Dark Paradise - Joel Miller x OC

My baby shot me down

Warning: physical/psychological violence, trauma, drug allusion.

The text you see between | | are the lyrics of the songs I've noted before them. 

Good read!

--------------

It has been now several weeks since the young woman had arrived in Jackson. And although she still remained reserved, she seemed to get used to this new life. She had started working in the greenhouses, where, despite her inexperience, her perseverance and hard work had been recognized and complimented.

That night, she and Tommy were invited to Joel's for a movie night. Not a dinner. If she now ate at almost every meal, she mostly contented herself with half a bowl of soup, and didn't feel comfortable at the idea of being at the table with other people than Maria and Tommy. With her approval, they had brought Joel up to date. He was part of their daily life, warning him helped avoid embarrassing questions to the young woman.

Alone in her host's kitchen, she pours herself a glass of water, vaguely hearing the lively discussions taking place in the living room. Clumsily, she drops her glass which explodes on the ground. Hurriedly, she kneels down to pick up the pieces without caution, the glass digging into her skin. Quick footsteps approach and suddenly the owner of the premises is there, towering above her. In a movement of panic, she crawls back and protects herself with her arms.

"Wo, wo."

Shocked by her reaction, Joel takes a few steps back and crouches down, keeping his hands open in front of him. He doesn't move, wanting to prove her that he poses no threat. He speaks softly.

"It's ok, it's ok. I won't hurt you."

Her chest heaves erratically, panic still in control of her body.

"I'm sorry, I..."

She manages to stammer, gradually regaining control over her breathing. She knows she's safe, but she can't stop her old reflexes from surfacing. In the other room, you can still hear Tommy and Ellie talking and laughing. Joel is glad they're staying there. She doesn't need spectators, even benevolent ones. When she seems a little calmer, he slowly approaches.

"Let me see your hand."

She looks up at him in incomprehension before lowering her eyes to her skin, bleeding from squeezing the broken glass in a fear reflex. He gently holds her hand to observe the wounds

"Can you get up?"

She nods and straightens her legs, ignoring the glass hanging from her jeans. He takes her hand slowly to slide it under the trickle of water from the tap. He wants to be sure that all the debris escapes from the wounds.

"I'm sorry about the glass.

-Meh, it's ok. We still have plenty of them, here and in the houses around Jackson."

Silence falls, both absorbed by the movement of water on the skin. In a somewhat absent voice, she speaks her mind.

"Do you think there is still someone out there knowing how to do them?

-Probably, somewhere.

-I... I wonder what will happen when we won't be able to find things around. When we will have broken the last of the glasses. Then what?

-We'll adapt, like we always do.

-But we'd have lost all this knowledge."

He watches her sad gaze for a moment. Of all the things that could have caused her grief, he hadn't thought that a broken glass could have been one of them. He tries to find something to comfort her.