This Is How I Disappear. {Deeper in the story— Accident Prone}

REALLY IMPORTANT! I KNOW IT'S LONG BUT READ IT PLEASE! I DON'T WANT TO RUIN ANY PART OF ACCIDENT PRONE TO THOSE WHO DON'T WANT IT! ALSO, THIS ENTIRE LITTLE BOOK SUMMARY THINGY IS PLACED IN THIRD PERSON POINT OF VIEW! A mini intro to Accident Prone. *Not for the light of heart* A day in the life of Dylan, two years prior to the bet. You can read before, or after you read Accident Prone- or read it by itself. If you prefer ABSOLUTELY no spoilers, I'd avoid this if your planning on reading my book. The story Accident Prone isn't going to go into any real depth on Dylan's past life until his relationship with Skyler progresses, and he gains enough confidence, and gives enough trust to tell her his ways. ⬅️ THAT WAS JUST TO WARN YOU! This isn't going to go into much depth, just expose a bit of the darkness lingering in Dylan for those curious ones who just can't wait. 😉 Sorry for this long ass summary, you have been warned of spoilers, you decide. Read, or no read.. Continue • YES! I INCLUDED A LOT OF TEEN WOLF REFERENCES! WHY? BECAUSE I FUCKING CAN! AND I ALSO USED STILES' DAD AS DYLAN'S DAD, 'CAUSE FUCK IT, MAKE LIFE EASIER ON ME!! •


1. D R I N K S // I N // A N // H O U R // G L A S S



"This hyperactive little bastard, who keeps ruining my life."

Life is very strange.

One moment things are perfect, everyone's happy.

And then in a blink of an eye, everything changes. Everything dies out into numbness.

A blink of an eye, the memories of joy clash into the reality of oblivion.

He sees the picture in the hallway of their already too big house.

A big house to prove the loneliness lingering within the paint.

The person in the picture is smiling, where one, no more than four years ago, would've looked at this and could tell that such a smile brightened even the most horrid of days, enough to make the allusion of a full house.

But this was not a full house, and the four years have past. Every allusion has to end at one point. Now the picture hangs dull against the wall- a constant, burningly painful memory of what has been lost, the brightness overpowered by the darkness within the corrupt mind.

His lips are chapped- but he does not give them the pleasure of letting his tongue spurt out to give them the littlest bit of moisture. The only hydration being the bitter salty taste of tears that have been long drained, unable to burst out of his eyes like two broken faucets- leaving him almost completely.. Numb. This always was a mistake of his. He was smarter than that- believing that physical pain could take out the emotional pain. He classified this as false.

But not completely. Physical pain cannot take out the emotional pain, but it is enough of a distraction to make him forget- even if for just a moment.

Yes, life is very strange.

And he sat on the floor in the corner of the kitchen, face void of any emotion, eyes glassy, bags of tiredness, watching the drinks being poured. As insults were thrown his way, incoherent, slurred insults, by only one other existence in the house, one that should've loved him more than anyone, drinks were being poured.

Drinks in an hourglass.


An hourglass, of timeless depression.

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