Falling ♡ Timothée Chalamet

08 - redeemed

Home.

I call it that, but that's not what it feels like anymore.

Home was where my mother was. Home was in her arms, or cuddled up in her the crook of her neck. Home wasn't this old battered up house that reeked of alcohol and was filled with the worst memories a little girl could ever have.

'I'm going in with you.' Timothée says, and he sounds all determined and serious but I can't help but crack up.

'You are definitely not going to do that.' I say and I open the door ready to head inside and face my fears.

Timothée exits the car as well and I can't help but stop in my tracks. 'What the hell do you think you're doing?' I ask.

'I told you already. I'm not letting you go in there alone. Not without backup.' Now I'm laughing. I'm letting out so much laughter and I don't know if it's due to the extreme terror I feel as I prepare to enter my house or if it's because what Timmy is saying is actually ridiculous.

Maybe it's a mixture of both.

'Look Timmy, I know that I came to you this morning all messed up and weak and in need of help. But I've survived my fathers wrath for a long time. I can handle him.' I try and reach out to touch him, to reassure him so he doesn't look so concerned about me. But my crutches make it difficult for me to do anything close to that.

'I- I know you can Ella, but I just don't want to see you show up to school on Monday with another bruise or- or another cast or-'

'I won't.' I say cutting him off and making my words sound final. 'He won't touch me tonight. And if he does it won't be on my face. He knows not to touch my face.' I say these words so confidently but I don't know if I even believe them myself.

I just want to convince him that everything is alright. I want him to think I have this all under control even though I don't.

If he comes in the house with me, he'll be on my fathers hit-list and I don't want Timothée getting hurt because I can't control my fathers temper.

'Okay. I won't go in with you. But I'll wait outside.'

'What?' I ask.

'I'll wait here until you go all the way upstairs, and text me that you're fine. And if I don't get a text back in the next twenty minutes I'm going in.'

I sigh. 'But it already takes me a good ten minutes to get up the stairs.' I say trying to buy myself more time. I don't know how long one of my fathers episodes will last. They can last up to an hour if he's really riled up and if he's intoxicated which he most probably is than it'll take even longer to get away from him.

'Twenty minutes. Thats final.' Timothée says and his voice is stern and full of seriousness.

'Okay. Fine. Twenty minutes.. start the timer now.' I start to walk away, or more like limp away. I might be getting more used to my crutches but that doesn't mean it's gotten any easier walking in them.

I'm almost at the door when something in me tells me to turn around and face him. So I do exactly that. 'I didn't get to thank you.' I say, and I find that the words just poured out of me.

'For what?' He asks, like the answer isn't obvious.'

'For so much. For calming me down, for taking me to soccer today, for hearing me out and for being my friend.' It was a lot, but it felt good getting everything off my chest today. And I'm happy he was the one I told.

He walks towards me, standing only a few feet away. He wears a sad look on his face that makes my heart crack. 'I wish I could do more than just that.' He says sounding defeated. 'I wish I could take all of your pain away Ella, and make him stop.'