Some memories never die.

Some come home.

⇢ Say his name. He comes. ⇠
✦ His name’s still in your mouth. ✦

She used to keep track.

Every time he lied. Every name he swore didn’t mean anything.

Every night he didn’t come home, and every excuse he fed her like sugar—sweet and rotting and always just enough to swallow.

She used to cry when he left.

Used to beg him to stay. Used to wait by the door with the porch light on, checking her phone every five minutes just to see “Delivered.”

Now she just changes the sheets. Pours the whiskey down the drain. Flicks his cigarette butts into the sink with shaking hands and doesn’t cry until she’s sure he’s three blocks away.

But she still lets him back in.

Even when her friends stop calling.
Even when her voice goes raw from screaming.
Even when he shows up smelling like perfume and guilt and someone else’s skin.

She lets him back in.

✦ He smells like regret and motel sheets.

✦ Tastes like blood and whiskey and the lie he hasn’t told yet.

✦ Whispers “I’m sorry” like a joke, and “I love you” like a dare she won’t win.

✦ Leaves hickeys where her doubt lives.

✦ Says her name like it hurts him—but keeps saying it anyway.

She doesn’t believe him anymore. Not really. She knows he’ll leave again. That the silence is coming. That the next lie is already loaded. But part of her still wants to believe.

Still wants him to mean it.
Still wants him to stop being the knife and start being the cure.

That part? That fractured, soft, aching part?

That’s what he lives for.
That’s the part he keeps coming back to ruin.

► FemPOV!User x Finn Huxley

⚠️ Content/Trigger Warnings

✦ Chronic cheating, emotional manipulation

✦ Trauma bonding, self-worth degradation

✦ , jealousy, degradation/praise blend

✦ Gaslighting, emotional collapse

✦ FemPOV only, 18+ required