24. Eli

Eli

What's Wrong

E very inch of me begs to leave again.

My stuff is at the hotel.

Things I know I’ll want and need .

But Phoenix isn’t yelling. He isn’t berating me or demanding. It’s…fuck, it’s something I didn’t realize was missing from us. Even before the accident, he was always trying to figure me out almost aggressively versus just letting it happen. And I never wanted to open up because fuck that. Being afraid of your romantic partner is a hideous feeling.

The part that always kept me around, though, is that he doesn’t even realize the power he holds. How one shitty look from Phoenix can make or break a person as fragile as I pretend not to be. I fell apart tonight. I completely lost my fucking mind. Whatever numbness I’d been trying to achieve never happened, and I’ve never been more afraid that I’d die than I was a handful of hours ago.

He keeps touching my face while I cry, which I don’t want to do, but I can’t seem to hold it in anymore. The shit with my aunt threatening me did me in. I can admit it secretly. The only other time I lost control like I did today was when I set her house on fire…with her still inside it. I don’t remember what I took or how I even ended up in that shitty trailer park, but once I saw it…

It’s been too long to find a damn lighter. Too long for any evidence. She’s fucking with me. She saw me do it. And I guess instead of throwing my ass in jail, she figured it was better to milk me dry and take over the last piece of myself I had. I don’t think I’m a murderer…or an arsonist, though the facts say otherwise. I hoped she died that night. I wanted her to. In my fucked up mind, I guess it made sense. She couldn’t haunt me anymore if she didn’t exist. The voices would stop, and the pain would vanish.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Phoenix says softly, his fingers feather light and gentle. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Yeah,” I whisper, expecting the worst. My arms stiffen, and my legs cramp. After all, this is Phoenix. He won’t be able to keep his prejudices or warped head out of it.

“This whole time,” he takes a breath and closes his eyes, “I’ve been doing it all wrong.” His hand drops from my face and settles in his lap. “I guess I lost sight of what drew me to you in the first place.”

This isn’t what I was expecting. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” he sighs and sniffles, “you picked me out of a crowded party I’d tried everything to hide from.”

I remember that. It’s one of the few memories I have from those first days. I’d been out in LA for a collab and went to this fancy party thrown by a local band. It wasn’t his, but Devon knows the guitarist from the one hosting. So naturally, Jorge dragged Phoenix to it. He’d told me all about it eventually. But I can picture it now; it is so vivid and full of color.

Phoenix was indeed hiding.

He was in a chair behind a potted palm tree, nose buried in his phone most of the night, until he saw me from across the room. God, he looked shell-shocked. I knew immediately he’d seen some of my stuff, why else would he look both embarrassed and ravenous at the same time. But it was more than that. It was something in his starstruck gaze that lassoed around me and reeled me closer and closer.

This tall, thin metalhead who seemed so shy just ripped something free from my chest. I guess it was something akin to lust at first sight. I approached him, and he blushed, hiding behind his hair like I did. It was a potent, heedy feeling of want. Of possession. I gave him my number an hour after our first conversation. He’d texted me as soon as he got home, and we talked for the rest of the night.

“It was so easy for me to just…be with you. And I loved being seen without having to utter a word.”

I nod in agreement. “Should’ve made me work harder for it.”

He shakes his head. “It’s the opposite. I should’ve worked harder for you , Eli. I treated you like something I owned. I took you for granted. Instead of seeing all those little signs you tried to show me, I ignored them to keep you. We…fuck.” He rubs his face, and his hair falls to cover it from me. “We should’ve never gotten together.”

“Why not?” my voice cracks as I ask.

“Because even now, I want to own you. I want you to do what I say because I say it. I want you to be what I need. That’s not how love is supposed to work, sweetheart.” He glances at me, eyelashes catching stray tears. “I was supposed to be what you needed, and instead, I punished you for my failures. I made you stop working and spend every spare second you could with me. Forced you to be with me when you only wanted someone to notice you .”

Fuck. Fucking fuck. Where is this shit coming from?

“I was a bad boyfriend. I am a bad boyfriend. Nothing I can say can make up for it either.”

I suck my lip between my teeth, shaking all over. He leans over me and kisses my forehead. “I don’t like talking, but I’m doing it now. I should’ve done it from the beginning. I should have asked, just like you said.”

