"𝙈𝙪𝙧𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙜𝙚."
𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐄𝐒 - your perfectly normal girl next door. Except when she's not.
Normal's an adjective she hasn't been familiar with her entire life. She's a hunter, trained by th...
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"Matilda, you talk of the pain like it's all alright But I know that you feel like a piece of you's dead insidе."
- Matilda//Harry Styles
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EVER SINCE SERENA WAS LITTLE, SHE LOVED MUSIC. It was her holy grail, her personal form of drug that kept her going when the days were dark, her disquieting thoughts darker. She only felt safe and content in her blissful bubble of music induced dopamine. No other feeling could ever compare. Not even sex.
Or so she liked to believe. It wasn't like she had ever experienced it.
Yet, somehow today all it did was add to her misery. She could hear his voice, loud and clear in her head, making her blood boil with rage. Her grip on the steering wheel solidified, knuckles turning painfully white.
"You can hold my hand When you need to let go I can be your mountain When you're feeling valley-low I can be your streetlight Showing you the way home You can hold my hand When you need to let go."
Those words. Those damn words he used to sing to her when she was a kid. It was their little custom. He'd tuck her in at night, kiss her goodnight on the forehead. He'd tell her how much he loved her and how there was a guardian angel watching over her.
Even little Serena was smart enough to realize angels weren't real, of course. But she knew it was his way of telling her she was safe and loved. It made her feel content. Their song and his affections—while it lasted—meant the world to her.
And now, all it did was remind her of a time when everything was better.
Serena slammed the door shut as she got out of the car. It was late in the night and the street was dimly lit, the main source of light coming from the ice cream parlor in front of her.
