Stolen Voices ✓

November 25th

trigger warning: talks about Elias's assault and uses such language

November 25th:

He lingers on the concrete stoop in front of the same familiar faded door. The sun has worn off its vibrant color, fading to an opaque brown tint. His fists are stuffed in his jacket pockets, the climate turning drastically colder the further away from California he flew. His fingers graze the ruby red petals, Mara had bought him a dozen roses like the last time, remembering the way they had calmed his nerves.

He isn't afraid to see Luella, the same familiar bone structure and piercing green-brown eyes; he's more shocked that he isn't frightened. It has been a while since he's elt this sense of normalcy, and he doesn't want it to fade. Not by something in his past he can't erase, like scrawled words on a paper, but will only have to learn how to live with.

His parents are persisting right behind him, warm glass Tupperware in their hands, filled with Greek delicacies. His father's hand, falling to his shoulder. They don't know- he has to remind himself inside the sanction of his mind- they don't know because I haven't told them.

At some point, the door opens by one of the numerous family members crowded in the aroma-filled living room. The company is even more insufferable as he steps into the stuffy three-bedroom house, not large enough to hold the crowd that emerges. Identifying faces who all greet him with the same tight-lipped smile or nod of their head, a simple recognition from people who live miles away from him.

Someone bumps into his back, catapulting him forwards into the heated kitchen that emants delicious smells of the Thanksgiving feast.

"Engonós!" Nana Ioanna pulls him into a cordial embrace, her silvery hair wafting of different spices. She wears an apron scattered with tiny painted handprints, a gift from her grandchildren many years back. Elias's hands are amongst the mass.

He cherished that day as all the young cousins had clustered together outdoors, just after arriving back from the public pool. While Nana Ioanna slept in her reclining chair, letting the sun grace her skin, they all, in hushed undertones, smattered her new apron with their handprints. Ella, his mother, had directed the giggling children with paint and brushes.

The kitchen, like much of the house, isn't extensive in size. Though stepping into it feels like a gasp of fresh air to a claustrophobic Elias, only Nana occupies the quarters. It is her kitchen, a turkey basting in the rusted white oven. Ioanna won't let anyone else touch her food.

"Hi Nana," Elias hugs her back, a smile falling on his lips.

"How's my agóri?" She pulls back so she can look at him, her rough palms cupping his cheeks. She has swarthy olive skin, a few shades lighter than Elias's sun-kissed bronze. Her frame is small, but her boisterous speech will stop anyone in their tracks.

"I'm good," he replies genuinely, "I'm in college now."

"All grown up into a handsome man," her accent is thick, a laugh slipping on her painted lips. She pinches his cheeks before turning her attention back at the food littering the laminate countertop. She glances over her shoulder at the departing Elias. "Find me your cousin, Luella, will you?"

"Um," he stammers, coughing back the lump that forms in his throat, "yeah."

The deeper into the house Elias roams while looking for Luella, the more his heart beats against his chest at a rapid pace. Wandering down the long corridors towards what used to be his aunt's bedroom, the lights above just a dim glow. His breathing is laborious as the distant feeling overtakes him, as well as nausea and stabbing in his ankles as if warning him to turn around, to save himself. He can feel himself drowning, reaching for hands that aren't there to grab him, met with the promiscuity of death.