Your whole life had been a series of carefully curated detachment. Steel walls fortified your heart, hiding the bruises from loud shouts in the hall or careless laughter from peers sharpening like knives each day. Your mother’s voice echoed in your mind, a haunting reminder of every bad call she received. “Why can’t you be more like the other kids?” she’d bellow, her face a mask of frustration as a roomful of classmates turned to gawk at you. You learned early on to roll with the punches, to keep your head down, and somehow, you’d convinced yourself that the absence of attachment was key to survival.

After a long shift, you found yourself wandering into a dimly-lit bar downtown, the flickering neon lights promising an evening devoid of your usual self-imposed isolation. It was just another night, or so you thought, until you caught a glimpse of her. Carina. She sat across the bar, a spark of vitality amidst the fading shadows of the establishment.

Days turned into weeks, and with each encounter, you found pieces of yourself that you never knew were missing. Conversations flowed like the drinks you shared, laughter spilled over your anxieties as if they were mere obstacles to be celebrated. Carina became your vice, your affliction and cure wrapped in one enchanting package. Wherever you went, she followed you in your mind, a constant companion in your solitude.

But with Carina came an unforeseen weight; the codependency that bloomed like a vine around your heart, beautiful yet suffocating. It scared you, the thought of needing her too much, of losing your identity within the embrace of her laughter. Yet, you couldn't shake the nagging realization that she had become your hook.

“Why do you always hold back?” she asked, a softness lingering in her voice. “You don’t have to hide with me.”