▪︎𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘪 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦,
𝗜'𝗱 𝗱𝗶𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁
𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂.
in which an ordinary girl soon finds out that she's not as ordinary as she once thought, all while trying to hide her f...
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♡ 𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 ♡ 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 eighty-five.
my Atlantis.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
ANGER was a killer. It tasted like an aphrodisiac, burned like a spice, and tore through the insides like swallowed glass. Dallas couldn't get enough of it. To her, it was the finest dish on her messy palette.
She'd wash it down with a heavy glass of tears and a side of fresh insecurity, which had always been her greatest comfort meal. Then, when she was done, she'd driven herself too sick for anything else.
No wonder she was such a glutton.
Maybe she could take the tears first. Then the insecurity. Then space out the anger between crumbs of happiness that she could swipe from other people's plates. No matter which order she went in, though, she'd always be sick. She'd forever be sick. She'd forever have the stomach ache from swallowing down every emotion she'd ever had.
A heavy sigh escaped her nimble lips. Her hands wrapped herself like a blanket of flesh and bone. With nothing but the hard stairs supporting her weight, she'd have to sit and listen to the wood creak with each anxiety-induced tap of her boots.
Dallas never once considered herself an anxious person. However, now, she was flickering her eyes from the front door to the clock. Each eye swatted upwards, then downwards, then pin-balled around the room just enough to make her dizzy.
She had to shake her head a little. Just to make some room for better thoughts. Ones that didn't repeat every bad thing she didn't want to hear.
"This is very ominous."
Her eyes darted upwards as the door opened. Albeit, Marilyn was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Derek's face poked behind her father's frowning figure.
Dallas was the mind-reader of the family. That part was set in stone. However, with just one look, it was like he knew.
She stood up, the silk of her green dress rising above her buckling knees, and pressed her lips together in a line thin enough that he couldn't see it wobble. "She left her key." Dallas swallowed. "On the mantle. I don't think she'll be needing it again."
"I'm finding it hard to believe she didn't say anything before she left." James peered, glancing at the key and back to his daughter. His eyes lingered on one for a little moment longer.
Dallas found herself avoiding his gaze. She didn't want to repeat the things she'd heard. If she did, she'd worry he'd agree with half of them. Instead of words, a snake slithered up her throat and spat them out for her.
"She said she'd send a postcard." she spat, climbing the stairs with haste.
Just as James parted his lips to speak, Derek pushed past him and followed. "I'll talk to her."
