The Contradiction of Solitude(17)

“You were supposed to meet up with us by the merch table,” the woman whined, moving closer to Elian in a manner that was clearly proprietary. She felt she had a claim on him; that was obvious. And my presence was not appreciated.

My eyes slid to Elian who seemed unconcerned but I knew better. His hands were clenched into fists. He was anxious, and this interested me.

“Sorry guys. I ran into Layna.” Elian looked at me. Only his eyes changed. They heated and simmered for just a second. The fire from earlier coming to life before he turned back to his friends.

“You guys haven’t met yet. Margie, Stan, Tate, this is Layna Whitaker. She works at the bookstore across the street. Layna, these guys work at George’s Custom Shop with me.” Elian inclined his head towards the group still standing in front of us.

Tate snapped his fingers and pointed at me. “You’re the hot chick from Denny’s!”

Elian groaned and rubbed his temples as though he had a headache. “Can you be any more of a douche, Tate?” he asked lightly, like he was joking. But I wasn’t so sure. What Elian said and what he meant were clearly two different things.

“Probably,” Tate grinned, grabbing his crotch in an adolescent gesture. He was annoying me. I wanted him to leave. The possessive girl, Margie, sneered in what I assumed was meant to be an act of intimidation. I flicked my eyes over each of them, regarding them briefly and then moving on.

Elian gave me a sideways look, seeming uncomfortable by his friends’ antics. He covered it well with a jovial grin. I loved that smile. It was dishonest.

It was the most truthful thing about him.

“Uh, I’ll catch up with you guys later,” Elian announced, clearing his throat. I covered my mouth with my hand, not wanting to show the world my own smile that was anything but a lie.

“Oh, I get it, you want to hang with the hot Denny’s chick. I know when we’re not wanted. Come on, Margie.” Tate laughed, and I watched the girl with bright red hair, knowing she hated me. It was on her face and in her eyes.

I dropped my hand from my mouth and did nothing to hide my upturned lips. I even showed a little teeth. Just for her.

She was angry and jealous and a dozen other unfortunate emotions because she wanted what was already mine. I felt the echoes of pity for her. It wasn’t her fault that she gave her heart to a man who could never take care of it.

“I thought we were going to get some barbeque, Elian. It’s your favorite,” Margie said, her voice pleading. I hated how easily she bared her soul to him. She should have more self-respect.

Elian clenched his jaw and I wanted to touch the skin that covered hard bone.

“I’ll get some later, no worries.” He was so dismissive and Margie with the red hair knew that. Finally she got the point and turned on her heel, stomping off like a child.

Tate rolled his eyes. “What crawled up her snatch?”

“Dude, seriously,” Elian growled, clearly not amused with his friend’s language. Tate finally got the point and gave us a hearty wave before he and Stan headed off in the direction Margie had just gone.

“Sorry about them,” Elian apologized, his voice low and quiet and meant for me alone.

I lifted my shoulders in a careless shrug. It didn’t matter. They didn’t matter. Because he was the only reason I was there in the first place.

Elian pulled at a loose string at the hem of his T-shirt. He dressed like he hadn’t done laundry in a while. His jeans were stained and his shirt faded and threadbare. His brown work boots were scuffed, the laces tucked into the sides. He reminded me of a little boy running wild, regardless of the danger up ahead.

“This isn’t your type of scene,” he commented, shifting my focus from his shoes to his face.

“You’re right. This isn’t normally my scene at all,” I admitted, leaning into him just slightly.

Elian snapped his fingers together. “I knew it!” As though he had just made a monumental discovery. These were tiny, inconsequential pieces that I gave away without effort. Safe. Painless.

“So why are you here?” he asked, pushing his hair off his forehead. I stared at him for a moment, taking in all the parts of him. His green eyes, the first thing that I had really noticed about him. His light brown hair that fell in a haphazard disarray across his forehead.

The scars, thin and shiny, crisscrossing along the length of his neck. They were brutal and violent. And when Elian was nervous, he rubbed his fingers over the slightly raised skin as though trying to wipe them away. I wondered about the scars. I wondered about his false smiles.

I wondered about Elian Beyer and his many, many secrets.

The air felt hot. Constricting. It squeezed and pressed uncomfortably against thirsty skin. Brecken Forest had been experiencing an unseasonable drought. There hadn’t been any rain in over two months. The flowers were dying. The leaves were falling before they were ready. The earth looked parched. Desperate.

The brown blades of once green grass were sharp beneath my palm. Dry and brittle, breaking off under my fingers. Once alive but now dead and dusted.

“To see you of course,” I told him honestly, wondering how he’d take the words I had just handed him.

Elian swallowed audibly and there was a hint of blush on his cheeks. I knew that Elian wasn’t the blushing sort. He had unknowingly handed me all of the control.