𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝑾𝒆 𝑫𝒊𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝑺𝒂𝒚

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐢𝐧𝐞

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𝐀 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤
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Thursday, November 9th, 2017

The gentle morning sun filters through the window, casting a comforting warmth across the room. My gaze drifts towards Luce, sound asleep, her breathing rhythmic and steady.

She appears so serene, and for a moment, the weight of the previous night's situation dissipates.

I cautiously slip out of bed, hoping not to disturb her, and move to my side of the room. As I sift through my drawer, my hand brushes against something that halts me in my tracks. It's one of Ronan's shirts, and the mere touch of it unleashes a deluge of memories in my mind.

Memories of long summer nights spent laughing and talking, of stolen kisses and whispered promises. Memories that make my heart ache with longing and burn with anger.

Fuck him.

I head into the bathroom, exchanging my shirt for just a bra, and stand before the mirror. With a scan over my body, I frown, noting the old bruises and scrapes against my skin.

Their once vibrant shades have faded to a sickly yellowish-green, with some still aching, while most now only exhibit a dull pain.

The bruises once along my arms and legs have become nearly imperceptible, while those that remain on my ribs and abdomen retain a faint trace of their original purplish-blue hue.

Taking a deep breath, I slip on Ronan's gentle cotton shirt, relishing the comforting sensation of its fabric brushing against my skin. The material drapes loosely around me.

Although the garment shows signs of wear, it still carries the faint aroma of Ronan's cologne, reminding me of his presence. As I stand before the mirror, I examine my reflection, tracing my eyes over the way the oversized shirt falls on my body and gathers around my wrists.

As I sink into a meditative state, the shrill sound of my phone's ringtone startles me back to consciousness. I glance at the screen, perplexed to see an unfamiliar number calling.

With a faint furrow of my brows, I answer the call, my voice still imbued with grogginess. "Hello?" I utter with a hint of skepticism in my tone.

On the other end of the line, a hesitant voice stammers out my name, causing my eyebrows to raise in surprise. "Uh, hi, is this, uh, (Y/n/n)?"

"Depends who's asking?" I ask, curious about the identity of the caller.

"It's Vincent? From the gas station?" the voice responds, his tone uncertain and tentative, as if unsure whether he has reached the right person.

Recalling the amiable gas station attendant, a smile spreads across my lips. "Vincent from the gas station? Of course, I remember you!" my tone playful.

Vincent audibly exhales in relief, "Great, I uh- I was hoping to ask you if you could help me out with something, if you don't mind."

His voice lowers to a whisper, and a hint of desperation creeps into his tone. "I was wondering if I could acquire some stuff from you?"

Vincent's request catches me off guard, causing me to widen my eyes in disbelief. The Vincent I know is friendly and innocent, and hearing him ask for drugs is jarring. I attempt to stay composed and inquire nonchalantly, "What do you need?"

"I'm not really sure, do you have anything that could keep me up, keep me focused?" Vincent replies, his voice trembling slightly.

My mind instantly jumps to amphetamines, and I nod, even though he can't see me. "You mean amphetamine?"