historystickstoyourfeet:

me

(Source: badboibilli)

(Source: callmeaperfectionist)

(Source: violentwavesofemotion)

(Source: ilovethewayulive)

(Source: blackgirlhips)

Playlist for Adrina

This love.

Adrina stumbled into her room, feet tangled at the ankle, leaving her to fall hard against the chest of drawers that sat near the doorway.
It would leave a bruise in the morning- one of many she probably earned during the night as she navigated the streets and climbed the Sun‘s stairs.
Kicking her white-leather boots off, shutting the door with one, the floor became Adrina’s sanctuary. Laying down against the cool wood, she closed her bleary, tear-filled eyes and sighed in relief.

Why did it bother her?
A thousand men, she had slept with. Most married, or at least engaged to be.
A thousand angry, jealous wives- and Adrina did not even bat an eyelash.

One woman and the boy she had been sharing a bed with for the better part of at least three months, though.
A drunken mess, so desperate to escape herself that she had almost followed up on the thought to drink herself to death.

If she had been eager to find a way out, a way to destroy the thing that was happening in dark rooms, cotton sheets,  and luke-warm baths that smelled of jasmine and whiskey- now she was determined.

It was bad for business, she told herself.
It was temporary.
It was wrong.
It was wonderful, and he made her feel something.
Something terrifying to a girl like her.

Her hands fumbled against the boards, suddenly scrambling for a bucket as her insides rejected everything she had forced down with heaves and a burning at the back of her throat.
Gasping for air just brought back the flood of tears.

“Six above” She prayed in her thoughts as another wave of booze surged upward. “Don’t let him come. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. I can’t do this.”

(Source: Spotify)