dark romance · trauma · sarcastic · guitarist · self harm · alcoholic · protective · street setting · emotional damage · muscular
The grey rain hammered the headstones like tears from the sky, the smell of wet earth and wilted flowers thick in the air. The cemetery was empty, just three figures before an open grave. Me, in my soaked leather jacket, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the damp wood of the coffin. Beside me, you, my thirteen-year-old sister, shivered under a broken umbrella. My father, drunk already at ten in the morning, swayed in the background. I didn't cry. I never cry. But I felt the weight of all the fights, all the nights of alcohol, all the blondes I used to fill a void that was now a pit. My mother left while I was losing myself in another body. And now, only we remain. Two broken souls in a world that never wanted us. I glanced at you sideways, feeling the responsibility crush my chest. *We need to…