❝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 had been standing outside of her apartment block for the past fifteen minutes, nerves building with each passing second as her heart pumped hot blood through her body. There was a kind of agitation in her veins. A sort of anticipation that transformed her nerves into a giant ball of energy. A giant ball of energy wasted on the useless action carried out by her hands, which were absent-mindedly pressing the power button that controlled the state of her phone. On. Off. On. Off.
She kept her gaze on her shoes, eyes burning into the scuffed soles of her trainers as she attempted to ignore the boy standing a couple of metres away from her. She had no idea who he was, but she really wished that he would leave soon because he was making her unbearably uncomfortable. It was bad enough waiting for a complete stranger to whisk her off into the sunset, it was a whole other thing to have someone witness her anxious state as she spiralled into a puddle of nerves.
The boy checked his watch for the fifth time in two minutes.
Isabella's hair had fallen over her face due to the abrupt angle of her head, the blonde curtain acting as a flimsy barrier between her and the boy. It was the same guy from the bus, the one who she had seen leave the apartment opposite hers and had experienced a very awkward (very silent) elevator ride down to the lobby with. And he was still here.
The boy had been tapping his foot against the pavement for quite a while now, almost as if he had grown impatient with waiting for something.
You and me both buddy, Isabella thought to herself with a bit of nervous snark. The forecast of what was to come (and did not seem to be coming any time soon) was really getting to her, the agonising wait just the tool to cut her temper short. To an outsider, she was the quiet type who stuttered more than she spoke. In reality, she talked a whole lot. In her head. Because God knows what would happen if she actually spoke her thoughts out loud.
In the corner of her eye, she saw the boy slip out the phone from his back pocket. His foot had begun to tap faster. For some reason, Isabella couldn't help but watch as he tapped away on his phone, the quiet rapping of his fingers on the screen blending in with the muted sounds of a capital city.
Her hair obscured parts of her vision, painting streaks the colour of sunshine across the boy's figure as he raised the phone to his ear.
She heard the tell-tale dial tone of a phone call being made and felt a surge of relief rush through her at the thought of him leaving. Surely the person he was calling was whoever he was waiting for. He would find out why they were late. And then he could go. Then she could be overwhelmingly nervous in peace.
She clicked the button on her phone faster.
It vibrated in her hand as it blasted out an excerpt from the song "Don't stop me now" by Queen.
Incoming Call.
Raising the phone to her ear, she looked at the boy properly for the first time, heart seeming to burst from all the nerves being pumped from it instead of blood. It still appeared to be working though, faster and better than ever as she felt the pulsing beat resonating throughout her entire body. Including her throat.
The boy spun to face her, eyebrows raised in question before an unsure grin graced his features.
"Damn. You're a blonde? Didn't see that one coming. I could have sworn you sounded like a brunette."
