, i just started to shut myself out completely. nothing really felt fun anymore. i didn't want to get out of bed. i didn't want to eat, or speak, or anything. it got to a point where i didn't even want to wake up anymore. i just wanted to fall asleep and never open my eyes again.

and when i did have to go outside, for school and social events and stuff, i'd panic. i felt like a pathetic outcast, like everyone was staring at me and judging me. i couldn't handle it. i always asked 'why me?' my life was so perfect, yet nothing could bring me happiness. it's like i was numb to it."

i leave kisses on his neck as a distraction. it keeps the tears back for a while, both his and mine.

"it only got worse as the years passed, but over time i learned to internalize everything. i would put on a fake mask when i met people. i stopped going to therapy, it didn't work out anyway. everyone thought i was improving. but in reality my problems only cut deeper, i guess. it felt like i was going under.

then i got drunk for the first time. and the world seemed just a little better. i felt.. happy, for once. so i kept on going. for a few years i drank whenever i got the chance to. weed was a good second option. it turned into popping pills at parties every single weekend, abusing anxiety meds, getting wasted and sleeping around with whoever was up for it.

my life was a mess, but i loved it. i loved that i could finally feel normal. i loved how social i became. it distanced me from all the shit i didn't want to think about."

he pauses, biting his lips as if the next part of his story is tough to tell. sirens blare outside. they're so faint, yet i can still hear them because of how quiet the room is. dream nuzzles my hair, rocking me back and forth like i'm a toddler.

"a few weeks before my eighteenth birthday my father passed away," he sighs, "lung cancer. it hit hard. he'd been my biggest inspiration in life, especially when it came to photography. he taught me most of what i know today. he liked simplicity, just like i do. he could see the beauty even in the ugliest of things.

since i was the only child, i inherited almost all of his fortune. my mother got her share too, of course, but she wanted me to get a greater amount. i guess she believed in me, or something.

my father... had a lot more money stashed away than we thought. i was in shock when i saw the total sum. at that moment i made a decision to pick my life back up for real, and focus on a career in photography. i knew that's what he would've wanted for me.

but my addictions didn't stop haunting me just because i gained traction. my demons didn't either. coke became my new obsession instead. it made me feel like a better person. it gave me confidence and brief spurts of happiness. i could keep my shit together for the most part, even if i became more hooked with each passing day.

then.. well, i met you. and oh my god, the second you walked in through that door... i was hooked on you too. you were so perfect to me, everything about you. you were all i'd ever wanted. i played it cool, took you on that date, got to know you better, fell for your sweet personality.."

his voice breaks, his grip on me loosening. i look up at him with a stabbing pain shooting through me. he begins to sob when he sees my face, my eyes that observe him with pity.

"i-i'm sorry," he cries, "i'm so sorry-"
"for what?" i wonder.
"for- for being the world's shittiest boyfriend."
"don't say that baby, you-"

"but it's true!" i've been fucking horrible! i've treated you like shit, i- i... you don't even know the real me."
"huh?"

he wipes away his tears.

"the real me is a fucking coward. the real me is just a sad, whiny, stupid bitch who doesn't even dare to look people in the eye. the real me isn't the charming, confident guy you know. i'm worthless without the drugs. i'm a nobody. a pathetic loser. i hate the real me, i hate him so much. you'd never fall for him. you'd never love me if i- if i got sober."

his confession has my eyes watering.

"dream, i'd love you no matter-"
"you don't even know me," he hisses, "you don't know who i am."

he scoots away from me, curling up in the opposite corner of the couch like a threatened cat. it's like he doesn't want me to be close to him, like he's afraid he'll hurt me.

i feel my lip quivering, tears building up. he looks sick. he's not himself right now. i repeat those words in my head, over and over. he's not himself right now.

it scares me, the way his hands shake and tremble, how his entire body is tensed up. his breathing is shallow and quick. he looks hostile, terrified. my heart is shattering at the sight. i can't sit here anymore, i need to get away.

in a panic i search for my phone in the pockets of the robe, but of course i left it on the nightstand.

"i-i'm calling an uber," i stutter, "i'm sleeping at home tonight. sorry i- i just can't see you like this."

dream stays silent, and still. i swallow the lump in my throat before hurrying into the bedroom to get dressed. the only clothes of mine that i can find scattered around the place is a hoodie and a bright pink skirt. for the first time ever i curse at myself for not buying more pants.

when i've gotten dressed and called for an uber i pace out into the hallway again. i want to leave, but at the same time i don't want to leave my baby here all alone. he's not in a good state. but staying will break me. i can't handle seeing him when he's so fucked up. i need space. maybe he does too.

i convince myself that it's for the best. i'll see him again tomorrow, when both of us have cleared our minds.

i'm walking back towards the living room to wish him a good night when a scraping sound starts to echo between the walls. like a card being dragged against polished wood. fearing the worst, my tired eyes carefully peek around the corner.

i watch him snort another line right off the table, to shut his emotions out. then i leave the apartment complex feeling emptier than ever.