in which she swims to forget all the pain, but he sees it all because dallas edlen is not ok and, having loved her for years, seeing that was no task.
ONE BREATH
MINIMINTER
SIDEMEN
DEATHLIES 2016
[COMPLETED]
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TWENTY THREE d a l l a s
"So," Mrs. Morris says, looking down at her hands for a moment. "Dallas, how are you feeling today?"
Dallas looks at her. She was a tall woman, lanky and with bustles of black hair that curled around her face, framing her freckled face and tanned skin. She had a friendly smile that curved up whenever she spoke and deep brown eyes that reminded her of autumn. If Dallas had met this woman in any other situation she would have probably enjoyed her company, but meeting her as a councillor did not allow for such joy.
"Dallas?" Mrs. Morris asks again.
"I'm ok today," Dallas replies, knitting her hands together in her lap. "How are you?" She asks woodenly, remembering all the courtesies.
Morris seems taken aback by the reciprocation, but answers nonetheless. "I'm feeling great today, thank you for asking." She brushes her hand over the paper on her desk before looking up at Dallas, startled to meet her eyes. "Now, I understand that you're here because your mum and dad are having a divorce."
"Yes," Dallas responds stiffly. "My dad thought it would be good for me to talk to someone. He knows I can't talk to mum."
"And why is that? Do you not feel comfortable around her?" Morris pursues, scribbling down a few notes with her pen, which was studded with cheap gems.
Dallas wrinkles her nose and turns her attention away from the pen to the question at hand. "I don't. She doesn't listen."
"Ok," Morris says, scrawling on the paper a little more. She sets the pen down and folds her hands together on the desk. "Do you know why your parents are getting a divorce, Dallas?"
"Because mum's an abusive alcoholic," She says and she says it without realising her own tears that streamed down her face in rivers of blue. "Dad doesn't want to put up with her anymore."
"How often does she drink?" Morris asks, her voice small now as if she were intimidated by Dallas. Silently, she takes the box of tissues from the end of her desk and extends it to Dallas. She looks at the box of tissues in surprise. Then her fingers lightly brush against her cheek, contracting into a fist at the sensation of tears. Her hand snaps out, grabbing a tissue and wiping her eyes of the dampness that plagued her.
"Every single night."
"And has she ever hit you?"
"No," She lies.
She lies like always because when people know they look at her through a changed perspective and she completely and utterly hates that. They edge around her as if she would be set off by anything they said. As if she were a fragile china doll perched upon a shelf to look at but never to touch. Never to touch because that meant there was a danger of damage and no one wanted to be the one to inflict the damage, so no one ever touched that fragile china doll perched upon the shelf, alone.
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these chapters might be shorter but there's going to be more in this part of the story so sorry <3
