heartbeat ⇢ demetri volturi

𝒐𝒏𝒆

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𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍, 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐋.

The atmosphere charged with tension and worry, the looks of shock from the few people who knew her, or her aunt hiding her in the basement every time someone knocked on the door. For all those things and more, she knew, indeed, that she wasn't normal.

Still, it was hard for her to understand what part of her wasn't normal. Especially when she looked like every other kid she saw in magazines or on TV... Or at least she did. For a while.

And she also liked normal things. She liked playing with dolls, for example. Or at least she had liked them until she was two months old. When she turned three months old, she became more interested in reading. She had first started with magazines she found around the house when her aunt let her upstairs. The pictures were pretty. And then she continued with books, mostly math textbooks, which belonged to her aunt who was a teacher at the local school. And even though those didn't have such pretty pictures, they made her kill time with the different exercises and problems to solve.

That's pretty much how her education went. Seeing her interest in books, her aunt introduced her to a different one each week. History, Biology, Geography, Art. The latter used to be her favorites. And when the weekend came, Eleanor, still with sloppy handwriting, would write a reflection on what she had read.

For a long time, all those books had been her company. But just like the dolls, there came a time when the books also bored her. She wanted to talk. Mostly, she wanted to talk to kids her age, the ones she saw on shows, who were her height and always seemed to have a lot of fun.

"You can't, Eleanor," her aunt had told her sharply when she had expressed her desire to go outside

"Why not?" Eleanor had asked, her lower lip quivering slightly, as it always did when she talked to her aunt. 

Lucy wasn't bad, Eleanor always thought. She brought her books and complimented her writing with a smile. But sometimes, sometimes Lucy looked at her differently, with a frown on her face and a worried expression, like there was something wrong with her.

Eleanor never asked her what was exactly that, though. She was afraid to ask and upset her more. That's why she avoided having those kinds of conversations.

But then again sometimes, in her need for answers, it became impossible.

"Because they can't see you, Eleanor," Lucy had replied, her face already annoyed as it always was when Eleanor asked too much. "We've been through this. No one can know you exist, do you understand?"

And Eleanor had nodded, her head drooping. But in truth, she didn't really understand.

After that kind of conversations, her aunt became a bit paranoid, she noticed. She was already a somewhat obsessive woman, always worried, always nervous. But it was after each episode in which Eleanor insisted on going outside that her paranoia intensified. She would leave her in the basement for weeks, double-locked, only opening the door to pass her food or more books.