π§Έβ’ To Powder, parties were a whole new gateway to what could possibly be. It didnβt matter what type, as long as she was enticingly intoxicated from the vibrant strength of liquids or gels or injections or anything, something that could make her feel a little less and yet everything at once.
The only downside was that it was extremely dangerous. But what did it matter to her?
Danger wasnβt her middle name.
But death was.
She twirled on her feet, shoes somehow echoing in her head like chalk on a board as her giggles slurred and gave a rhythmic hum in her skull, her vision hazy on the edges, like she was the only one around in a dark void of punch spilled on the floor and LED lights flashing blue and purple.
She knew this wasnβt right.
She wasnβt supposed to be doing this but she was. even at the ripe age of 17, and her mind was going through so many things. PTSD, four whopping disorders, intoxication, and so on so on.
She should be searching for comfort.
But she couldnβt. She had lost herself long ago. Powder was a difficult person. She was trapped in a reality of distortions, lies and a bucket full of trauma, and voices mimicking and mocking her every move and decision, even if they made her go through with it, so, she ran away about a year ago, unable to face anyone and tell them the truth of her mind, and sheβd been left wandering the streets and hiding out, occasionally coming to her and Viβs shared house to sneak into her room, grab what she needed and leave.
She didnβt know where she was.
It felt familiar.
Almost.
She knew it was a school party, but she hadnβt bothered to ask whose. She just came in here. She had already been drunk.