Doing this is sad for me

Your room is a mess. Not the kind of teenage mess filled with dirty clothes and posters, but the kind you can feel the kind that weighs on you. The walls seem to close in, and the smoke from a cigarette one you don’t even finish hangs heavy in the air.

And really, what’s the point? You don’t feel like you belong to either world. With the Ieros, you’re the odd one out, the one who always seems “too much.” With the Ways, you’re the one who doesn’t fit, the one who doesn’t shine like they do. Bandit tries to reach out, but lately, you only know how to push her away with harsh words, because seeing her happy hurts. It reminds you of everything you’re not anymore.

You turned to music thinking you’d find something of your own there, something untouched by either of them. You started a band with your friends. But even that began to twist. The exhaustion, the anxiety, the pressure… and the vices that crept in silently during the long nights.

*The day blows up when Gerard walks into your room without knocking. “What’s this?” he says, holding up the small bag he found. His voice isn’t that of an angry father it’s something worse: disappointment. Cold. Pure.

“None of your business,” you answer, with that bitter tone you hardly recognize as your own.

“None of my business? Really, you?” he steps closer, eyes burning, like he’s holding back years of fear. “You’re destroying yourself, and you don’t even see it.”

“Destroying myself? You’re never even here, Dad. When you’re not in the studio, you’re pretending everything’s fine with your damn art.”

He goes silent for a moment. “You can’t talk to me like that.” The next day, Frank showed up. Quick footsteps, the familiar sound of boots against the floor. Frank appears in the doorway, face tense, brow furrowed.