OPPOSITES ➢Timothée Chalamet

➢ C͖͎h͓̺̻a̡̟͓p̢͎͜t͙͚̦e͙̻r̡̡̙ 18

CONFESSIONS

~CHALAMET~

"SO, WHY?." I asked to break the silence while we were sitting on the couch, sharing a bottle of wine.

"What do you mean?" Y/n mumbled as she took a deprived sip of her wine, the red liquid sloshing around in her glass.

"Why do you think the Shadow Atlas is doing all this." I continued and gesticulated around in the room.
"He isn't gaining anything of letting London blow up or killing innocent people, so why?"

"Apparently he finds it amusing." She whispered, making me blink multiple times.

"Huh?" I muttered and took a sip off my wine.

"There's people that aren't interested in logic things, for example money. You can't buy them, intimidate, bring them to cognition or negotiate the with them. Because some people only want to see the world burn." She continued, something changing in her eyes.
When I looked into them, I saw broken shards of glass instead of my reflection, almost as if someone had dropped the mirror inside of them.
I suppose, in that moment I realized that she was broken too. Maybe she hid it behind her façade of sarcasm, annoyed and snarky remarks and angry mood but no one could keep something like that up for infinity. I thought back to the day when I had heard her sobs in the bathroom and when she wiped tear streaks from her face while stepping out of that bathroom.

This world had left her as broken as a statue of glass that someone had dropped in a moment of unpaid attention, but still, she tried saving the people living in it.
That told me a lot about her. I didn't know what had happened to her but I knew that she wasn't selfish because she was putting the lives of others in front of her own and her pain.

"Y/n, I know you'll probably be mad or annoyed but I want to ask you for one time. What has happened to you? Why do you conceal your pain like that?
You don't have to answer me but talking can help." I rambled, making her eyes widen slightly. I saw many emotions reflect in her eyes-shock, confusion, anger-but in the end it just was pain and sadness.

"Fine." She whispered and let out a small sigh before downing all of her wine in one gulp and refilling it.
"So, I suppose it all started fifteen years ago, when I was nine years old." She continued and looked into my eyes the whole time, making me gulp.
"I was so excited for my tenth birthday, which would be the next day, so I was unable to sleep. I went to my parent's room and I was planning on scaring them so I made no sound. Suddenly I heard them talking about killing someone and you must know that my father, John Johnson, was trying to candidate as the prime minister at that time but there was this guy spreading rumors about him so he wasn't able to and apparently my mother, Mary Johnson, wanted to help him commit the murder. Well, I remember rushing back into my room and crying until I woke up the next day and had to lie about everything, since I was mortified that they'd kill me too. I did that for a week.
Until they were gone. They had died in a car crash and I suppose I just knew that they had failed their mission. From then I raised myself in an orphanage and decided to catch assassins, to make up for the crimes they have committed."

Oh.
Oh.

I had expected many things, just not that.
It explained everything. Her hate for assassins. The way she almost only cared for her job.
She felt as if she had to make up for the mistakes that her. Henry Johnson and Mary Johnson had been assassins and young Y/n had to deal with everything by herself.
I didn't know what to say. I knew saying that one is sorry wouldn't help at all.