𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐀 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍 is a selective mute. Ever since her mother died, she felt like life was hopeless. That she didn't deserve love. Her father is never home. Her step-brother uses any excuse to hit and punish her and her stepmother is too ob...
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- A U T O P H O B I A - "Nobody listened so I stayed quiet, but now, they don't even see me.." -Unknown. ________________________
"Izabela, you're shaking the car." Vincent voiced quietly, his hand reaching across the center console to stop her anxious movements that would most likely stress his already strained car out. The vintage piece of personally has been with him since year 9 and he was trying to make to graduation.
Izabela furrowed her brows in slight guilt, releasing her troubled lip from her teeth. She tucked a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear and sent a silent sorry his way. Her eyes avoided the dark voids of her friend's as he studied her closely.
"It's fine—what's up with you anyway. You've been antsy since lunch. Is this about your father? Lavi mentioned something about that." Vincent's eyes lowered to her black cased phone sitting in the cup holder, vibrating with a new text from her father.
17 missed messages.
"He seems pretty persistent—did your talk not go well?"
The latter actually. Her father has been clawing at her feet to make up for lost time. Checking up on her every few minutes and asking bombarding questions that caused a sharp ache in the back of her neck.
But at least he's trying...it's better than nothing.
Izabela let out a deep sigh, her eyes landing on her lap as she fiddled with the fabric of her plaid skirt.
No, the talk went great—better than I expected actually. She signed, her wrist cramping with the heavy stress suffocating her bones.
Then again, her father was the least of her problems, a darker, more devilish problem lurked in the shadows breathing down her neck, bathing in her fear.
Vincent's eyes snapped back to the road, his vechicle screaming in protest as he willed it to go when the light turned green.
"Okay, so, if it's not that then what is it? You seem a little on edge."
On edge was an understatement—she was on the brink of insanity. Izabela's body quickly littered with goosebumps as if she was on the ledge of some high mountain top rethinking her life choices.
She couldn't even think straight, her thoughts and emotions choking her with an iron hand, her skin crawled with paranoia that only one person could give her. Zion.
He hadn't shown up at school all day. Not once.
It should've been a relief, but the absence sat in Izabela's chest like a warning. A warning that she had no other choice but to listen too. He was near, she could feel it.
Her heart raced whenever she walked through the hallways thinking he would jump out and snatch her up to teach her a violent lesson away from prying eyes.
