I regret to inform you that you’re 22 and young

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
A piece of vent fiction to help ease my mind.

Submitted: February 27, 2019

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Submitted: February 27, 2019

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“What does it feel like, to be trapped?”

 

Tabitha looked into the soft, hazel eyes of Adelina. Adelina was holding herself, looking through the front window with a thoughtful, untempered gaze. Tabitha, voice hoarse from venting all night, screaming almost at the top of her lungs after getting into an argument with an ex over the phone, clothes damp and sticking against her skin from the sweat of her own anger. After it was settled, Tabitha asked her that question, the same question Adelina had been asking herself for five years now.

 

“I’m not trapped.” Adlina said, flipping her hair nonchalantly. “I can leave when I want. I’m just making sure I’m in a good place now, before I leave.”

 

Tabitha sighed. The same phrase over and over, for five years, and yet she slept peacefully and comfortably in the home of the woman she wanted to leave. A home build upon half a foundation of truth, and half of not-so-truths.

 

“Did you tell her about your birthday?”

 

Adelina froze ever so slightly, slight enough for Tabitha to catch it before she replaced her smirk. “Hell no. Keeping it low key. Why, you plan on telling her?”

 

“I want to, yeah. Because I feel like she shouldn’t be lied to more. And now I’m involved.”

 

Tabitha hesitated. Talking about Adelina’s birthday was strange. They had kept it quiet for so long - even if it was the result of a drunken mishap, the guilt was eating Tabitha alive.”

 

“Don’t blow my spot up.” Adelina said seriously. “Just… give me time.”

 

“Yeah… time.” Tabitha sighed, and opened her door. “I don’t know if it’s fucking you up as much as it’s fucking me up, but we have to face this soon.”

 

“I know.”

 

Tabitha exited, and nodded at Adelina before heading back inside of her apartment. She made a beeline straight for the melatonin next to her bed, because she knew she’d need it to sleep until her conscious gave itself a rest. True, she didn’t want to take part in the ruin of a failing relationship, but would it be her fault if she was just that last, no, that second-to-last jenga piece that caused the whole structure to fail, when it was clearly teetering and swaying?

 

For now, that game had to be slept on


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