❝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 wasn't too keen on public transport. In fact, the whole thing made her feel incredibly uncomfortable. Sitting in a mobile contraption surrounded by nothing but strangers was not something that was far from the top of her list of fears. Her phobia of being judged and scrutinized was directly proportional to the amount of people that resided within a twenty-meter radius of her body and being on a public bus...well, the number of judging candidates increased by quite a large percentage.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped onto the already crowded bus and headed towards one of the only remaining empty pair of seats. Deciding it was best to prevent anyone from attempting to sit next to her, she placed her bag down onto the empty seat.
Unfortunately for her, the bus filled up rather quickly and, soon, there were no other seats left besides the one that her bag was currently preserving. Sighing, and pretending to be far more focused on the music in her ears than the alarming prospect of having to sit next to a stranger, she removed her bag from the seat. And not so subtly shuffled towards the window.
Isabella found that the best way to ignore a problem (such as the strange boy next to her who had begun to hum and dance along to the music in his ears) was to consider another one. Such as the boy she had daily phone calls with.
Perhaps, if she had decided to converse with the dancing stranger, she would have come to the realisation that he was none other than Elliot himself.
