first safe haven - a writing piece abt r. t.

Instructions

i have too much free time on my hands i'm just really hyped for shiver ok lmao have some rosaline backstory maybe you'll see why she is the way she is (calloused and riddled with anxiety) ✂ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The car was red. That much she remembered. Nothing else. Wind in her hair, scream-laughing. Loud music, music she didn't really like (it swore too much, it sounded like screaming in her ear) but she tolerated it for his sake. The car took sharp turns around corners, skidding and barely missing the pavement. Probably going too fast, but she'd never spent this much time with him in one day. Not that she didn't want to spend time with him. He was always busy. Sneaking out the window with his friends. Smelling like smoke and sweat and adrenaline when he came home, very, very late at night - or early morning, depending on how you looked at it. She was, what? Seven? Eight, maybe? And he was about eighteen. Seventeen at the youngest. Too young to buy liquor, although he never let that stop him. Then the car took a turn a bit too sharp, and her head hit the window. It hurt. A lot. She didn't bring it up, though. Then he'd just get upset. In retrospect, she shouldn't have been riding shotgun. Not at her age. But she'd do about anything to spend time with him. This was perfect. This was- ✂ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - This was not perfect. This was the loneliest she'd ever felt. Maybe that was an exaggeration; she wasn't actually sure just how lonely she'd felt in the past. But this felt really lonely. She curled up on top of her bed, cocooned in blankets like a butterfly in metamorphosis. Listening to the sound of whoever was in the next room over breathe in his sleep (she didn't remember his name, but his eyes were odd. Cloudy and cadmium yellow.). The fairy lights strung overhead glowed faintly, casting warm light over the room. Her room. She'd have to get used to that. Another thing to get used to - having a real bed, not just one of those mattresses that's thin enough to feel the floor underneath. Oh, and an old quilt and pillow, and usually sheets, too, but what difference did sheets make when she was always cold in the winter? A bed with a bedframe and a real mattress and sheets (dark blue ones, too - not just off-white). And blankets. Two of them. She could count on one hand the number of times she'd had a bed with a bedframe. She could also count on one hand the number of times she'd had a bed with a bedframe and hadn't had to share. Two fingers, actually, for that one. It was so lonely in the room (her room, remember. Why can't she remember that?). She'd always shared with someone. At least one person. It was like being the only person in the house. In the whole forest. Like being the only person alive- ✂ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - This was like being the only person alive, she thought, wrapping her arms around herself as she hurried down the street. Rain pelted down, down at her. Her hair slicked back by the water. The pretty green sweater his girlfriend had bought her was dripping, sticking to her body. Even though it was secondhand from a thrift shop, it had been so nice when she'd given it to her. Now it was just wet. Her jeans were wet, too. Everything was wet - the backpack on her back, the sneakers on her feet. She passed a café, with steel tables and chairs and umbrellas on a nice little porch. The porch was empty, of course. Who would go out in this rain? Nobody, not if they had a choice. She paused for a moment to contemplate the warm lights of the café through the windows. Maybe she could go inside. She dismissed the thought almost instantly. She didn't even have the money to buy lunch at school, she couldn't afford anything in this café. It wasn't like they'd let her in, anyways. She was a soggy teen with nothing but the bag on her back and the clothes she wore. Not to mention, she was- /No,/ she told herself sternly, forcing herself to continue on. Past the pleasant café with people laughing and talking. /Keep going. Keep on going. Things will get better, or hey, maybe they won't and I'll die of hypothermia from being out in the rain./ Speak of the devil-