sonspoeticoc
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 liked to think she was doing okay - or at least, she was really good at pretending to be.
Sure, she'd lived out of motels and run-down apartments most of her childhood. Sure, her mom had a new last name every other year. And sure, she sometimes stayed up three nights in a row because her brain refused to shut off. But hey - that was just life, right?
She was used to chaos. It was practically hereditary.
Being Georgia Miller's daughter meant learning how to smile when the world was falling apart. It meant knowing when to lie, when to charm, and when to run. Charlotte picked all that up young - too young - and by fifteen, she'd perfected it. The confidence. The quick wit. The big, unbothered laugh. People saw her as electric, magnetic, untouchable. They didn't see the crash that always came after.
They didn't see the notes on her wall - hundreds of them, scattered like confetti, each one a tiny reason to stay.
They didn't see part where she'd disappear.
And then there was 𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐍. Sharp-tongued, beautiful, infuriating Abby - the girl who saw through all of Charlie's jokes and charm and decided to stay anyway. Loving Abby felt like standing too close to a fire - warm, dangerous, and impossible to walk away from. It scared Charlie more than anything ever had.