❝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 heard of the disappearing superstar. Of course she had. Everyone had. He had been at the top of his career before he mysteriously vanished. There had been many a rumour and conspiracy theory about the strange occurrence, ranging from him having a secret love affair to him murdering someone and not willing to face the public because of that fact. But, one thing was for certain, he had bribed the press to stop following him around and recording his entire life. How he managed to stay so low without anyone noticing him was a miracle in Isabella's eyes. He had been the headline of every news tabloid, the gossip of the entire female population. How had he managed to stay hidden for this long?
He mustn't get out much.
She found it a bit embarrassing to admit that she had been a massive fangirl of his once. She could never really explain her small addiction to his music. There was just something so raw about his voice, so filled with emotion and sincerity that she could almost picture him singing right next to her. And she remembered connecting with his music in a way she never thought possible. She remembered how his music had gotten her through some of the toughest months of her life. And she remembered his last single, Super-girl, and how she had never thought a girl so lucky as to be the one admired by him.
But now he looked...different. There were large circles around his eyes, almost like they carried their own baggage. His face was thinner than she remembered, the darkness of the night only further highlighting the sharpness of his cheekbones. His hair was no longer perfectly styled with a thousand hair products, but rather a dark, tangled mess that couldn't quite decide on which direction it wanted to point towards. And his eyes looked black in the surrounding darkness, so much that Isabella struggled to distinguish the pupil from the iris.
And there was a beer bottle in his hand.
He took another swig.
He showed no emotion at her sudden revelation, raising an eyebrow in something that could have been amusement when he took in the fact that her jaw was still hanging open.
Isabella pressed her lips together.
And, suddenly, all at once, she knew exactly what to say. She didn't know why exactly, but the man looked awfully tired and she felt that he was in the need of a compliment. That and it was something she had been holding in for a while. And maybe it was a little weird, to thank someone for something that hadn't been directly for them in the first place. But...it made sense.
"Thank you, Shane."
"What for? Pointing out that your phone conversation was grim? Because it w-"
"No...I...thank-you for your music."
He winced. "Please don't break out into ABBA."
"No...I...thank you. Your music really meant something to me. I...it got me through a very dark time in my life."
"..."
"..."
"You know what, Isabella? You may just be the only person who has ever thanked me for that before. So...thank you for thanking me."
She smiled. "You are very welcome."
And for the first time in a very long time, he smiled back.
