𝗠𝘆 𝗘𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗽𝗲 ⇉ 𝗝𝗝 𝗠𝗮𝘆𝗯𝗮𝗻𝗸

Disconnected

ARIELLA EMERGES from the bathroom's steamy cocoon, each drop of water on her skin a ghost of the peace she craved. A frantic tapping at her window shattered the fragile tranquility.

Barefoot, she abandons her towel, the wet slap of her feet against the tile echoing the frantic beat of her heart.

She carelessly tosses her soiled clothes into the hamper, her curiosity quickly turning to dread as she approaches the window.

With trembling hands, she parts the blinds, revealing JJ clinging to her minuscule balcony like a wounded bird.

His face was a grotesque mosaic of pain – a livid, blossoming bruise painted his cheekbone, bisected by a jagged, weeping gash.

Ariella's breath hitches; she knew this canvas all too well.

Images flashed through her mind: JJ's flinches, his downcast eyes, the too-frequent excuses for his absences.

Without a word, she fumbles with the latch, pulling him into the false safety of her room.

"I'm sorry... I didn't know where else..." JJ chokes out, his voice a broken whisper, each word a shard of glass.

He couldn't meet her eyes, shame and fear warring within him.

"Hush, JJ. Never apologize. You know you can always come here." Ariella murmurs, her voice thick with unshed tears.

She led him to the bathroom, the antiseptic scent stinging her nostrils as she gently lowers him onto the toilet seat.

The porcelain felt cold and unforgiving beneath his trembling legs.

"He did it again, Ari. I can't... I can't keep doing this." JJ gasps, his body wracked with silent sobs.

Each word was a confession, a desperate plea for a life he couldn't seem to grasp.

"You're staying here. Tonight. You're not going back there." Ariella states, her voice trembling with a fierce protectiveness.

She grabs an alcohol pad, the sterile cotton a poor substitute for the comfort she desperately wanted to offer.

As she dabs at the cut on his face, JJ remained unnervingly still, his eyes vacant, lost in a familiar hell.

"But he's my father, Ari." JJ whispers, the words laced with a lifetime of twisted loyalty and fear.

"But you can't keep going home to that. I don't want you too."

A single tear escaped his eye, tracing a lonely path down his battered cheek. Ariella wraps her arms around him, her own tears mirroring his pain.

After tending to his wounds, she guides him to the shower, the drumming water a futile attempt to wash away the stain of his father's violence.

Later, Ariella lay in bed, mindlessly scrolling through her phone, the blue light illuminating the silent accusation in her eyes.

JJ emerges from the bathroom, his torso bare, the faint glow revealing a roadmap of old scars and faded bruises – a testament to years of hidden torment.

"Hey, my eyes are up here." JJ jokes weakly, a flicker of his old self trying to break through the darkness.

"Shut up." Ariella mumbles, her cheeks burning with shame for her voyeurism, her helplessness.

JJ tosses his clothes onto the floor, the soft thud echoing the weight of their unspoken history. He slips into bed beside her, careful not to touch, the space between them a chasm of unspoken fears.