8. Eli

Eli

Criminal

F uck.

I hold the toilet, red water a few inches under my face. Leon is out at this distillery with his bandmates, and I had to think fast to get him to fuck off . My stomach wrenches, pain lacerating throughout it as I puke again.

I don’t even know how I managed to text Phoenix. He won’t show up. I’ve been nothing but a monster. My eyes burn, my entire throat is raw, and more bloody bile shoots between my teeth.

Fuck. This hasn’t happened in a long time.

Grabbing a wad of toilet paper, I spit into the toilet and then wipe my mouth. I shift off my knees to sit on my ass, not even bothered that my cheek is pressed against the cool porcelain. I should probably call an ambulance, but that is the last thing I need right now. It’ll pass…it’ll stop. It always does. Cold sweat erupts over my bare back, but I feel on fire. Was it my pain meds? Or the shit that definitely wasn’t Adderall? I’m not a junkie, but they’re easy to spot in a crowd.

I shouldn’t have snorted that crap.

Nausea keeps swirling while I pant, nose dripping. Everything I’ve done lately keeps flashing in my head. God, I make shitty decisions. It’s like I can’t live without doing it. A spasm rocks my core, so I hunch inward more, one arm holding the toilet and the other holding my stomach. I can still taste the whiskey I drank earlier, mixed with vomit and blood. I’m shaking, legs cramping. I try to keep my eyes open, but they’re so heavy. Everything is so heavy.

He won’t come. Why would he? I don’t even know what prompted me to text him in the first place. Maybe because I don’t have friends. I don’t have anyone that gives a fuck about me, and I know that he still does—even though he shouldn’t. I want him, but he deserves better. He’s gone a year without me. He’s lived his life like I never existed. Sure, I ghosted him, but he never reached out.

He didn’t fucking fight .

Is that why I’m doing this? Is that why I went out of my way to fuck Leon knowing he’d eventually put me right in Phoenix’s path?

I groan loudly, hurrying back to my knees as a fresh wave hits.

Holding on for dear life, I retch and retch, but nothing comes out. I cough, acid burning everything from my stomach up. I need Phoenix right now. Come tomorrow, I’ll be back to my old shit, but at this moment, I need him. When I’m reasonably confident I won’t hurl for a while, I plop back to my ass and breathe. My eyes flutter shut while I sag against the toilet. There’s soft thudding in the distance, but I can’t tell if it’s my imagination or my heart. I can’t lift my head or reach for my phone that slipped from my fingers.

“Eli?”

I’m here . I’m right here. It’s possible Leon came back already and he’s going to see what I've done but know first-hand what he’s sleeping with. I don’t want fucking Leon.

“If you’re in there, say something, or I’m gone.”

I swallow, trying to get my tongue to cooperate. Coughing, I rasp, “I’m here.”

The sound of a door shutting hits my ears.

Using all my strength, I crack open my eyes and see Phoenix standing in the bathroom doorway. He folds his arms, hair damp from a shower, and looks down on me with disgust. But it’s in his eyes—one green and one brown—that I know he’s worried. I’ve seen that look too many times. I try to smile, but it doesn’t work.

“What the hell did you do?” he finally asks, angry, hurt, resistant.

I want to tell him that I need it to be quiet. I need it all to stop. I want to say to him that I hurt everywhere…all the time. But he won’t believe me. I know who he’s seeing, and it isn’t me.

It’s Oliver, his little brother.

Clenching his teeth and expelling a breath through his nose, he walks over to the toilet, flushes my bloody puke, and then goes over to the sink. He wets a washcloth aggressively, choking it like he probably wants to do to me. He squats down, still so tall, and grabs my jaw.

“Where’s Leon?” he spits, swiping the cool rag over my face. “Don’t want him seeing you fucked up?”

There’s no point in talking right now, so I look at him. I savor his fingers on my skin, the smell of his breath and conditioner. The first time I saw Phoenix, I was in awe of him. He doesn’t look like the guys I work with or act like them. If not for the fact I know his body like my own, you’d never suspect he is gay. I suppose his dad has a lot to do with that. I think that’s a huge reason I went after him. I like things I can’t have.

His hair falls down his chest in a thick chunk, making my fingers twitch to touch the soft tresses. God, his hair is always so soft. Smells so good. I look at his mouth, stiff, nearly a grimace. If I had more strength I'd try to kiss him to see if those lips can still give me butterflies. His eyes never meet mine while he pushes my hair back, pressing the rag to my forehead. God, I love his mouth. One time I told him he has Brad Pitt lips, and he sucked them between his teeth, a cute blush on his cheeks.

“Nothing to say?” he growls, shifting the rag to my neck and then draping it around. His fingers brush against my skin, and I shiver.

“No,” I croak, throat raw.

He drops his hands away. “Stop fucking with me. Stop the stupid mind games. You don’t have to be here.” He stands and heads for the door.

“Wait.”

He does, head turned to see me out of the corner of his eye. “What?”

“Don’t go.”

I don’t want him to go. I want him to fucking fight me. Scream at me. Beg me to take him back— anything . But I also pray that he does go. That he doesn’t feed into me anymore. I almost ruined his life. I could have killed him. It’s better this way. If only my mind would work right. If only it would just shut up and let me think. He breathes hard, fingers slowly curling into a fist as he faces forward.

