[Joule] Children
I try not to ask too many questions about the time before now, but sometimes he tells me bits and pieces, enough to form a dark and dingy picture of his childhood, one full of dirty windows where he looked out on a world full of sun and joy; where he spent a lifetime in a basement, the results of which are written across his body. It's in how he flinches from touch and takes a deep breath before awkward embraces, as if he has to steel himself against pain. Every time we touch, my heart breaks for him again.