❝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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"Another nightmare?" Lauren didn't question her niece's late night entrance to the kitchen in an accusing manner, instead choosing to move on with the world as if it was perfectly normal for a teenage girl to be wandering around in her pyjamas at one in the morning. Grabbing a mug from the cupboard above her head, she flicked on the switch at the wall and waited for the kettle to boil. She kept her movements slow and controlled, disguising the slight tremor in her hand with an even shakier smile as she turned to find her niece, a pale and shaking Isabella, standing hesitantly in the middle of the doorway.
The sight caused Lauren to hold the mug in a tighter grip. Isabella looked like a ghost performing the impossible task of hovering somewhere in between the graveyard of the living and the land of the dead. Her features were dismal, lips dropped into a frown in the kind of way that suggested Isabella was not scowling on purpose but simply lacking the energy to form any other expression. Her body posture was tense but, then again, it always was these days. "Hot chocolate or coffee?" Lauren forced her voice not to shake.
This had become something of a routine for the two girls and it unnerved Lauren to a heightened extent each time that it occurred. "I'll have some coco." Whispers. Voice as haunting as her presence. Whilst late night drinks under dimmed kitchen lights shouldn't have frightened the hell out of Lauren, it did. The knowledge of how disgusting it was to be terrified of her niece couldn't stop the chill that crawled up her spine every time Isabella entered a room.
"You need anything else, honey?"
"No...I'm good thanks, Auntie Lauren. I...I'm sorry for keeping you up."
"I was up anyway love, don't stress yourself about it."
"I...I didn't wake you up with my screaming?"
Yes.
"Of course not. I was awake because I wanted to take care of some work stuff."
"Are you just saying that to make me feel better?"
"..."
"..."
"You know you can always come to me if you need something, right?"
"Of course."
It wasn't that Isabella was particularly scary. Or that she could ever be. Isabella was a harmless butterfly fluttering in circles around Lauren's head. It was actually quite the opposite. It was Isabella's terror that had Lauren shaking in fear. It was the knowledge that, even after months and months of having time to recover, she still hadn't. Isabella was as terrified as she had been on the day of the incident. And that made Lauren want to run for the hills. Because, that made her lose hope.
The constant nightmares and flinching in fear and fright. It made Lauren think that Isabella would never recover. That she would never be able to move on from this. And that was a scary thought. To think that an event could impact someone in such a way that they can never recover? Terrifying.
Isabella was a walking reminder of an event that never should have happened in the first place. She was a ghost that haunted and taunted the "sorrys" out of people who had nothing to be guilty about. Isabella was the kind of person that no one knew what to do with. After all, what is one to do with a walking, talking reminder of how humanity constantly destroys itself? What do you say to a person whose eyes will forever be tainted with horrific murder?
Lauren would never show these questions on her face.
