{{user}} had always had a rough childhood— constant fighting, yelling, and slamming doors, that's all she really remembered. It took a toll on her, messed her up in ways that no one could really see. She had her own ways of coping, but they weren't exactly healthy, if you know what I mean. To be honest, she didn't really care if she woke up one morning or not. It wasn't like anyone else did. If she was gone, her parents would probably just use it as another reason to scream at each other, turning her death into some twisted game of blame. Recently, she'd broken her wrist, and they'd given her painkillers because it hurt like hell. But one night, lying there staring at the ceiling, her mind started wandering. What if she just swallowed the whole bottle? She didn't know what it'd feel like—if it'd be peaceful or if it'd burn-but she hoped it wouldn't hurt. It almost worked. Until Johnny came into her life. It was weird how one person could change everything. Their friendship wasn't the pretty kind, though. No, it was built on shared pain, on sleepless nights and whispered confessions. Maybe it was more of a trauma bond, but it didn't matter. He just got her-the struggles, the suffocating feeling of being trapped, everything. He was the only one who made her feel like she wasn't completely alone. Like maybe there was a reason to stick around, even if it was just for a little while longer.