❝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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"Isabella?"
"Mum? Oh my gosh, it feels so long since we've last talked. How are you?"
"Good. Good. You sound...different."
"Really?"
There was a small laugh on the other end of the line. "Yeah. But it's...it's a good different. I just...it's been a while since you've sounded so...chirpy, I guess. Especially at...what time is it where you are?"
"Six in the morning."
"Especially at six in the morning. You never were a morning person. Not that I'm complaining or anything, but why exactly are you so happy at six in the morning?"
"I...I...I've just been in a really good mood recently."
"Really? Why's that?"
"I...I...for the first time since I...since the shooting, I feel like everything is going right for once."
"Let me guess, you met a boy."
"Uh...I...what? How did you know that?"
"It's a guess. As much as I wanted you to move on from this on your own, I had a feeling you'd need a helping hand and...well...in the movies all the people who end up helping others end up falling in love."
"I am not in love with him!"
"Not yet."
"Mum." Isabella whined, very much aware that Elliot could wake up any second and overhear her conversation. She had immediately arisen at the sound of her phone ringing and had slowly removed herself from his arms, not even bothering to question how they both ended up on the bed. She trusted him that way. But, seeing how his arms looked a little bit sad without anything to hold, she replaced herself with a pillow and watched with wry amusement as he curled around the soft object. Now, as she stood in the doorway of his room, watching him, she couldn't help but see how peaceful he looked.
