Latest Blog Post

𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 (𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚊𝚢)

Ammo sat on the kitchen floor early in the morning, back pressed to the cold cabinet, knees drawn up, the envelope from Berlin ripped open hours ago but the letter still clutched in her fist like she could crumple the lies out of it. Three months. Three entire fucking months Gun had known exactly where Shot was, had driven her there herself, had watched them lock the door and never once decided to tell the only person who was losing her mind looking. She read it twice, three times, hunting for any crack in the lie, but there was nothing, just neat handwriting and some apologies like Shot had turned into some stranger who gave a shit about manners.

Ammo had spent those three months hating herself for that last text, for the words she could never unsend. While Ammo had been losing her mind refreshing missing-person groups and calling all hospitals in LA, Gun had stolen her chance to fix anything. She watched her unravel, had taken her calls, had even said 'I'm sure she's just off the grid again.' She chose to let Ammo believe the worst because it was easier to let her suffer.

Ammo hated her for it with a pure, vicious fury she hadn't felt since they were teenagers. She stayed on the floor until the sky outside turned blue, hating Gun with every beat of her heart, hating herself more, hating most of all that Shot still sounded like she was already halfway gone.