⋅•⋅⊰∙∘❦✾❦∘∙⊱⋅•-
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘❦✾❦∘∙⊱⋅•-
I woke up the next morning already regretting almost every decision that led me to this moment, because there I was… standing in front of my mirror, tugging at the neck of the thick gray turtleneck sweater I'd sworn I would never wear in my life. It felt like a suffocating wool prison hugging my throat.
But desperate times called for desperate measures—and nothing screamed "hide the hickey your boyfriend left on your neck in the dressing room of a mall" more than a turtleneck.
I didn't even look like myself. I looked like someone who enjoyed jazz cafés and knitted on weekends.
Not that licking those things were bad, just that it didn't feel like... me.
Still, I grabbed my backpack, inhaled deeply, and forced myself downstairs before I chickened out.
