❝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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The glass was beginning to steam up, the hot steam condensing on the cooler surface as it blocked Isabella's vision from the outside world. Soon, she would be trapped in a fragile box of fog, something as weak and harmless as water prohibiting her eyes from the sight of everything outside of the shower. The water would combine with the glass, forming an alliance that acted as a large blindfold to her senses.
Faintly, she could hear the music erupting from her phone balancing delicately on the edge of the bathroom sink, struggling to hear the beats of the tune as the fast pattering of water drummed a rhythmic beat into her ears. It was loud. Too loud. Each droplet exploding on the tiles below her in a miraculous display of ripples as it was sucked back down the drain.
It was not a pleasant shower.
Her feet, thanks to the horrible drainage system in the apartment, were up to the ankles in water. And, due to the limited hot water, the small spray of water from the pathetic little shower head was beginning to turn cold.
Isabella glanced down at her body, watching the pellets of water chase each other down her leg before drowning in the puddle by her feet. The process was almost haunting. No sooner was the water released from above her head that it was being returned to the pipes below. The cycle was short, a constant recycling of liquid that never seemed to have an end. Birth from the shower head. Death by the drain.
She came to the frightening realisation that human life was very much the same.
Every so often, a pool of water would collect in the hole in her leg, stuck in the dip of an otherwise pristine surface. It seemed that, occasionally, despite standing upright, the water could not pass through the crevice alone, having to wait for a larger rush of water in order to push it forward.
Perhaps, if she had had something to push her forward, she wouldn't have the bullet wound in the first place.
