*Takes a bit of a dark turn here, thanks for the reviews so far! The chapters will be a bit longer from now on. Xx *
The October wind was biting that bright, milky morning, and Vyvyan tried to restrain his shivers as he thundered down the quiet street, breaths shaky and fast, the vodka bottle clutched in his right hand. He almost wanted to meet somebody on the short, cold journey he was making, just daring them to take him on, daring them just to stare.
But the streets were desolated, only a handful of cars trundled past. His pale, smooth arms were covered in goosebumps when he got to the park, an unkempt, open space with handful of scraggly dark trees and coarse bushes sheltering cold benches. He slowed down slightly as he stomped heavily, tiredly to an overgrown section of foliage, the thick, tough greenery of which had partially engulfed the back and sides of a splintery bench. An overfull bin had already been devoured.
The punk's blue denim and spiked orange hair were incredibly garish in the thin, cold air, and intermittent gusts of bitter wind made no impact on the stiff, gelled tri-hawk.
He slumped onto the bench and proceeded to down a few swallows of the vodka, frowning at the burning clear liquid.
"…Fuck," he murmured to himself, staring down at the sparse, grey grass surviving by his boots. Gulping down nearly the rest of the vodka, he sucked in a thick, wet breath, and let a few tears trickle down his face, sobbing just once before biting down hard on his lip and concentrating on choking back his despair.
Already a little wobbly from the liquor, he placed the bottle on the warped bench beside him, and glanced around before undoing the thick studded cuffs from his wrists, sighing at the relief of cold, fresh air on the clammy skin, the old, deep scars there tender and sore and red from chafing. He let them air for a few seconds before replacing the cuffs and sitting back on the bench, arms crossed tight over his chest, expression blank, vibrant blue eyes closed under damp, pale lids.