this chapter contains mentions of self harm & other suicidal tendencies
i strongly encourage you to skip over the beginning of the chapter if needed & to visit the resources i've linked to my profile if you are in need of help with such issues
please read with care — nina xx
¡Ay! Esta imagen no sigue nuestras pautas de contenido. Para continuar la publicación, intente quitarla o subir otra.
CHAPTER FOURTY NINE pillowtalk
❊❊❊
WALKING THROUGH THE empty halls of Tannyhill had me feeling like more of a ghost than I already believed myself to be. Obeying his father's orders, Rafe locked himself away in the shower, the barren room he left behind meaning I hadn't yet gotten the chance to tell him about the plan that played out like I prayed for it to.
I was meant to run back to his arms, reassure him and me that all would be okay, and fall asleep to that false yet comforting fact.
Of course, nothing was proven to be in our favour today, so strolling around the Cameron family mansion with just a cigarette pack and my last shred of dignity didn't come as a surprise. I'd followed the same routine countless nights before I met Rafe, the behaviour I exhibited being a consequence of the miserably familiar cycle of torture that'd recently resumed.
I guess you can say old habits die hard.
The dim moonlight beamed its way through panes of glass, illuminating my path to the kitchen and inevitably the outdoor patio. Not a single light in the house even dared to flicker, everyone seeming to either be asleep or roped up in their own story. Despite the obvious lack of human presence around me, my eyes darted to each doorway in attempts to assure I was alone.
Once my assumptions were set in stone, I paced back and forth in the direction of any cabinet I could find, desperate to find any bottle that could soothe my destitute of intoxication. Searching for a decent alcoholic beverage in this house was quite literally like scouring for a needle in a haystack- the hay in this case being endless sums of whiskey.
Thankfully, my grip eventually fixed around the neck of a bottle of Bordeaux wine, the screw cap becoming swiftly replaced with my pursed lips. Expensive wine was never my drink of choice- that title was reserved only for peach liqueur- but I'd take practically any road in order to get myself wasted.
My gulps continued as I blindly stepped out onto the patio, leaning my back against the cold exterior walls and dropping down to cross my legs. Taking a final sip of the drink, I moved my focus to the cigarettes I'd tightly clutched through my entire journey. I propped the stick in between my teeth, having to flick the lighter several times before a solid flame met the end.
I kept the fire alight as I exhaled my first drag, hovering my hand over the warmth and seemingly taunting myself with what was to come. It wasn't like I was even attempting to prevent the destruction I associated with coping; I'd gotten used to my methods for so long that I nearly didn't feel like the same me without them.
