❝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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Elliot stayed seated in the car after it had pulled into his driveway. And Isabella didn't protest, seeming lost in her thoughts as she stared down at the steering wheel where her fingers were gently drumming against the leather. A gentle beat that was drowned in the downpour of rain, presenting itself as no match for the grand explosions of sky that burst and bounced off every surface of the car. But the chorus of beats only eased the silence into something more comfortable, tiny little voices urging the actors to share their thoughts in a heartfelt monologue.
Elliot looked down at his hands, watching his fists clench and unclench as if they were preparing for some kind of battle. And they were, in a way. But it was a battle that he had entered the moment he decided to shut everyone out. To keep his problems to himself as he played God and attempted to hold up the world. Because it was something that he had felt the need to do, placing an entire globe of people onto his shoulders as if he was chiselled from nothing but strength and resilience. Because he had thought those values to be of the utmost importance, forgetting family and friendship in the process.
But he was realizing, slowly, that there was no point in holding up the universe if all it did was crush him. Because, the moment he collapsed from the weight of it all, the world would come down with him.
He kept his gaze on his fisted hands, every muscle in his body relaxing as the world finally rolled off his shoulders and out into the open for everyone to see. And the storm clouds in his mind released a single drop to contribute to the raging storm outside.
His words were as fragile as his tears. Small. Fleeting. Destructible. Destroyed as soon as they met their designated surface. "I had a sister." The emotion was leaking into his voice the way that ink diffused into water. Slow. Elegant. Captivating. Colourful. Leaving no room for clarity as it consumed the clear liquid. "Her...her name was Grace."
