⸻ ⋆. ❜

you'd left. you'd told him you couldn't control the addiction anymore.

he never lost control. or so he thought.

but you'd had enough, you'd moved back with your parents to the metropolis you'd come from. sick rich idiots, they'd called you. but you hadn't been the ones who'd brought the white stuff here.

you knew him well enough to know what high expectations he had of himself. or his father. whatever.

sociopathic tendencies, aggression, jealousy and then coke. — you should have been happy to have left all that behind.

but there you were again. back in the outer banks.

you would have thought you could have understood the problems of the rich boys there. or maybe you even might have been able to turn a loose screw or two.

wrong.

the same oppressive feeling of not belonging accompanied you as you descended the stairs of the boathouse, people after people pushing past you.

you had missed the parties. but where there was a party, he wasn't far away.

you had already seen his sister, you had not been able to interpret what the expression on her face was when she saw you again. sadness, anger, longing perhaps?

you stumbled down the stairs, past a small bathroom, the door half open and the room darkened. you usually wouldn't have thought anything of the nondescript room if you hadn't heard something. there was someone there.

“hello? are you crying in there?" no reaction.

obviously the person in there hadn't heard you. you carefully pushed the door open.

shit.

he stood bent over the sink, his blond hair in his face and the back of his hand on his nose. you had to swallow when he looked at you while he drew in the air. yes, the air. and the coke. he grimaced as he looked at you.

“for fucks sake..."