We Were Delicate, Now Meet Me in The Afterglow (Stendy)

chapter two: me for me

Wendy's POV

I glance around the chaotic party, the deafening music and laughter drowning out my thoughts. My gaze lands on Stan, slouched against a wall, his eyes glazed over from the alcohol coursing through his veins. Panic tightens in my chest as I approach him, weaving through the sea of teens lost in the revelry.

"Stan, we need to go," I plead, my voice barely audible over the din. His vacant stare meets mine, and a slow, drunken smile creeps across his face.

"Nah, Wendy, I'm good here," he slurs, raising a half-empty cup in a mock toast. I can smell the alcohol on his breath, a sickening reminder of his spiraling descent into drunken oblivion.

I grab his arm, desperation gripping me. "Stan, you're wasted. Let's go to mine... you have had way too much."

His laughter echoes in my ears, hollow and filled with a melancholy I've never heard before. "Who cares, Wendy? Nothing matters anyway." He sways dangerously, and I tighten my grip, fearing he might collapse.

"Stan, please," I beg, my eyes searching his for a glimmer of sobriety. "I can't watch you like this. We'll talk, just not here."

His eyes well up with tears, and for a moment, I see the vulnerability beneath the drunken facade. "Don't leave me, Wendy. I need you. Forever."

My heart aches as I struggle to keep him upright. "I'm not leaving you, Stan. But we need to get out of here. Let me help you, please."

With reluctant consent, he stumbles alongside me as we navigate through the chaotic crowd. Each step feels like a battle against the alcohol that threatens to consume him. I guide him out into the night air, hoping the cold will somehow jolt him back to reality.

As we walk towards my house, Stan clings to me, his drunken words a mix of despair and longing. "Wendy, you're my only anchor. Don't abandon me."

"I'm not-"

"Stay here, honey. I don't want to share." He slurred.

Tears well in my eyes as I lead him away from the party, determined to bring him back from the edge. I know this night will leave scars, but I can't let him drown in the sea of despair.

As he stumbled beside me, his words slurred and heavy with the weight of his intoxication, I couldn't help but feel a mix of concern and frustration. We had just left the party, and the chilly night air wrapped around us as we walked towards my house. Stan's arm draped over my shoulder for support, his grip unstable.

"Wendy," he mumbled, his breath a cloud of alcohol fumes. "I love you, you know? I really do."

I sighed, trying to guide him without making the situation worse. "I know, Stan. Let's just focus on getting you in bed, okay?"

He tightened his grip on me, his eyes glazed and distant. "But it's hard, you know? Life, everything. Sometimes I wonder if it's worth it."

My heart sank at his words.. "Stan, please don't talk like that. We can talk about it when you're sober."

He chuckled bitterly, a sound that sent shivers down my spine. "Sober. Wendy, I don't even know what that means anymore. I just feel so lost."

We continued our slow journey, the streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement. Stan's words hung in the air, a heavy cloud that refused to dissipate. I wondered what had triggered this descent into darkness.

As we reached my doorstep, Stan slumped against the wall, his eyes fixed on the ground. "I never thought I'd end up like this, you know? A mess."

I meet his gaze. "Stan, we all have our struggles. But it's important to face them and not drown them in alcohol. Let me help you."

He looked up, his eyes searching mine for something. "You're the best thing in my life, Wendy. I don't know what I'd do without you."

I felt a mixture of sadness and responsibility. "We'll get through this together, Stan. But you need to take the first step and acknowledge that you have a problem."

He nodded, a solemn agreement that hung between us. Helping Stan into the house, I knew our journey was just beginning—a journey of healing, understanding, and facing the demons that lurked in the shadows of his intoxicated confessions.

I carefully guided Stan, stumbling and swaying, into my house. The weight of his inebriated body pressed against me. His words slurred, revealing the depth of his struggles. Dark thoughts echoed in his mind, escaping through his lips, each syllable a painful admission.

"I'm just a burden, Wendy. You shouldn't have to deal with this," he mumbled, the weight of his words heavier than his stumbling steps.

I bit my lip, steadying him as we reached the bedroom. His eyes flickered with a mix of sadness and self-loathing, and I wished I could pull him from the shadows that seemed to consume him. His words cut deep.

Gently laying him on the bed, I sat beside him, my hand resting on his shoulder. "Stan, you're not a burden. I care about you, and I want to help you through this."

He looked up at me, his eyes searching for reassurance. "You're the best thing in my life, Wendy." He repeated. "I don't deserve someone like you. My reputation's never been worse, so you must like me for me."

My heart ached at the sincerity in his gaze. "Stan, we're in this together. I care about you because of who you are, not because of your reputation or anything else."

His vulnerability surfaced in a moment of clarity. "I'm scared you'll leave, that you'll realize I'm not worth it."

I shook my head, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "I'm not going anywhere, Stan. You mean a lot to me, and we'll face whatever comes our way together."

As his grip tightened, the weight of his clinginess transformed into a silent plea for stability. In those moments, I saw a man drowning in his own thoughts, desperately reaching for an anchor. I vowed to be that anchor, to weather the storm with him.

We lay there in the dimly lit room, the weight of his troubles temporarily overshadowed by the quiet understanding between us. I whispered words of comfort, reassuring him that even in his darkest moments, he wasn't alone. I don't know if he was paying attention or if he'd even remember this.