INVISIBLE STRING ― pedro pascal

-MESSAGES, REAL LIFE

9:27PM
(219) MESSAGES FROM:
"The Living"
GROUP CHAT

9:49PM
MESSAGE FROM:
"James"

James
Wanna come over?
Fuck Robert come over
Fuck me instead

Willow
I'm trying to be good
I'm not tryna get drunk
Or high rn
And you make it hard not
to do both

James
Wtf that supposed to mean

Willow
Hahahaah
Wait not the way it sounds
Just that
Yknow
You like that stuff
I shouldn't do it anymore
It's bad for me
You're bad for me, J

James
Bad for you?
Sounds like someone else.
Come over.
We're having a party.

Willow
James...
Idk
I really shouldn't

James
Gummy bear, please.
When have I ever hurt you?
You're the loml
I love you
I need you
I crave you
Crave that body up against mine
Your loud moans in my ear
...
Doesn't that sound good baby?

Willow
Idk
Gimme an hour okay?

James
Good girl

—

Willow took another hit of the blunt, her mind reeling. She leaned her head against the wall of the house, trying not to pay attention to the flashing lights and loud voices.

James had left her at least an hour ago, walked off in search of "something better" to get fucked up with.

She'd done three lines in the bathroom with Ben Affleck and Demi Lovato — who, surprised her, both at the same party, in New York City, no less, but she figured with James' reach, it wasn't entirely surprising.

After two beers and half a blunt, Willow stumbled outside and spent the better half of the hour in her own head.

She heard someone had brought 'shrooms but knew it was a bad idea to take one in her state.

Part of her didn't even care what happened to her body, her mind. She wanted to obliterate it. She wanted to stop feeling altogether, to get rid of her pain, to make everyone stop looking at her like she'd done it.

Like she'd killed somebody.

She'd never killed anyone before.

"Willow Sandler?" A drunken slur stopped her train of thought and she turned her head, wincing at the lightheadedness it brought.

She wanted to lie down.

"Goddamn, I used to have the fattest crush on you."

Willow blinked, trying to pinpoint his face. "Do I—do I know you?"

"No," the man shook his head. "I'm not famous. Just a friend of James. I was so jealous when he got you, when he paraded you around like you were his..."

A nervous jolt of energy shocked Willow from her high stupor and she pulled the blunt from her lips.

"I—I'm not his though," Willow swallowed thickly, heart hammering against her rib cage. She was too far from the door and too drunk to run. But she knew this man's tone, the drunken, low-toned desire that sent shivers down her spine.