INVISIBLE STRING ― pedro pascal

-REAL LIFE

TW! Don't read if you suffer from any form of addiction, have PTSD, anxiety, or are prone to traumatic episodes. If you have these and are comfortable reading (like me) then proceed with caution. <3

—

Willow opened the trailer door quickly, taking a glance behind her cautiously and letting it sling shut.

Pedro lay back on the couch, head over the end, flopped towards her, glasses flat on the small coffee table.

She smiled at the sight.

"You came," he breathed out in mild surprise, his eyes wide and dazed.

"You really are stoned," she replied with a small grin.

"Want one?" He asked, pointing to the plate of chocolate brownies sitting next to his glasses.

Her eyes drifted to them longingly. She wanted to feel dazed again, feel like she was on cloud nine again. She wanted to let go of her troubles and drift away, feel as distant from the world as he was now.

She yearned for her head to go fuzzy and her thoughts to muddle, to be in complete ecstasy, to touch the sky, even if just for a moment. She craved it, more than anything else.

Her mom's face flashed before her eyes and Willow blinked slowly, trying to push it aside. She didn't have to take one. Or she could just take one? One wouldn't hurt, right?

He seemed to notice her stare and sobered a fraction, sitting up and looking between her and the plate.

His gaze softened.

"You're an addict."

He didn't say it cruelly. He didn't say it harshly or with judgment. He didn't even seem to pity her. He stated a fact.

The simple truth: she was an addict.

But coming from his mouth, the words she despised, the ones engraved in her very soul, she hated them. Her eyes watered and she tried to look away from the brownies, but she couldn't muster it.

She wanted to simultaneously throw them in the trash, grind them in a garbage disposal, light them on fire —  something, to match the sheer rage she felt deep inside herself for wanting more. For wanting nothing more than to grab them and shove them into her mouth.

"Yeah," she said finally, her voice just above a whisper. "'S'pose I am."

He stood up quickly, taking the few short steps from the sofa to the door, resting his hands on her arms.

"Hey, look at me," he guided her face to his. She could see the red outline of his normally chestnut brown eyes, watching her with a dazed worry.

It made her want to cry.

She wished she could get high with him like it was nothing. That she was strong enough to stop at a small buzz. But she'd done enough damage with her addictions, and she couldn't, she wouldn't let it ruin her friendship — relationship? What was the correct word for them? — with Pedro.

"Princesa," he said quietly, reaching a hand up to her cheek. "Stop, stop, don't do that. Don't blame yourself, amor. I can throw them out, I'll — here give me just a second and I—"