16. Eli

Eli

Heartbreak Beat

W hatever meds they gave me that knocked me out are fantastic.

I’m blinking in and out of sleep, not quite aware of anything yet. Thank fuck. My throat feels weird, but I don’t hurt anywhere. This is why I told everyone I just needed some medicine. I flex my fingers in hopes Phoenix will hold them. He makes everything better. Too bad I can’t keep him in my system like the stuff pumping into my veins right now.

Time passes, but my eyes are heavy. I reach out, knowing he’s got to be nearby. As soon as I feel the warm hand slide into mine, I sigh in relief. He didn’t leave me. He’s here. Because it’s comforting and a part of him I love, I feel for the sharp ridges of his knuckles. Phoenix’s hands are big, fingers thin and long. But his knuckles are like mountains with high-rising peaks. The tips of my fingers poke and prod at his hand, something like fear coiling in my belly because his hand feels wrong.

My heart speeds up while I force my eyes open.

Everything is blurry for about five seconds. I blink to focus, seeing the lights dimmed over my bed. “Hi,” I hear.

It feels like I’m falling. Like the floor disappeared. Pivoting my head to the sound of the voice, I fight to hold back the burn in my eyes when brown ones are all I see—two of them and a face I don’t want to be there. “Leon,” I rasp, throat dry.

He leans forward and kisses the back of my hand. I search the other side of my bed and crane my neck to peer through the crack in the divider curtain. “Do you need anything? Water?”

Where is Phoenix? I reach into my pocket but find I’m not wearing pants. Shit. Where is it? Where is he? “Eli?”

I collapse back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling.

Of course, he left. I should’ve known he’d dip out the second he could. He made sure I didn’t die, then went back to his band—his friends. The people that love and cherish him. The people who’d never abandon him in a time of need. I’m happy he has them. I really am. But I don’t have that. I never did. He’s the only one who’s ever made me feel like something instead of nothing.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Hot moisture wells in my eyes, and my nose tingles. “I would’ve been here sooner. You should’ve said something. Should’ve told me the first time.” Leon’s tone gets less kind and more aggressive the longer I don’t answer him. “But you called him. I know that this is meant to be fun. I know you said I shouldn’t count on anything long-term, but I did.” I glance at him, the voices coming back with a vengeance. “This isn’t fun, Elijah.”

I pull my hand out of his. “No shit,” I croak, searching the bed for the stupid remote with the nurse button.

“It was all bullshit, wasn’t it?”

It’s under my hip. Ugh.

“You never even liked me, did you? I thought it was strange how hard you pursued me, but I took a chance.” He shakes his head and then drops his voice. “And all the drugs? I’ve risked my ass to make sure you’re set right. That you can function.”

Button pressed. I’m not dealing with this right now. I need to get the hell out of here.

“Did you tell the doctor? Did you tell them what you took earlier? How you never sleep. How when we have sex, you don’t even know you’ve orgasmed until your dick falls out of me?”

“You don’t have to be here,” I snap. “I didn’t call you because I knew this would be how you’d act.” Fuck, my throat is raw.

He laughs, reclining back in the chair and staring at me in disbelief. “All of this,” he gestures between us, “was because of Phoenix… God, I’m stupid.”

My heart rate keeps rising, and my body is not cooperating because the sedation meds haven’t worn off yet. “You got more out of our arrangement than I did—by far . By fucking far. Grow the hell up.”

“Arrangement?” he says through a dramatic gasp. “That’s what this is?”

“What else would it be? I told you at least three different times all I’m good for is sex.”

He scoffs. “And emotional manipulation, you fucking asshole.”

On the last syllable, the nurse appears. She looks between us, sensing the hostility and no doubt overhearing the last sentence or three. “Sir, I need to ask you to step out momentarily. We need to ask some personal questions.”

Leon’s lip curls before he shoots to his feet and storms out. Good. I’m sick of him. My nurse watches him leave, and then she steps over. Lowering her voice, her eyes sympathetic, she says, “Your friend is in the lobby.”

