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xxix. university
❝ you're just as bad as him, ❞

·˚ ₊˚ˑ  scripted hearts playlist
is now playing . . .

shootout • izzamuzzic and julien marchal
❝ who was the girl that was on your side? ❞

warnings
( mentions of bruises , stick using , fainting : read at your own risk, you could skip ahead if you want )

SORA GRABBED BER BAG AND TIPTOED OUT OF HER APARTMENT, her heart hammering in her chest.

every step was careful, calculated, as though she was trying not to wake the nightmare that had just finished.

her body was still sore from yesterday. the glass still embedded in her skin ached more now than it did when it first happened, but she gritted her teeth and pushed through the pain.

as much as she didn't want to go to university, something inside her urged her to go. something about nicholas, about him being home, made it feel like university was her only escape.

so, she'd woken up around eight a.m., making sure to pack her clothes quietly to avoid any sound that might disturb him.

nicholas had come home at five in the morning, his body marked with bruises and the kind of pain that left him too exhausted to hit her again.

how did she know?

because she was sitting in the living room, her eyes snapping open when nicholas stumbled in, throwing her a dirty look before heading straight to the guest bathroom to take a shower.

had he finally stopped?

that thought haunted her as she walked down the university path, the early morning air crisp and cold, the sky a muted blend of light blue and grey. her bag hung heavily on her back, the bandages she'd wrapped around her arms and thighs barely doing anything to shield her from the chill.

her feet moved mechanically, her hair still damp from the shower she'd taken earlier. she'd been surprised to find that nicholas hadn't woken up.

when she'd peeked into his room—the guest room—she saw him crying.

sobbing, even.

but she didn't understand. why would he be crying? he could just stop, couldn't he?

but deep down, she knew why.

he couldn't stop.

he enjoyed it.

the power. the control.

it wasn't just violence—it was something deeper. something twisted.

she'd spent the last few days reading about it, and the more she learned, the more it made sense. it was an addiction. once you start, you can't go back.

it wasn't just lust or affection—it was a craving, a need that twisted the mind and soul.

it made sense, but it didn't make it any easier.

it hurt.

the memories of everything he'd done to her hit her like waves, each one crashing over her, reminding her that it was real.

her tired eyes scanned the now bustling campus. students walked in groups, talking and laughing as if it wasn't even seven in the morning.

her lectures didn't start until nine, but right now, all she could think about was escaping.