p.s. written in blue ink | sal fisher

the one where you move into a totally not haunted apartment complex

warnings for this and future chapters: unhealthy family relations, cussing (get used to it babes lol), dark humor, anything else extreme will be mentioned at the beginning of the chapter. enjoy reading and comments are always highly appreciated <3

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It was late when the car passed the town line, the sun having crawled across the sky at a rapid pace due to the cold season. The snow hadn't helped with the whole moving process; icy roads slick and the world buried six feet under. Didn't help your parents either as they swore up and down at each other over which way was the right way to the apartments.

Bickering over the directions was normal—this was normal. You'd keep telling yourself that until it stuck.

Music kept you sated for the majority of the ride, blocking out the fluctuating attitudes of Mr. and Mrs. The headphones you wore were worn beyond use. They refused to sit snug against your ears, just a tad bit too big like everything else of his.

(To be honest, he'd had a big head from the moment he was born, but you do well not to stray too far into that thought territory.)

The playlist currently playing was set on repeat like always. You knew the songs by heart by now; it was almost annoying, but it was better to drown in the familiar if only to lose the sense of the world around you and not think for once. You'd always been great when it came to not using your head, so why was it hard to turn the shit off now?

"For the last fucking time, the turn was on the other street!"

"You expect me to see where to turn with all this snow? All the street signs are practically covered!"

"You're just blind—"

You dug a finger into the volume stud, eyes sliding closed on a snow-straddled road with buildings dotting the land every so often. You wished the guitar solo would just embed itself into your eardrums and live there. You didn't need to hear as long as the music bled through. Wasn't like you listened to anything else. It was all meaningless conversations these days, empty words and promises that had long since died out.

You didn't want another single one of those sickeningly sweet apologies. The crooned "bless your heart"s were the absolute worst. If you heard anything similar to condolences again you'd blow a gasket then and there. Only a crater would be left behind. They'd say it was a grenade, not some teenage girl with trauma.

The car came to a halt. There hadn't been any warning; you'd shut your eyes for a few seconds and suddenly you had arrived.

One look proved you and your family had somehow made it in one piece and fucking hell. The place was uglier than you would have ever anticipated. Who thought green would be a good color on a deteriorating stack of bricks? End their career. End it now.

Your music was blasting, yet you could still make out their voices. The slamming of car doors muffled them somewhat as a taste of the wintry air outside slipped in for a moment. Soon nothing but the creak of the trunk opening was heard through the techno beat. You leaned against a stack of boxes next to you as relief flooded your muscles, your shoulders slumping as you tilted your head back against your seat. You sighed something too melancholy for the song that was playing.

Huffing at a distant notion (one where you noticed he never listened to sad songs), a wry smirk tugged at your lips before you turned to stare at his—no, your backpack between your boot-clad feet. The clock blazing above the radio spat facts at you when you checked the time.

It's too late for this bullshit, it told you, and damn if you didn't agree.

You unfastened your seat belt before slipping your arm through a strap and manhandling the door open. If you didn't let this car know who was boss you'd quickly find yourself smacked in the head or a leg caught where it shouldn't be.