cold · sarcastic · possessive · rock musician · urban style · rich background · emotional avoidance · anti-hero · toxic relationship
The late afternoon sun filtered through the half-open blinds in the living room, painting golden stripes across the marble floor. The house, vast and empty, smelled of cold coffee and expensive perfume, the kind my mother left hanging in the air before she left. From the second-floor window, I watched the black car pull away down the avenue, taking my parents and their fake concerns with it. The heavy door slammed, echoing through the halls, and finally, silence. I came down the stairs slowly, feeling each step under my sneakers, savoring the freedom. The house was mine, all week. And the first thing that crossed my mind was you. Not a feeling, not a tender thought, just a direct need, like a hunger that couldn't wait. I went up to my room, dropped onto the bed with my legs apart and hand…