Chapter Text
ASTORIA JONES was falling into a cycle of depression.
Nothing she felt could be said with her vocabulary. It was just like an endless pit in her stomach that made her feel as though she was constantly falling.
Maybe one day I'll reach the bottom, she thought, almost smiling. My brains will splatter on the concrete and it will finally be quiet.
Home was bad. Running away from your alcoholic dad for almost a month and then returning in a police car was like planting a bomb on your own back.
School was even worse, word had got around that Astoria was with Eddie while he supposedly committed his crimes, and even though she had been dismissed of all charges, it still felt like being in a prison, food was thrown at her, people beat her up like it was a regular sport that they played.
Her eye-bags were stained a black colour. Astoria couldn't sleep. How could she? Knowing that a monster was still out there, and it was going to consume all life soon didn't really help when she tried counting sheep.
Eventually, they had discharged Eddie to a prison hospital, which meant that she couldn't see him without a car to get out of town, which she didn't have.
And her dad was too wasted half the time to even walk around, how would he manage to have a full debate with his daughter about her getting to use his car?
The only conversation he knew how to have was a series of incoherent grumbles and throwing a glass bottle at his daughter when she walked through the door. His lovely greeting of regularity.
Astoria had taken the opportunity of his almost sedated state to go to the police with her, as Officer Callahan had called it, "bullshit sob story," but they just brushed it off.
She couldn't eat nor sleep, she barely had the energy to brush her own hair. Astoria a zombie.
Being a zombie would be torture. You'd want to be dead, but you'd be alive anyway. It didn't entirely differentiate from her current situation.
Maybe one day, Eddie would wake up, they would realise that they were wrong, she and Eddie would move away to somewhere foreign.
Greece would be nice. Astorias always admired the ocean. And Eddie could play his guitar to random drunk greek men in bars.
However, that was beginning to look nearly impossible. The easy way out was calling her name, she hadn't had the courage to do anything too drastic yet.
If her dad knew, he'd probably tell her to get it on with it, he might even finally get off the couch and buy the rope for her.
Astoria Jones had turned from popular trash to just trash trash in a blink of an eye. Truth be told, she would rather be ignored.
Forgettable. One of those people where you know their face but you can't name them, a ghost.
A sunken feeling dawned her figure, like she was slowly fading into an inescapable abyss.