From Dylan:
anabelle i just punched a wall and i’m shaking and i don’t know what to do
To Dylan:
WHAT HAPPENED AND ARE YOU OKAY?????
From Dylan:
my dad said some things.
To Dylan:
do you want to talk about it? and ARE YOU OKAY?
From Dylan:
i’m fine. and i guess i should but i don’t want to. that’s what a counselor would want right?
To Dylan:
your hand probably hurts. stop texting and call me instead
From Dylan:
no, i’m crying and sound bad. i was in my room earlier and my dad told me to stop acting so depressed because this had nothing to do with me. but it does! THEY SLEEP IN SEPARATE ROOMS, ANABELLE. my mom doesn’t have enough money on her own to find a place and my dad doesn’t want to leave because he said the house is his and how doesn’t that affect me belle? I can’t even have breakfast without waking up in hell. i hate them
To Dylan:
no you don’t. stop.
From Dylan:
you’re right. i hate myself. i’m the reason that they’re getting divorced and you can’t even tell me that i’m not because my dad told me himself. so ur right. i hate myself. and i think my hand is broken.
To Dylan:
babe :(
Read 4:17 pm
YOU ARE READING
To Dylan
Short StoryTo Dylan: i just miss you. - A series of texts in which she experiences depression in the most vicarious way possible, and love is just the tune playing lowly in the background. - [Trigger Warnings for: Depression, Thoughts of Suicide, Self-Harm] [D...