“He is?”

“Yes. I need to ask you a few questions, and then I can get him.”

“Okay.”

She goes through a list of bullshit. Do you feel safe at home? Is anyone hurting you? Have you ever wanted to hurt yourself? Are you doing drugs? I answer no to all of them while subtly hiding my tattooed arms lined with old scars. My piss is going to come up dirty, just like it did at urgent care, but I am not staying here. I’ll wait for a prescription, and then I’ll be gone.

“I’ll go get your friend. The doctor should be in to speak with you about your results soon.”

“Thanks,” I mutter. “Where is my cell phone?”

She retrieves a plastic bag with my gross clothes and cell phone.

I wait for her to leave before checking my messages.

Tracy: I need more than that. What plumber is going to come out for 150$?

Elijah, I swear to god.

I am not dealing with that, no thanks. I swipe out of her text thread and find Leon’s.

I’ll get my stuff from the hotel when I’m discharged.

For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.

We’re done.

I sit my phone down on my lap and rub my eyes.

Fuck, I’m so tired.

Yawning a few times and trying to stay awake, I can’t help but feel slightly relieved. I didn’t anticipate it going this far when I called Phoenix earlier. He didn’t call anyone last time this happened—hell, he left me on the damn bathroom floor. But he made sure I was safe. And whether he meant to or not, he gave me the courage to send those texts.

Maybe he’s finally coming around. Maybe this is him fighting for me. A dopey smile forms on my lips. He didn’t leave me.

I sniffle and rub my nose, something like delirious hope filling me. It’s my fault we are in the position we’re in—separate and estranged—but people can realize they made a mistake, can’t they? Once I got slapped with a DUI and a suspended license, I convinced myself that he was better off.

But then his band put out that song.

It’s been a fucked up journey to get here. I’ve done terrible things to make sure I could get back in his presence, even if I didn’t quite know that’s what I was doing until it all happened.

I change my mind, Phoenix.

I want him again. I want a life—a real life with people and happiness. I want my aunt to get out of my house and die in a ditch. For the first time, I can see something out there for me. Something obtainable.

“Elijah?”

I look up and see a doctor standing there. First, I have to convince this guy to let me leave. I’m fine. I feel great, oddly enough. Preparing for more judgment, I study his face while he studies me. It’s creepy. Is he going to try and shove something plastic in my body?

“You are Elijah, right?”

“Yes,” I answer skeptically.

“Alright. So we were able to see some inflammation of your stomach lining.” I blink at him. “Have you been taking any medication lately on an empty stomach?”

All of them. But I don’t say that. “Sometimes.” I shrug.

He nods like I’m full of shit. “We also found a small gastric ulcer.”

That doesn’t sound great. “How did I get that?”

“In most cases, H.Pylori or taking over-the-counter NSAIDs on an empty stomach. Excessive drinking or smoking can cause it as well. Overly acidic food and drink items.”

“Can…,” fuck I’m really asking this, “can Vicodin cause it?”

“It can. Are you currently taking Vicodin?”

My lips purse while I debate being honest with this douche. “I have a prescription.”

He glances down at the tablet in his hand and sighs. “Elijah, are you aware that medical records are far more accessible to us now than they were when you were in high school?”

I don’t like what he’s insinuating here. “Yeah.”

“According to your file, you haven’t been prescribed any medication, narcotic or otherwise, since April 24th, 2012. You were eighteen.”

“Then those are old records. Your…system or whatever hasn’t been updated. I have prescriptions. I see doctors.” My tongue flaps like he will believe me. Like anyone will if I say it enough.

“If you are struggling with substance abuse, we have excellent counselors here who can assist. Because at this current point in time, if you change your eating habits, stop smoking and consuming alcohol, the ulcer and inflammation should heal on its own.”

