Isabelle snapped her eyes back onto Jace’s mum, furious that she didn’t have more faith in Jace. Her angry reply was cut off by how sad Claire looked.
“Mrs Scown,” Isabelle began, not entirely sure what she could say but feeling like something needed to be said.
“Claire,” she cut in firmly. “Jace’s room is the last room on the left, just make yourself at home. Call out if you need anything.”
She swept out of the room swiftly, leaving Isabelle standing by herself, stunned.
She could not even imagine what it must be like for Jace to live in a house where his own Mother had no faith in him. She thought she had it bad with her parents caring too much. Guess you really don’t know how good you have it until you see how different it could be.
Shaking some of the tension out of her body she began her ascent up the stairs, taking in the metal bannister and the family photos on the wall. The last photo was cracked, like someone had punched it, and in it was a much younger Claire, her face fresh and without worry. She also saw Maia and Jace when they were maybe twelve, wearing matching blue jumpers, their black hair smooth and shiny. Next to Claire was a man Isabelle knew had to be the twin’s Father. Isabelle’s mouth dropped - he looked identical to Jace, down to the lazy smile and startling blue eyes.
Her heart ached for all of them and she thought she could understand why Claire was so distant to her son. She didn’t know what had gone down, but she could guess it was pretty horrible. It must have been unbelievably awful for Claire to have finally found the courage to leave her husband, only to have her son wearing the same beautiful face that had caused so much pain
She sighed deeply and moved forward. She didn’t want to be caught by Claire staring at her broken family - things were awkward enough.
Isabelle walked hesitantly down the hallway, afraid that at any moment she might take the wrong step and everything would come crashing down around her.
The walls were a muted peach colour, she noted with interest, and instead of carpet they had hard wood floors. She kept her eyes trained on the polished timber as she edged her way down the passage.
When she could go no further, she took a deep breath and turned to the left, facing a plain white door. It looked oddly out of place with the rest of the décor. She glanced down the hall and saw what could only be Maia’s room as the door was completely plastered in photos.
How odd that she gained no sense of him at all as she stood at his threshold. Her hand paused by the handle, shaking slightly.
Oh, for God’s sake Isabelle, he’s not even home! Stop being a wuss and open the damn door, what exactly are you afraid of finding in there?
She turned the knob and thrust the door open before she could overthink it any further.
Her eyes widened in shock as she adjusted to her surroundings. It was not at all what she had been expecting to find. The walls were just a basic white with only a few posters up. Weirdly, the posters weren’t of naked girls or bands, they were quotes from the likes of Nelson Mandela, Ghandi and other inspirational people.
Not one photo was displayed anywhere that she could see.
There was a double bed pressed against the far wall, with two matching tables on either side. One table had an iPod on it, and the other a few empty beer bottles. She frowned at the bottles - she didn’t like the idea of him drinking alone in this empty, lifeless room.
She moved around the room cautiously, noticing that there weren’t clothes piled around the floor messily like her room usually had. In fact, even his walk-in closet was kept in perfect condition. She felt sadness overwhelm her.
What kind of a teenage boy lived in a room like it was a hotel and not a place of safety and security? It felt like he kept this room like a guest room because if he truly made it his own, it meant he couldn’t just pack up and leave if he needed to.
The only things in his room that gave her any comfort were the flat screen TV on the wall hooked up to a PlayStation 3, with two blue bean bags positioned in front of it, still imprinted with bodies. It was a comfort to see how well used the bean bags were because it meant that he wasn’t always alone.
She kicked her shoes off and settled herself on the bed, pleased to find it was really comfortable and finally a place where she could feel his presence.
She turned her head and noticed that his balcony doors were unlocked and the curtains thrown open as wide as possible. She lay her head down on his pillow and saw with clarity that from here, her balcony doors were perfectly visible and that her curtains had been pulled tightly closed. How symbolic that his side was open and welcoming whereas hers was closed and shut off.
She turned from the window and was struck by the overwhelming scent of Jace. It overtook all her senses and was completely disarming.
She shifted closer to his pillow as she pulled the sheets over her body, soaking him up. She wondered if her bed smelt distinctly like her and if she even had a specific scent. Was she leaving some kind of mark as she lay on his bed right now?
She leaned over and grabbed his iPod, put his head phones in, and pressed ‘play’. It was completely intrusive, every part of her being here, but she couldn’t stop herself. She wanted to know more about him; she needed to do more than just scratch the surface so that she could get some proof that she wasn’t crazy for feeling so drawn to him.
She closed her eyes as The Spill Canvas – Black Dresses began to play. She honestly had no idea what to think of Jace. Everything about him was so unlike any of the guys she’d ever met, that she had no idea what little box to put him in, except for maybe “damaged.” She knew enough about being damaged herself to recognise the signs in others.
As sleep began to claim her, she swore to herself that she would never be the reason he felt broken. She swore that she would work to try and fix the hole in his heart, and maybe her act of kindness would start to mend hers.