Oh, hell. Now we’re both sobbing like babies. What even is this night? Why do I love it so much? God, is this what hope feels like? Does he finally fucking see? Three years too late, sure. But I guess it's better late than never. “Phoenix,” I rasp, holding the back of his neck so our foreheads stay connected.

“I hate that I pushed you away just like Oliver.”

“Guys?” We both pop up, looking to the source of the interruption. Jorge is standing in the hallway, eyes wet. “The walls are super thin,” he chokes and swipes at his eyes. “Can I hug you both?”

Phoenix bursts a wet laugh as I nod once, still reeling over everything he said. His admissions are like a balm to my scarred heart. Jorge tackles us to the pull-out and squeezes us into his arms. I meet Phoenix’s eyes over his shoulder. One brown. One green. Maybe we shouldn’t have gotten together, but we did, and no matter how painful it is with him, I’m not sure living without him is better. I thought I could do it, but maybe I can’t. Not when it feels like half of me is woven into him.

I need help.

P hoenix refused to take me to my hotel, so we’re back at his apartment.

Kelly is passed out on the sofa with a saucepan on her stomach. Despite how gentle he was with me, his voice still had a hard edge when he firmly told me no. I guess it’s for the best. His long fingers are threaded through mine as we tiptoe past Kelly and enter his bedroom. Once the door is shut, he unzips Jorge’s hoodie and peels it off my body.

I let him take off the rest. He’s not saying anything, but I know he’s annoyed I’m wearing his best friend’s clothes. Once I’m down to my briefs, his eyes snap to the bandage around my thigh. Sucking in a harsh breath, he brushes his knuckles over it. It’s not like he’s never seen the other scars, but I guess something about a fresh self-inflicted injury has him reassessing how mentally ill I am.

“Does it hurt?”

It does, but we both know he won’t give me anything for it, so I shake my head.

He grunts and goes to his dresser. “I’ll go get your stuff from the hotel tomorrow,” he tells me, returning with some sweats and a long sleeve. Bending at the knee, he beckons me to lift my legs.

My eyes burn while he dresses me in his clothes, a silent claiming. I need a shower, but Sonia told me not to get soap on the stitches. The layer of sweat and overall filth coating me will stink up his bed. Grimacing over the thought, I gingerly push my arms into the sleeves so he doesn’t smell me. Fuck, I’m disgusting.

“Do you want anything? Food? Water?”

“No,” I whisper, holding myself tight.

He studies me for a moment, the cogs in his head working overtime while he comes up with what to say. “We leave for Europe on the 2nd.”

“I know.”

Nodding, he rubs the back of his neck, his long hair fluffing from the movement. “You could—” he stops himself and sighs. “Sorry. You’re probably tired.” I watch him peel back the blankets and fluff a pillow for me, and then he holds out his hand.

What was he going to say? Does he want me to go with him? I don’t know if I should, but I’ll say yes if he asks. It’s ridiculous, but after what he told me earlier, I’m hungry for whatever scraps he’ll give me. I used to think I was just fine on my own, that all those bridges I burned didn’t matter because no one had ever had my back anyway. It was always up to me to make sure I survived whatever life threw at me.

Maybe Phoenix didn’t mean what he said to me last year.

We’re currently in some foreign state of tenuous trust. The wrong word or action could shatter it. If I use again, all those pretty words and this gentle understanding will disappear. And if he calls me an addict one more time, I don’t think I’ll survive it. Being the victim of his judgment fucking hurts almost as bad as believing we might have a chance again.

I thought leaving was for the best. Both times, I figured he’d be better off. How can he stand to be with me when he hates everything I am? Do all of those moments we had not matter? The good stuff? The parts of our relationship I won’t get with anyone else? I get into his bed, holding my breath. I watch him strip down to his boxers before he asks the silent question.

Is this okay?

Wiggling over to make room for him, I flip on my side, half checking him out, half wishing he’d ask me something. Anything that goes deeper than superficial shit. I’m not keen to open up on my own unless I have no choice or it suits me, so I’m relying on him right now to pry some of the ugly free. Maybe he’s strong enough to shoulder some of its weight so I can stop crawling beneath him.

“Phoenix,” I whisper, finding his hand and squeezing it.

