ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ɪᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏɴ ᴍᴇ 'ᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏᴛ ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇs ᴀᴛ ʜᴏᴍᴇ.
"ᴀʀᴇɴ'ᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴇ sᴀᴍᴇ?"
PREQUEL: 𝑨𝑾𝑨𝒀 𝑭𝑹𝑶𝑴 𝑯𝑶𝑴𝑬 : 𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄
: describes Wymer Andersson's troubled life in Bavaria, adjusting to life in America at only 18 years...
over 11k words. 🫶🏽 this is definitely not edited but i'll do that later.
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SEASON: WINTER | away from home
to forever deprive not but an unrequited love a second, a minute gone with the wind not but a tear but a flash, a moment blighted, bleak, for this is it.
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Wymer's aunt. ^
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Los Angeles, California. 🇺🇸
W Y M E R
By 5 in the morning, Wymer was fully up, walking around the block, trying to clear his head. He had his hands in his pockets and his head down. Anger filled him, surpassing his sadness. He felt weak. And his bruises and cuts aches and stung. He felt a sense of hopelessness. Wymer groaned as the sunlight shone onto his eyes. At the same time, Meazey sat by her window, half asleep. She kept waiting for Wymer to text her, but days went by and he never did. She missed him more than she could explain. The feeling of not knowing ate her up inside but there was nothing she could do.
Just then, he sent her a snap, and without hesitation, she opened it and it was just of him sitting at a bus stop with his leg resting on his knee. She tried her best to observe the picture as much as she could but the timer ran out and the snap closed. She didn't wanna replay it because she knew he would see that, so she cursed and sighed.
She checked his snap score and it had went up by a lot meaning that she wasn't the only person to receive that snap. That kind of upset her a bit.
"Ugh, bitch, if you don't stop sulking!" Samantha grumbled, throwing a pillow at Meazey's head. "I know. I'm sorry." Meazey whispers. "Stop thinking about that nigga. If he don't wanna talk to you then let it go. There's plenty of other dicks in the sea."
Meazey groaned and threw herself onto her bed. "I hate this so much. I literally don't know what to do with myself." She complained. It felt like she was nearly empty and the only person who could fill her cup back up was him. "You should take your mind off of him. Try and be productive." Viviana commented and Meazey looked over at her.
"How?" She asks.
"Do anything else but think of him. Maybe offer to help your Dad write music or something. Or help one of the maids around the house. Watch your Dad record a song. Or just sit with him and talk to him about anything. Paint your nails. Do your hair. Try makeup. Eat some snacks and watch a couple of horror movies. Do anything you can think of."
