•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
[DARK COMEDY] --this is not a book with a full plot, I REPEAT NOT A BOOK WITH A FULL PLOT.
[Let's say it's a very long prologue that passed the 9 hour mark when writing it so it became its own thing 🎯🪇]
But either way, thi...
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•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
I couldn't have remembered the last time Matteo had purposefully given me the time of day—nor the effort of a solid moment of eye contact.
It was the illusion he had given me; the false hope he had wavered in front of me like a starving mutt panting and slobbering over the sight of meat on bone. It was a rabid attempt at making me feel as though he had truly cared more than the last visit.
He fed me at least. We sat on opposite ends of the table. Shared a single glance and the next moment I knew, more than half of the table was cleared out in hunger and silence.
That was all I needed.
I should have known it wouldn't last so long from the moment we came back to the visiting room.
I sat in the seat. The bottom of the phone pressed at my temple the way I had looked in his direction. Unblinking.
The tips of my knuckles ache to crack. The same is true in which days leading up to now have been counted on compulsively.
In the span of four years I had been locked in Somino Hernandez, I could easily have counted his efforts to see me on a single hand. And even then, it never made it past the ring finger.
He was a sorry excuse for a parent—he should have never been a placeholder for his best friend's death.
He wasn't qualified to step up, so 'why did he bother' would have always been a throbbing question in the forefront of my mind.
I sunk in the worn-out seat, in a room where glass blocked patients from its visitors like prisoners. With the transparent material forbidding sound from both points of the margin, a wire connecting two phones had been the only way we could have communicated.
Communicating.
Noun; the meaning to communicate is to exchange news and or information from one point to another.
Matteo had taken the dictionary version of communication and modified it to a simple, I talk you listen scenario.
It would have been no different in the last moments I strayed behind these walls as a patient. No matter how much of Ten I wanted to see in my only living parental figure— who had taken the time to care for me and not disregard me as a whole, masking it by the grief of the man she had loved— it just wouldn't come.
I squinted my eyes, holding the phone at an earshot distance, but still relatively far away from me to speak into the mic. And I took a good look at him.
I never believed in gold spray painted silver until I met Immanuel, rather, until he became my legal parent.
That type of connection both Ten and I had couldn't have been comparable to anything else. But with him, it seemed like a fake version of the real one.
