The Contradiction of Solitude(25)

There was a knock at my door and I knew it was him.

I smoothed out my long, blue skirt and straightened the thin straps of my white tank top. I had taken more effort with my appearance tonight. I knew Elian would appreciate it.

I opened the door, and Elian’s face lit up. His dancing green eyes sparkled and his mouth smiled. And for just an instant I knew this moment was real.

“Wow,” he breathed, his eyes slowly traveling from my feet to my face. My heart was steady. Always steady. But I liked his reaction.

I started to slip out the door and join him in the hallway when Elian stopped me. “Can I use your bathroom? I got oil all over me and I need to change.” He held up a green T-shirt just the color of his eyes.

I stilled, not wanting to let him inside.

Too soon…

“It’ll just take me a minute. I promise not to go snooping through your underwear drawer. I’m not that kind of guy.” He was teasing. His flirting was meant to make me feel at ease.

It didn’t work.

But I couldn’t tell him no. I didn’t want to be rude.

So I beckoned him inside, purposefully not turning on the lights. I pointed down the hallway. “First door on the left,” I told him.

Elian held his hands out in front of him, feeling along the wall. “Uh, can you turn on a lamp before I break something?”

Buzz…

I flipped on the hallway light and waited for him by the door. I felt compressed and tight. I fiddled with the strap of my shirt. Nervous. Restless. Ready.

Elian was true to his word and came out of the bathroom soon enough. But he didn’t come straight back to where I was waiting. He veered off into the living room. I met him in the center of the room as he slowly looked around in the dim shadows.

“Do you have a thing against lights?” he laughed. A deep, warm sound that I enjoyed.

“I thought we were leaving,” I said shortly.

Elian was staring at me. I could feel his heavy gaze on every part of me. “I’m going to be honest, Layna Whitaker. You fascinate me. I want answers. I want to know you.”

Inside I was grinning madly.

I turned on the lights, indulging him. For just a moment.

He scanned the room noticing the framed photographs lining the windowsill. I braced myself.

He picked up the one closest to him and studied it. “Who is this?”

I couldn’t help but stare at the beautiful girl with the long, blonde hair. She was young and fresh faced. Perfect.

I bit down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood.

“Family.”

Elian accepted my answer and put the picture back, picking up the next one. Another girl, this one with red hair and a chubby face. Cute but nothing about her was eye catching. She could have been anyone. Non-descript.

But to me she was…

“Family,” I repeated.

Realizing he would get no more answer than that he put the second framed picture down and turned back to me. “I’m making you uncomfortable,” he observed. I bit down harder on my cheek. Mangled flesh between my teeth.

“No,” I lied.

“Yes I do. My being here is making you uncomfortable. Why?”

I didn’t answer him. There was no point. I couldn’t answer him. I had no way to explain.

So I didn’t.

“Okay, well let’s go then,” he said after a beat, accepting my lack of answer as the only one he seemed to need.

I followed him to the door, and this time we made our way out into the hallway. His new shirt was a lovely shade of green and I liked the way it made his eyes stand out. They really were his best feature.

“How did you get oil on your shirt?” I asked as we walked outside and toward his car—a 1979 Pontiac Firebird.

“I was at my buddy’s place trying to change the oil. I ended up with more of it on me than in the car.” Elian held the door open and I got in. Closed inside I took a deep breath, smelling oil and old leather. And him.

He slid into the driver’s seat and put the key in the ignition. He sat for a few seconds before turning the car on. He closed his eyes briefly, and I couldn’t help but watch with interest as he ran his hand through his hair.

“I’m ready,” he murmured quietly, looking into my eyes for the barest of seconds. We looked. We held on. We didn’t let go.

My heart started to pound. Uneven. Tripping. Exploding in my chest.

“I’m not,” I whispered back and it was true. I was suddenly not so sure of my purpose.

Elian made questioning easy.

“Then let’s wait a bit until you are,” Elian said, sweet and tender.

“Okay,” I agreed. And I let him take my hand in his, lacing fingers like he was meant to.

But he wasn’t.

He shouldn’t.

I didn’t pull away.

Seconds passed. Minutes. And then he turned the car on and we were moving down the street.

Heading toward anything.



“Stay in the car, Layna. Don’t move.”

I could still smell his gum. He chewed it when he was home to cover up the smell of the cigarettes I knew he still smoked. Mom didn’t know.

But I did.

We shared things like that. And when he asked me to do something, I did it.

Not this time.

I didn’t listen. I should have listened. But I was cold. I normally liked the dark. This time I didn’t.