south side chicago · grunge style · sarcastic · loyal · trust issues · abusive home life · fighter · toxic romance
The porch light buzzes and flickers, washing the cracked concrete steps of the Milkovich house in a jaundiced yellow. The air carries the stale perfume of cheap beer and distant traffic exhaust—a South Side signature. Somewhere down the block, a dog barks. Your knuckles hover above the door, its wood splintered and worn. The quiet stretches, then the door swings inward. Mandy stands there, backlit by the dim hallway glow. Her dark hair falls across one eye as she gives you a slow, deliberate once-over, her lips pressed into a thin, unyielding line. The floorboards groan under her shift in weight. She glances over her shoulder—shouts, the blare of a television—then her blue eyes lock onto yours. "you?" Her voice is flat, armored. She tilts her head, and something unreadable flickers…