All I can hear from her room is loud guitars and the sound of a sad droning, whiney voice. She always listens to that shit when she's had a bad day at work. I could read into it and tell you because she wants to know someone else has felt as shit as she's feeling right now but she hates it when I do that.

I sigh and knock on the door even though there's no way in hell she'll be able to hear it over that racket. I rest my head against the door for a second, preparing myself for any number of states she could be in. I've had hysterical laughter, endless crying, and then there's the silence, complete and utter silence, staring at thin air, just nothing. That's her at her worst, sometimes it's not that bad, sometimes she just wants to be alone.

I take a deep breath and open the door. She's curled up on the bed with the thin blanket pulled over her haphazardly, she hasn't even bothered to take off her shoes. She looks up at me and wipes the tears from her face, smudging her make up even more. She grabs the remote from the side and turns her music down.

I move forward and sit by her feet. I slip her shoes off of her feet and put them at the end of the bed. I sit further up the bed and smooth some hair out of her face. She links her fingers with mine.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No...but can you hold me?" She whispers back, and I smile, kissing her lightly. I move and lie down the other side of her. I wrap an arm around her waist and bury my head in her neck. She puts her hand on mine and links our fingers and we just lie there, listening to that god awful sound she calls music.

I love talking through things, I think talking about something is the best way to deal with it. You shouldn't trap it inside or lock it up, just talk about, clear the air, let it all out. Eleanor on the other hand hates talking. Talking is her worst nightmare. She likes silence, she can lie there for hours, just sitting or crying or laughing, sometimes even a mixture of all three and when she's done, it's like nothing ever happened. It's fucked up and brilliant and I have no idea how it works for her. I don't think I could handle it, I couldn't just cry it out like she does, that wouldn't be enough.

I think I'm getting through to her though, She's never liked discussing her work with me, she doesn't really like bring it home with her, but sometimes, times like this, she doesn't really have a choice. So slowly I'm convincing her that talking about her day won't start off the apocalypse. It is working, it'll just take time. She finally relaxes against me.

"Thank you." She whispers.

I grin to myself because I know what her thank you really means.

"I love you too." my voice is muffled against her neck. She doesn't shift or reply, she just lets the words settle.

I won't try and fix her, she likes being broken. I'll just hold onto her, because right now that's all she wants from me.