𝟱𝟬. TO CATCH A PREDATOR ( SOUTH SIDE EDITION )

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𝗦𝗨𝗗𝗗𝗘𝗡 𝗥𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗦 weren't an uncommon virtue in Spencer's life

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𝗦𝗨𝗗𝗗𝗘𝗡 𝗥𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗦 weren't an uncommon virtue in Spencer's life. If anything, they were the one thing that defined a large part of the structure of it. The foundation of the Barlowe's  fracturing paradigm. Coral's a Milkovich with a drink problem, headless in an epitome of her own pitiful self loathsome and mommy issues. Fitted forever with a chasm of generational blame and seething annoyance at society and its bearings. And  Eddy's temperament was his worst enemy, but he'd still managed to embezzle that druid side of himself with long drives and belligerent protection, till that facade was then sombrely decimated once his feigned anger broiled over and sent a rupture through his system.

Anger turning into inner ugly, inner ugly turning into a snap of outer rage. And immediate pitiful guttural apologies came crashing through the wood works not to long after everything. But not out of guilt, no, Eddy Barlowe's were pleas of innocence. She could still remember the way he'd sat on the curb right before that police car had pulled around the bend towards their street.

His head in his palms, knuckles scathed with cuts like normal, and demeanour numbed and quite. Tranquility tarnished. His hickory browns were filled with a childlike depravity of worry that made her, the child in the situation, feel the need to fend the cops off and protect him. ——- whatever they say is bullshit, kid. I wouldn't hurt a fucking flie, you know that, kid. You saw him run off...with the gun, you saw. You saw.

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