“I am not abusing anything. I don’t know what it says on your fucking tablet, but it’s wrong. Okay? It’s wrong. ”

He sighs. “I can double-check. Just…think about what I said. I want to observe you for the rest of the night to make sure the vomiting stops. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

I fold my arms because fuck him for saying that. I’m not a drug addict.

I’m not.

He doesn’t understand; no one does. What does this doctor know about the shit I live through? That I deal with every day? He doesn’t. No one knows what it’s like to grow up the way I did or to have still to face the woman who made it all so terrible. To have been denied love and compassion. Was I a little shit when I got older? Sure. What teenager isn’t?

But all I can remember is holding that stupid fucking ballet sign-up paper and seeing the disgust on Aunt Tracy’s face. Her cigarette ashes fell into my macaroni while she told me ballet is for girls and gays. I could’ve been something if it weren’t for her. Maybe not the best dancer out there, but decent. If I’d danced like I wanted to, I wouldn’t be in this hospital bed listening to some jackass talk about me like he’s read my diary.

If it weren’t for my parents dropping dead and leaving me to that witch, I might be a normal person. If my aunt’s “friends” didn’t like hanging out with little boys, then maybe I wouldn’t be so sexual. Maybe…

Phoenix walks in mere seconds after the doctor leaves. He is pissed. Light brown eyebrows furrowed, chimera eyes burning into my skull. Full lips downcast and the vein in his neck pumping. “This…this could’ve been so much worse,” he starts, not moving to close the space between us.

I shove myself upright so I’m not lying down for this. “The amount of blood,” he shudders, “looked like a fucking slasher movie.”

“Phoenix—”

“You’ve never seen a doctor because you are afraid of them. Why is that?” he asks, cocking his head like he knows the answer.

I swallow hard. No. Don’t do this, baby. Please. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh really? Then what’s it like, Elijah? Enlighten me.” He crosses his arms, so beautiful and livid with me that I get nauseous again. He only ever uses my full name when he's making a point. I have a feeling I won't like the one he's about to make.

“We don’t do this. We don’t do this .” I’m clawing at the air, trying to shift this conversation into something I can control. All he does is stare at me expectantly. I drop my eyes, heaving in a breath.

“You’re afraid they’ll tell you what he did—that you have a problem. That there isn’t anything physically wrong with you. There never was. It’s all in here,” he slaps his chest, “and you don’t trust me enough with it. You never did.”

“Phoenix, listen to me.”

“Oh, I am. I’m all fucking ears because I need a reason to stay. I need one good reason to explain every lie you’ve ever told me.”

My eyes water while his do the same. “I can’t give you one.”

“You better. Or it’s going to be really fucking awkward until tomorrow.”

I frown. “What?”

“I told you I wouldn’t leave you. I’m keeping my word. That doesn’t mean I have to touch you or comfort you. I won’t speak. I’ll watch movies with my headphones in and text Nyx. I’ll be here, but I won’t be here for you. So give me a reason .”

I’ve got nothing.

There's nothing I’m ready to say, nothing I want to acknowledge except the fact he’s still here. He doesn’t want to know how I had to pick through dead cockroaches in my stale cereal. He doesn’t want to know about all the fucked things I’ve seen. I really doubt he wants to know how I’d cut myself to feel anything other than the pain in my chest. My parents didn’t love me enough to make sure I was somewhere safe before they shot up in a hot car and died.

Will he even understand that I go by the stage name I created when I was ten because I never want to be associated with my family? Phoenix’s life is perfect. Picturesque family, great friends—talent and a sexy body. He’s sweet and thoughtful. Kind and loyal. He’s protective and knows right from wrong. I know for a fact he’s never reached into his fridge for something to drink and only found beer. Then had to drink the beer because the water in his trailer wasn’t turned on, and he had no money to buy any.

“Just say something, Eli. Please.”

I shake my head, and his entire composure cracks.

As much as I want him, I know that talking only makes everything fucking worse.