❝In which two people call up a helpline in order to find someone just as broken as they are. ❞
"Does...does it bother you that my dad's in prison for murder?"
"Well, judging by the fact that I moved away from America to get away from the memory of a...
A/N: Make sure you've read all three updates, my lovelies :)
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"You can't blame this all on him!" Elliot yelled, a sort of scalding fury surging through his veins as he exploded in front of his older brother. He had been civil throughout their entire conversation, patient even as he listened to Noah's pathetic excuse as to why he had felt the need to set fire to his dorm room. But this was the final straw, this was what set Elliot off like a shaken-up bottle of lemonade because, Goddamn, he wanted to stab his brother in the throat. "You can't keep using Dad as an excuse for everything that goes wrong in your life!"
Noah stared back at him, jaw starting to ache from how hard it was clenched. Clenched so tight that it felt as if someone was constantly punching him in the same spot. Over. And. Over. Elliot was hitting him right where it hurt without even trying, using the same insults Noah had been yelling at his reflection ever since his dad had got shipped off to prison. But something about Elliot's livid expression set him off, the anticipation of a fight taking priority over the small little box in his mind called feelings. Noah needed a way to get out his frustration for the world and right now, Elliot looked like the perfect punching bag. "Oh, shut the **** up, Elliot. Stop acting like you actually ******* care." The words came out venomous, twisting into jagged formations as they stained the air. "This is my way of grieving and I'll be damned if I let you take that away from me!"
Elliot laughed then. A sort of humourless sound that lacked everything a laugh should be able to harness. It was the kind of laugh that gave Noah time to prepare for the words that were seconds away from assaulting his ears, a sort of warning born of a sick irony that he had created. "Stop you from grieving?" Elliot asked, tone laced with a sort of painless venom that corroded Noah's will to fight back. Bitter and sweet and sour all at the same time. "Has it ever occurred to you that you might have stopped me from grieving?" Noah looked away from his brother's burning eyes, deciding that it would be better to choose ignorance over guilt. "While you and Jacob have been 'grieving', I've had to deal with the aftermath. I haven't had time to grieve, Noah, because I'm too busy trying to pick up the pieces of a family that no one else seems to care about." Noah's eyes found the floor. "So, brother, excuse me for stopping your precious grieving but I think it's high time that I did some world loathing of my own."
