He went on. “It’s manipulative. It’s all just manipulation. It’s like when Rowan told me that you basically planned to fuck off to Europe if I didn’t get back together with you. And what, just find a nice, historic city as an aesthetic backdrop to drink yourself to death in?”
“[Arkady,]” I said in a rough voice. “What the fuck did you think I was in the process of doing when I met you?”
self-harm
“You and this Gaslamp shit!” It was Zara that was talking now, standing in the middle of the living room. “Everyone’s been uncomfortable around you! No one wants to be around you!”
There was a dull roaring in my ears. It sounded too much like my inworld. Or my first five or so friend groups. Or the body’s family.
And this household was never supposed to be like that.
“Well, there doesn’t seem to be any harm to it… Kind of… Have you ever considered therapy?” Cotton asked bluntly, tilting another half-shell into his face.
I frowned at him. “You’re the third one to ask me that this month.”
He flashed me a crooked smile. “I’m sorry, are we being too subtle?”
Living Fiction 