Elliott Miller is your average 23 year-old, only with a lost father and a resentful mother. When he goes back to his hometown to make amends, he inadvertently gets dragged into the activities of an illicit criminal group.
Enter Marcel Nixon, 25, wh...
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The warehouse shrunk behind us, a hulking silhouette against the brightening sky. We emerged, blinking in the dim light as the morning chill nipped at our skin. All our adrenaline was spent, leaving a hollow weariness that reduced our steps to trudges and our breathing to short gasps. We walked silently, side by side, the gravel crunching underfoot. The tension still lingered, hanging heavy in the air around us.
Marcel's jaw was tight and his gaze was fixed on the path ahead. He'd been quiet since Vivien had left earlier. I knew he was replaying the fight; every sharp word and hard blows, until he could overanalyze it down to the smallest detail. Suffice to say, we were both hurting- inside and out.
"Why did you leave?" he suddenly asked, his voice low and raspy similar to the crunching leaves beneath us.
I looked away, focusing on a patch of moss clinging to a nearby rock.
"You know why," I mumbled.
"No, I don't," he said, his voice a little louder, a hint of frustration creeping in. "I've thought of everything but nothing makes sense anymore."
"I didn't know what else to do."
My shoes were slightly hurting my feet at this point and I was cold, having had no time to change into more appropriate clothing.
"You don't trust me," he said, sounding more like a statement than a question. I spared a quick glance in his direction and saw that his face had hardened; a look I'd never seen directed my way.
"How am I supposed to trust you!" I refuted, raising my voice. "You go on saying one thing but you do the exact opposite."
He sighed, running a hand through his hair, his fingers tangling in the strands.
"What are you talking about?"
"This," I gestured between us, in one sweeping motion. "The constant push and pull. The secrets."
"For the last time, Elliott, work with me here. What secrets are you talking about?"
His voice was now laced with a sharp irritation and I grew angry. How could he get annoyed when he was the one that caused all this.
"Don't pretend you don't know," I snapped, lowering my voice. "The things you don't talk about. The things you keep hidden. The things I happen to overhear because you won't talk to me." My voice cracked towards the end and I paused to regain my composure. This was most definitely not the time to fall apart.
"They make me question if the same man who brought so much joy into my disaster of a life, was the one who would end up using me as some kind of... asset; like some database of information rather than a real human with real feelings. Congratulations Marcel, you got what you wanted. Good job," I mocked, the sarcasm tasting bitter on my tongue. I inhaled sharply and flicked away the tears building up in my eyes, reminding myself that this wasn't the time for weakness.
