“Please don’t, Rush.”

Orange eyes snapped up to her; and surprisingly, they narrowed into a glare. Rushton Moreaux very rarely looked upon someone with any less than sheer delight. But here he was now, hunched back in his armchair and staring across the room, distaste setting his mouth into a jagged line.

His little sister of all people, stared defiantly back at him.

Blue eyes crackled and sparked as she stood taller than him, hands perched neatly on her slender hips; and she matched his expression – only hers seemed to be softened by the sadness that seemed to forever blur the lines of her heartbreakingly beautiful face.

“Why not, Elle? I’m so sick of you standing there saying that you don’t want to hear it.”

“It’s none of your business whether-“

“Actually it is.”

Elle’s head jerked back; and the doll-like face appeared vaguely startled. Very rarely did Rush talk back let alone interrupt. But the male model’s expression did not change. This time he seemed determined. He would not let this moment be another vacant memory that he would occasionally look back upon and wished he’d spoken up.

“You’re my little sister Elle. You want to know why Bandel and I travel to New York so frequently to see you? Because we worry about you.”

“Rush you don’t have to...”

“Yes I do Elle. Because every other day I’m seeing photos of you and that Ricardo prat in the paper. Remember what he did to you.”

“I hardly think you have any right-“

“And the cop. I’ve seen photos with you and the cop. For Christ’s sake Elle, he was the man designated to find your dead body and now you’re what... Friends? Dating? Planning to elope?”

“I-“

“And the artist. Everyone knows he smokes some funny stuff and I know that’s not what you’re into. So why are you getting on a plane with him and flying off to god knows where to do god knows what? You had a date with that lovely boy from the firm, and I heard through the grape vine how that ended. What the hell is happening to you, Elle?”

She did not respond immediately because she was bristling; breath caught I her throat. Elle Moreaux looked beautiful even in her moments of fury, but tonight her entire body was jagged with something foreign to her. Trembling hands balled into fists as she glared at her brother with an expression nothing other than pure poison; and she stalked forward, leaning over Rush and letting her lithe body cast fractured shadows over his ruggedly handsome face.

“Well seeing as it appears to be a time for voicing worries, how about I have a go Rush? When the hell are you gonna figure out that you’re only getting older – and that the only good thing to ever happen to you needs some stability in her life?”

“Oh, you can’t be one to preach.”

Lips curled back into a venomous sneer. “Well guess what sweetie, I am. I didn’t have a daughter and then divorce her mother. I didn’t spend the next seven years jerking my daughter around with countless flings. I didn’t finally offer her a chance of a fresh take on life – a chance of a mum - only to rip it all from beneath her feet as quickly as you had thrusted it upon her!”

Rushton Moreaux stared up at his sister and her darkened face, mouth agape. Her normally soft French vocals were like whip lashes against his ears, stinging at him until all he could feel was numbness. It took a few moments of electric silence for the older brother to regain his composure – and when he did so he pushed himself up from his chair, standing to lurch over his tiny sprite of a little sister with his face contorted into an ugly mess of frustration and hurt.

“...I’m a good father.”

“No, Rushton. You let that beautiful, vibrant woman turn away from you and get on that plane. And when she left, she took all the happiness within Bandel’s life with her.”

“You’re associating with the man who’s using you as a pawn in a twisted rivalry with his father and you’re still caught in the delusion that he cares!”

Elle let out a low hiss at that, backing away from her big brother and stalking halfway across the room. She crossed her arms, back to him as she glared out at the window and into the inky black night. Her rigid spine gave away the notion that her insides were seething.

Rush shoved his hands into his pockets and let his shoulders hunch forward tiredly, gaze dropping to the floor. He remained in silence for a long time, fiddling awkwardly at a crease in the rug with his foot.

“...I think you need to see a therapist, Elle.”

“I need to see a therapist?!”

Elle whirled around to face her brother and Rush only had a split second to realise that she had a book clutched in one hand before it came hurtling towards his head. He managed to duck for the most part, but the corner of the spine still clipped him on the shoulder. He inhaled sharply, flinching.

“What the hell?!”

“Your little girl’s heart is broken and it’s all your damn fault! You don’t deserve her! You don’t deserve her, Rush!”

“I love her, Elle! I love her with every fibre of my being! My daughter is the most important thing in my entire life!”

“Well maybe your love isn’t enough!”

“And maybe you can’t cope with the fact that no one loves you!”


That left Elle rendered voiceless. She opened her mouth as if to retaliate, but no sound came from between her soft lips. And so she stood there, chest heaving as she panted, staring at her brother with eyes so wide it was like she’d seen a ghost. He stared back at her, expression softened vaguely but with broad shoulders still straightened in defiance. He looked across the room towards his sister, and for a second he thought he saw the face of the whimsical teenage girl he’d lost on that cold night over a year ago; and for a second he almost considered reaching out for her.



But strong hands did not catch Elle’s slender body as she crumpled in a sobbing mess to the floor.