Go. Don’t go. Forgive me. Hate me. Take me home.

“I’m not doing this with you. I…can’t.” His voice cracks, so he clears his throat to disguise it.

“Sit with me. Just for a few minutes. Then you can leave and forget this happened.” The muscles in his lean back flex. I trail my eyes down its length to his long legs. “It’s quiet when you’re here,” I whisper.

“Call Leon. Call an ambulance. Just don’t call me.” And he walks out the door, the next one slamming shut.

F or the next two weeks, I live on antacids and whatever I can get my hands on. My stomach hurts constantly, so I double up on my pain meds. I can’t sleep. I can barely hold down food. I’m floating through this tour, half the time unaware I’m initiating sex until my dick is in Leon. But I make it to every show to watch Phoenix. I stand as close as possible to the stage even when I feel like passing out. My followers are pissed that I’m not posting, but I don’t feel like it. I got paid yesterday, and there’s a significant decrease.

I don’t care.

It hurts to breathe, hurts to be awake. I could leave at any point, go home, and get my meds right, but I don’t. I’m not sure what I’m waiting for, only that I am waiting.

Scrolling through TikTok while Leon naps on my shoulder, I almost shove him off. How can he be so clueless? How can he not see the fucking flags I’m waving here? I suppose he can’t—wouldn’t see them. Not with how I am. Not with how I let him have me anytime he wants.

That’s all I’m good for, though. Sex. I’ve known that since my balls dropped. But I did something right this time. I was upfront from the beginning. He knows there is an expiration date with me. As I'm scrolling, I come across a video of a girl dancing. A sting somewhere in the back of my psyche almost has me swiping up, but my thumb hovers. She spins so gracefully, her body like moving art. Flickers of long-forgotten memories rush to the surface.

“Boys can’t do ballet,” my aunt tells me, cigarette dangling from her fingers as she makes my macaroni.

I clutch the bright orange paper to my chest. All the kids got one at school, and my teacher didn’t say that boys weren’t allowed. “It’s free, though,” I say, my voice small.

Aunt Tracy doesn’t like to spend money. Mrs. Johnson said the school would give us shoes. All I need is something to dance in. I think I can borrow tights from Kristen…

“It doesn’t matter if it’s free. You’re a boy. Ballet is for girls and gays.” She dumps in the packet of cheese powder.

I blink hard and swipe the video away.

This shit I’m getting off random dealers isn’t helping. I keep remembering. The voices keep talking. Looking out the window, I watch the world pass by me. Not the world, I guess, just Illinois. If I got off the bus right now, all it would take is an Uber to get me home. Not that I'll be doing that anytime soon, but I don’t know if that’d even help at this point. Besides, I’m not an addict. I don’t need my medicine. Okay, I need it, but I can manage with what I believe is Ritalin—that’s what the dealer said anyway.

I first started the stuff in middle school. My aunt took me to the doctor, said I had ADHD, and they wrote out a prescription. I don’t know if I have it, but I guess I did better than before I started taking it. In high school, one of my girlfriends snorted the stuff. She said it worked better, so I went home, smashed up my dose, and tried it out. I danced in my room the entire night, did all my homework, and baked a fucking cake for my aunt. She didn’t eat it, but still.

I felt great.

In school, I only snorted it when I needed to quiet my thoughts and get shit done like tests or big projects—that kind of thing. After high school, my head got worse, and when I started making porn, I needed it more often. Doctors give it to me, so I know it’s not the same as what I’m doing now. I’m actually buying drugs. It’s temporary, though. It's just something to get me through until I figure out what I’m doing. Leon shifts beside me, waking up from his nap.

“Hey,” he says sleepily and yawns. “Can’t sleep?”

It’s 1 pm. “I’m not tired.”

He reaches up to my face, fingering the circles under my eyes that won’t cover up no matter how much concealer I put over them. “You are tired.” He straightens and looks me in the eye. “Talk to me.”

“I need to post more content. The people are pissed.”

“Haven’t you been? You recorded last night.”

Did I? I don’t even remember. “Weird angle and lighting. I’ll have to jerk off later or something.”

“Want help?” His attempt at flirting is lost on me.

“Nah. It’s alright. Don’t want anyone seeing it’s you.” I force a smile, and he chuckles and blushes.

“It’s scary how many are up. Yeah, it’s just my ass, but still.”

Ugh. Please don’t remind me. POV shot after POV shot. I’m bored. “No one knows it’s you.” I kiss his cheek and stand up. “Gotta piss.”

I do have to piss, but I need to take another pill as well. My stomach hurts.

I turn on the sink, slurp some water into my mouth, and swallow down the pill. Then, I relieve myself. I flush, put down the toilet seat, and sit on it. I pull up Phoenix’s number, knowing he doesn’t want to hear from me. Clicking the plus sign that’ll open up my gallery, I scroll through my pictures until I find the one I want. I hesitate only for a second before sending it. What will he think when he sees it?

Smiling and blinking up at the roof of the tiny bathroom, I hope he sees it for what it is and not anything else.