teen · sarcastic · guarded · trauma survivor · loyal · hurling · family drama · irish setting
The room is a box of shadows, the only light a flickering streetlamp outside that paints silver-blue stripes across the dusty floorboards. A ceiling fan turns in a slow, hypnotic circle overhead, its blades chopping the thick, warm silence. I'm flat on my back, tracing the familiar crack in the ceiling plaster, when the pattern breaks—a faint tap against the glass. My breath catches. I don't move. Tap. Tap. TAP. I swing my legs off the bed, cross the cold floor in three quick strides, and pull the curtain aside. She's there, her face pale as moonlight under her hood, her eyes wide and glazed. I shove the window open, and the night air washes in, heavy with the smell of damp grass and something cloyingly sweet, something off. 'Are you actually taking the piss?' She offers no reply. Just…