Things were...crazy. Too crazy. The world was messed up and broken...and he could swear he could almost feel it. More paintings than he wished to count were scattered and piled around the room. Paint was caked an inch...two inches thick along his arms and hands and neck.
He couldn't remember what he'd been wearing, but it was ruined now. All in an effort, a desperate bid, to find a way to bring her back. None of the paintings helped. Not at all. None of them held his children. His children.
When he heard her voice, he thought it might've been the lack of sleep at first. But it didn't go away, and he could see her, in the other room.
Trying not to stumble over too many paintings, he rushed into the front room where she was standing, still disbelieving.
Simone studied the painting closest to her. The scene was unfamiliar to her, but the style was classic Isaac. The artwork was just as beautiful as it always was. His strokes, the emotion he put into it. It pained her, thinking of all his talent, he let waste away because of his drug habit.
She glanced up at the sound of Isaac's voice.
He looked... awful. She didn't know how to describe it otherwise. An utter mess.
His voice was raw, maybe from disuse...maybe because...God, Simone was alive.
He scrambled across the remaining paintings, to pull her roughly into his arms--she would complain about the paint, he was sure, but at least it had dried, and right now, he could do with the complaining.
"I thought..." He shook his head quickly. "I'm just...glad to see you."
She let Isaac pull her into the hug, and she automatically wrapped her arms around him. What had happened to him in the day since she'd last seen him? Her nose wrinkled at the paint that covered him, glad it was dry. Her clothes were work casual, but they were not paint clothing.
"You act like I was dead or something," she remarked, and wondered if the drugs were causing him to see things. She hesitated, but timidly asked, "Are you high, Isaac?" It was a sensitive subject. She didn't want them to argue again, but she had to know.
His laugh is dry, almost bitter. But apparently he was acting crazy enough already, so he leaves the commentary to himself. Instead, he frowns, and pulls back enough to stare at her momentarily.
"Simone. No. I wouldn't, alright? One time thing."
Comments 22
He couldn't remember what he'd been wearing, but it was ruined now. All in an effort, a desperate bid, to find a way to bring her back. None of the paintings helped. Not at all. None of them held his children. His children.
When he heard her voice, he thought it might've been the lack of sleep at first. But it didn't go away, and he could see her, in the other room.
Trying not to stumble over too many paintings, he rushed into the front room where she was standing, still disbelieving.
"Simone?"
Reply
She glanced up at the sound of Isaac's voice.
He looked... awful. She didn't know how to describe it otherwise. An utter mess.
"Are you alright?" she asked, concerned.
Reply
He scrambled across the remaining paintings, to pull her roughly into his arms--she would complain about the paint, he was sure, but at least it had dried, and right now, he could do with the complaining.
"I thought..." He shook his head quickly. "I'm just...glad to see you."
Reply
"You act like I was dead or something," she remarked, and wondered if the drugs were causing him to see things. She hesitated, but timidly asked, "Are you high, Isaac?" It was a sensitive subject. She didn't want them to argue again, but she had to know.
Reply
"Simone. No. I wouldn't, alright? One time thing."
Reply
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