"These hands are broken and calloused, but nobody seems to notice." Emerson Barrett said softly, looking down at his hands as Josie Whiteland watched him, keeping quiet.
"Have you ever come to hate the very thing that you helped to create?" He asked her, and she nodded.
"That's how i feel everyday." Josie said softly, and he sighed once.
"I am expendable, but i guess that’s just the way things go." He said, shrugging and tossing his drumsticks in the corner of the room.
"Guess I'm just a ghost in foreign postal codes, losing faith in what brings you hope." Josie said, sarcasm lacing her tone as he finally looked at her.
"Jo, I'm always on the outside looking in, or on the inside sitting in the corner." He said slowly, choosing his words carefully as he looked at her.
"I got my hopes up. Really thought i was out of the shadows. Instead I’m buried six feet underneath what I worked four years to achieve." He continued, and she looked at him blankly.
"Then take a break."
"I'm home alone where all of my doubts are born." He said into the phone a few days later, and Josie let out a small sigh.
"I'm home alone where all of my fears are formed." She said softly, and he bit his lip.
"I'm just sick and tired of hating who i’ve become. And it’s getting worse every day i spend home alone." He said, and she nodded.
"I understand Emmy. I mean, writing myself to death stands in place of sleep." She smiled a bit, and he took a deep breath.
"Ya know Jo, my heart is like an unlocked door, and you’re a fucking thief." He said finally, and she closed her eyes briefly, before looking at him through the FaceTime camera.
"You could hear me out, but why would you care?" She asked, and then hung up, looking up at her ceiling as he did the same thing.
"Why would you care at all?"
Will I ever stop making oc's?
The answer at 11.
(Spoiler the answer is no)
