The Mute [Elliot Alderson]

22 | s p e a k

A/N: Happy Holidays everyone! Sorry this update took forever, as per usual. Im sorry I'm so sucky at keeping some kind of schedule.

BES

As soon as I had read the text from Darlene, I felt rage welling up inside me. I don't exactly know why, but the fact that he wouldn't let me go to the police station but is so willing to take this 'mission' on by himself is just so ignorant, and selfish.

I promised myself that my days of storming over to Elliot's apartment were over, but now I really was involved —it certainly wasn't fair that he was deciding my father's murderer's fate for me. How disrespectful? And to lie?

I banged on the door loudly, causing a few of our neighbors to open their front doors to peek out at the disturbance. For not making noise all my life, I really sure knew how to do it. It took a little longer than usual for Elliot to open the door, and I impatiently tapped my feet against the ground waiting for him.

Many thoughts ran through my mind, and I was too stressed out mentally and physically to actually try and calm the thoughts down. It didn't seem worth it, either. I wanted to be angry. I wanted Elliot to know how I felt, and I wanted him to hear my rage.

When the door opened to reveal the obviously high Elliot, I pushed passed him with steam practically rolling out of my ears. The rage was almost inconceivable— I had always been a docile, gentle, silent person. This behavior was new to not only me, but to practically everyone around me.

The man behind me looked practically startled when I turned around, and I barely noticed when I raised my hand to slap him until my palm actually reached his face. Before I knew it, the words were flying out of my mouth at an alarming rate.

"You fucking bastard! I can't believe how idiotic, inconsiderate, and down right— Oh, forget it! I just can't believe you!" I never thought I'd be capable of saying such words to a man that I felt so much towards, and I knew that I may regret them later. I didn't think Elliot's eyebrows could raise any farther, but they managed to.

But, alas, before he had the chance to speak—I stormed out on him again. Sure, maybe I'm a complete douchebag for just leaving him like that but the impulsiveness was so uncontrollable that I could barely believe it was me speaking.

I hit the edge of the bottom of the stairs, and darted out into the chilly November air, leaving my apartment and Elliot behind. I didn't have anywhere to go, and there was no one I could talk to about his without revealing my own criminal activity and other things that I wished to keep a secret.

The pavement stayed still, obviously, but my feet hit the ground so hard that it felt like I was breaking holes in the cement every time I landed. I've never been a fast runner, but I've never had to run away from my problems like this; I've never felt the need to.

With no clue of my direction or where I was going, it felt like I was running for hours. My lungs felt like they were going to collapse on me, and the cold was bringing tears to the corner of my eyes.

"Agh!" I screamed and kept dashing down the winding streets and crowded traffic, not worrying about my safety whatsoever. It didn't matter anymore, nothing seemed like it mattered anymore. It was terrifying; to completely give up on everything I had ever fought for or worked towards.

My life was over, or so that's how I felt. Guilt, anger, sadness and fear all lined my stomach, so I wasn't surprised when I leaned over the bridge to puke the contents of my stomach out into the river.

"Fuck," I mumbled, spit once more, and then crossed my arms and laid them and my head down on the railing. Catching my breath, I tried to settle my thoughts but to no avail. I couldn't believe how dramatic I felt, but the feelings I felt were almost certain.