Pall Malls + Poetry // Judd Birch x OC/Reader

I'll eat you up, I love you so

Emily stared at herself in the mirror stuck to the inside of her locker. The bags under her eyes were deep and dark, her skin was looking especially pale. Sleep hadn't visited her in almost three days and she kept forgetting to eat.

That sounds like hell, right? Your mind and body being so preoccupied that the ache of hunger barely registers. Emily loved it. She created her most beautiful paintings when she went down rabbit holes just like this one.

"Dude, your eyes are bloodshot as shit." Maggie said. The ginger beauty was leaned against the lockers beside her. They'd taken to seeking each other out in the hallways the past few days.

"Yeah, I smoked before I got here to wind down. I'm hoping I can catch a nap in history if Lankford lets me."

A warm cup of coffee presented itself in front of her as Judd draped his arm around her shoulders. He never picked her up for school, she preferred to walk. Breathing in the cool air while sucking down cigarettes helped Emily prepare for another day at Bridgeton. Graduation was just out of reach, so close that she could taste the freedom it would bring.

"Decaf?" She asked

"That's what you asked for." Judd replied.

"You're a peach."

Emily turned in his grip and stood on her tippy toes to kiss the smoky breath off his lips. She was very content with being the new girl that the school psychopath had taken under his wing. She'd never planned on making friends here at Bridgeton anyways; Judd, Maggie, and possibly Leah were enough.

Judd didn't have any objections either. In some selfish sort of way, he didn't want others to know her. He didn't want them to experience the delightful pain of being ignored by her for hours on end, or the way she leaned back with her arms thrown over her head when she got high. He didn't want them to know the Emily that shed her baggy clothes and opted for leggings and a t-shirt, no makeup with her hair falling in front of her face.

He wanted her all to himself.

Her phone buzzed and she looked at it, then turned her smile down. Confusion lingered in her knitted  eyebrows. Emily tossed the phone into her locker. Judd noticed the small detail but didn't speak a word.

"You going home with "Leah" today?" He asked.

"Ugh, no, therapy." Emily rolled her eyes, "My mom realized that I haven't set up my own appointment so she did it for me. I have to go straight there after class."

"I'll drop you off if you promise not to talk about me."

She slammed her locker shut and waved bye to Maggie. "Guess I'm walking then. What the hell am I supposed to talk about for forty-five minutes straight? The fact that my stepdad is a pedo?"

The two of them walked side by side to first block with Emily clutching her books to her chest. Judd rarely even brought a pencil to school. He'd convinced that kid with the fancy typewriter to switch spots with him, claiming that he had terrible eyesight and needed a better view of the white board. Really he just needed a better view of Emily's worksheets and her glazed over, sleepy face.

"Isn't that what therapy's for?" Judd asked.

"Not when you're seventeen." She replied, "If you're not holding a knife to your own throat or threatening to shoot up your school, adolescent therapists don't give two shits about your issues. They just wanna know what drugs you're taking and how often you're getting fucked so they can jerk off to it later."

It seemed to Judd that, for girls, going to therapy was more the equivalent of staying up late at a sleepover. He was thankful that his parents had never made him go. The thought of being locked up like Emily had didn't appeal much to him, and whatever therapist he was assigned surely would've had him committed.