Mature. Viewer Discretion is advised.
*The people inside of this work are FACE-CLAIMS. This has no correlation to any IRL individual.*
*This is messy plot. Made when I was a teen. Beware.*
The story of a young woman who finds her style, self worth...
"My baby, my baby. You're my baby, say it to me. Baby, my baby." ♫ I bet on losing dogs by Mitski. ✰TW : Suicidal thoughts, self harm using drugs, alcohol, and sex. This isn't fun nor should it be romanticized by any means, please remember to empathize with characters and be cautious when reading things that could trigger you.
I know it's not the situation people wanted but it's what's happening so be weary and respectful!
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NIKO POV | One Hour Earlier.
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One thing I learned growing up with Harlow--was that it didn't take much to set him off.
And when his mind would go low, it wouldn't stop until it dropped near hell.
"Harlow , open the door."
The wrong thing said at the wrong time would do the trick.
"Please, just fucking answer me! Say something!"
Or maybe even the wrong look, from the wrong person.
"This isn't fucking funny, open the goddamn door! Talk to me!"
Which to me was hilarious considering he was such a sweet, shy, and sensitive little kid. Hell, from the time we were eight, to the time we were fifteen, he'd shutter when he saw something so simple and innocent as a butterfly. He was unnaturally scared of a lot when we were young, but like most people, childish fears of bugs blossomed into scary adult fears of losing a loved one, of debt, or unfulfilled dreams.
"I'll break this shit down, I'm not playing with you!"
The one constant fear however, that Harlow held with him, was death.
"Harlow!"
Although, that didn't stop him from playing with his life like it was a game of fucking cards.
And unluckily for me, I was a dealt a hand too because I loved him.
He's my boy.
No matter how stupid and reckless, and-sick, he was.
"Go away, Niko..."
"No. You've been in there ever since we got back from the record store, and I'm worried, okay? Just open the door, come on." Leaning against his bedroom door, I jiggled the knob once more, somehow hoping it would bust open and I'd be able to get in, "Darling, please. If you're feeling upset, let me try to help. We can figure this out together."
I heard silence for another thirty seconds until there was a soft thump of footsteps.
The door unlocked and it creaked when he cracked it open, showing a sliver of his face, "What..."
Noticing a thin sheen on sweat across his sharp features and his dilated pupils, I put a hand on the door, "What the fuck did you do?"
"Nothing. I'm... I'm fine. I'm just tired." He blinked heavily, his voice hoarse as he swallowed.
