❝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...
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The silence was stuck in Elliot's throat, a sort of bottle top that had him choking on all of the emotional organs that he had inside of him. It felt as if the world was seconds away from witnessing everything that he had ever felt. Emotions were swimming in his stomach, building and building until they reached the back of his mouth. Everything that he had been holding back for the past months was here, ready to explode out of him in a gruesome display of words and tears. There was a whole universe inside of him, filled with dazzling constellations and planets made from the honesty that most people only dream of, but he did not wish for the world to see it.
James Davis looked at his son, properly. To anyone else, Elliot's face would have seemed to be a canvas of calm, expression painted on in mundane colours that formed the most genuine smile that a person could possibly give. But James saw through that, because he knew his son. And he knew the slight shake of Elliot's lips that foreshadowed oncoming tears. He knew the clenched fists and what they meant. Not violence. But an inner battle between true feeling and fake smiles. Because, James knew his son. He just wondered when his son had stopped knowing him.
"Those guards are pretty scary, huh?" Elliot's dad said with a chuckle, a pressuring weight leaving his chest when Elliot let out a small laugh of his own. And his fists unclenched. And he raised his eyes to meet his. And a tear rolled down his cheek. And his father was glad to see a little bit of the universe leak out his eye, because no one can safely hold a solar system inside.
James let out a slow breath as he continued to look at his son, the pressuring weight returning to his chest with a sickening force. Because, he had done this. Whether he meant to or not, he had removed a brick from a tower that relied on bricks to stand. But now a brick was missing. And the tower was crumbling. And James had no hope of returning the brick that he had taken. But he was still blocking that space, preventing any other support method from stepping in and taking his place. He needed to move out of the way so that his son could live again. "Let me go," he said softly, the urge to hold his son's hand so strong that he had to withdraw it completely.
He clenched his unshaved jaw as he saw the question on his son's face, fists curling into balls of restraint as his entire being rebelled against what his mouth was doing. He couldn't live without his family. Couldn't breathe. But it appeared that, by trying to save them, he had broken them apart. So he supposed that he would stop breathing. Stop inhaling so that they could freely exhale. "I want you to listen to me, Elliot, because I mean this. I want you to move on. And I don't want you to come and see me again. Because," he couldn't look Elliot in the eye anymore, "I'm a drag on your life. I'm stopping you from really living and that's not what I want. I want you to move on and be happy and prosperous because that's who you were meant to be. Who you are meant to be. You're meant to be like those superheroes in your comics, Elliot. Don't let my mistakes stop you from doing that."
The guards had to forcefully make Elliot leave, James asked them to. But he had done the right thing. So it was okay. He could deal with the tears and curses from his son as he was dragged out of prison. Protesting all the way. Because Elliot could live now. Without him weighing down on his life.
But, if he had done the right thing then...why did it hurt so bad?
