She got up from the couch, and looking around the room she spent most of her days in, she couldn't believe it was it. The dirty white walls were still dirty white, but the room wasn't a complete mess, the light bulb that hung from the ceiling was changed, and it shone. The carpet was vacuumed and the window was closed and cleaned. There was not too much difference, but it was visible.
Getting up, she stumbled out of the room. The wooden floors were cold against her bare feet.
"Hey there Barefoot Cinderella, you'll catch a cold," a voice spoke from the kitchen located right across the living room, and as she peeked in, she saw none other than Ace Wyatt sitting on the chair behind the wooden table, a paper and a pen in front of him.
She remembered then the events of the day before; or whichever day it was. Though sad, she didn't feel like crying anymore. She knew even when she cried yesterday that it was pointless, that crying isn't making anything better or easier; but she couldn't help herself.
She slowly made her way to the chair opposite him, and he watched her every move, looking like he was ready to bolt out of his seat if she fell, which could've happened by the way she walked.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"You don't have to thank me," he smiled. In that moment, when his mouth stretched and his eyes sparkled, she felt herself getting a little warmer inside; the only place she could never get warm, the everlasting ice land; she felt warmer.
"I do," she whispered again. She then glanced at the papers, and he collected them quickly. She wanted to ask what they were, but he sensed her question.
"I'm not telling you what they are, you'll have to find out later maybe," he said and got up. She watched his every move as he opened the tap for water but nothing came out.
Damn the bills.
He then looked at her, opening the fridge and seeing nothing inside. He sighed, taking a seat in front of her again.
"How long has this been going on?" he asked, concern in his deep blue eyes. His forehead wa creased and the angelic smile that was there a minute ago was replaced by a face of worry.
She shrugged.
"Eden, you're a minor and you're living all by yourself. In the hospital I was told you were living with your parents until your grandmother got better. Eden, where are they?"
She shrugged again.
She put her forehead in her palms, closing her eyes. She hadn't slept in a while.
Ace watched the hopeless girl. She crumbled by just blinking, she almost couldn't walk without falling over her own feet. But maybe that was the problem. No one was there to teach her to walk, and no one was there to help her get on her own feet.
"I want to help you," he whispered. "I can help you."
She looked up at him, her dark eyes showing the inside of a broken soul. "The thing is, you can't," she said. "I'm too broken to be healed."
+
what Ace wrote while Eden slept
her cracked lip
with a rose thorn
and when it bled
he knew he could love her
their fingers wrinkled
under the green blue lights
an american ghost
with blue eye shadow
except she didn't put it on herself
it wasn't a color
pieces of aluminum in her pockets
a torn belt
she vomits smoke and light
she feels as maybe
she could eat
the moonlight
bend her bones
through
cracks in concrete
+
YOU ARE READING
Pulse
Romance[ Trough words, letters, messages and phone calls. Trough songs, poems and pictures. Trough black and blue, coma and worse; our pulse never stopped synchronizing. ] #68 in Short Story on February 13th 2015
