THE DEMON I RUN FROM

slipped both my hands into the side pocket of the black leather jacket

our home was a constant reminder of her struggles. I remember the sound of shuffling cards, the glow of slot machines

vanish again. I'd hear whispers of his latest excuse – work, travel, or simpl

y own homework, and soothe my own tears. My mom's addiction and my dad's

in colors and shapes. It was my escape, my sanctuary. And when I was old enough

r nine. She'd been on a losing streak, and the stress was eating away at her. I'd tried to comfort her, but she ju

worsened, and my dad's absence became more pronounced. I fe

sign, pouring my heart and soul into my work. And when I graduated, I left. I started fre

I th

ed for me. For the first time in my life, I felt seen, heard, and loved. We met through m

e. Devin adored me, and I felt like the luckiest person alive

lingered, and I hadn't dealt with the emotional baggage. I though

why I'd lash out, or why I'd self-sabotage. He saw me as perfect, but I w

res, and he'd hold me tight. But as time passed, the cracks grew wider. I'd push him away, fear

in his eyes. He felt helpless, like he was losing me. And

e, but I couldn't fix myself. I felt like I was drowning, and he couldn't s