“I know,” he rasps, blinking hard. “I’m trying.”

For a moment, I consider just purging everything. Let it all out. But then what? Where will that leave me— us ? Should we talk about our break up? Even as I think it, I wince. No. That’ll cause a fight. I think we both accept it for what it is. We said some horrible shit to each other. He rolls on his side to face me after a while, fingers stroking the back of my knuckles.

“I don’t know what to ask or how to word it right,” he tells me. “I want to be blunt but honest. Can I do that?”

His eyes flick to mine, and I hesitate. I’m scared of his bluntness. It’s almost worse than my own. Chewing my lip like bubblegum, I squeeze his hand tighter, needing to feel grounded and safe. Something clicks in his head because he slips his hand free of mine and tugs me to him. As soon as our chests are pushed together, his long arms holding me close, I relax. I breathe in his scent, shove my nose deep into his neck, and sigh.

“The last thing I want to do is hurt you again,” he starts, and I shove my leg between his. I’ll hide in his body if I have to. God, I feel so small. “I know that I have. Probably a lot. And…I’m sorry.”

“I hurt you too,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have fucked it up.”

“We both did,” he says firmly, rubbing strong hands down my back. “But I’m taking the blame.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s my fault. I’ve known that to be true this whole time. It was easier to play the victim, easier to judge and be angry with you instead of accepting that I’m a shitty person.”

He’s not a shitty person, though. He’s kind and selfless. He’ll roll out his body like a floormat to be trampled over to avoid being ripped apart.

“Honestly, Eli, I think I have something wrong with me.”

I shake my head against his throat. “Nothing is wrong with you.”

“No, there definitely is. I can’t hide behind this bullshit excuse that I prefer not to talk. That’s never been true. I got so used to being isolated that I convinced myself it was my own doing.”

“Well, then, something is wrong with me, too,” I say softly. “My parents were addicts. And they say that shit is hereditary. I got it, too. I know I did. But if I say it and acknowledge it out loud, that means I’m just like them. I’m just fucking like them.”

“Hey,” he coos, pressing little kisses to the top of my head. “Shh, it’s alright.”

But it’s not.

This is what he’s been waiting for all this time. My admittance. My acceptance. To put it out there once and for all, he’s been right, and I’ve been lying through my teeth. White-knuckling the illusion that I’ve got it all under control, that my medicine isn’t ruining my life. And now that I’ve hinted at it, spoken the fucking words, I’m going to lose him. I’ve just confirmed I’m exactly like his little brother.

God, I’m so weak. So pathetic.

I try to pull myself from his arms, but he doesn’t let me go. “Stop,” I growl, wiggling and grunting.

“Don’t shut down on me. Please,” he begs, nuzzling my thrashing head.

“I’m a drug addict,” I snap. “Isn’t that what you’ve wanted to hear this whole time? Well, you got it. Let me go!”

“No.”

“Phoenix!”

“ No ,” he sobs and rolls on top of me. I’m panting like I ran a marathon, shooting bullets from my eyes. His body crushes mine into the mattress, so I’m trapped and at his mercy.

My chin wobbles uncontrollably while he stares down at me with a look I’ve rarely seen before. Relief. “I’m not letting you go again unless it’ll help. I’ve let you go twice, and it has made everything worse. So don’t ask me to, alright? You wanted the olive branch? Well, it’s mine now. I have it, and I’m not giving it back.”

I whimper, needing to escape, but I know it’s my mind betraying my heart. This is what I’ve been silently pleading for. “Why? Why do you want me? I’m…,” I hiccup, “just like him.”

“And I abandoned him.” His eyes flicker with remorse. “I let him go. He might be my blood, but you’re my heart, Elijah. You’re my fucking heart, and I can’t live without it.” And he kisses me through the guttural sob that rips from my throat.

I can feel so much transferring through it. His love. His commitment. His unwavering loyalty. This man loves me despite it all. We’ve killed each other, and this kiss is the serum we both need to come alive again.

Digging my fingers into his bare back, I let his tongue dance with mine. I’m filthy and repulsive, but he doesn’t care. Phoenix always finds the beauty in me no matter how much dirt it’s buried under.

Maybe I’ll be able to find it too because… fuck …I’m so tired of being ugly on the inside.