The Contradiction of Solitude(31)

I watched her. Always watched her. I was bewitched. Entranced.

I was going under.

I had kissed her once.

Held her hand twice.

That was it.

And I was ready.

For everything.

For anything.

She was my lack of reason. My painful heart. She was my inevitable demise.

Because of her, I would lose my soul.

“Where have you been, Elian?” Margie looked upset. I knew why. I hadn’t spoken to her about things between us. I had meant to.

But I had been swept away.

I was out of control, fixated. Focused.

On other things.

“I’ve been around, Marg,” I said tiredly, swiping at the fret board on my workbench. Wood shavings scattered on the floor with each vigorous brush.

“I tried to call you.”

Tate looked up from across the room and smirked. I knew how much he enjoyed being right.

I should never have shat where I ate.

I was an idiot.

I dropped the sandpaper and picked up my pack of cigarettes. I inclined my head towards the rear entrance of the studio. “Come on, let’s go have a smoke.”

Margie brightened a bit. “Okay, let me go grab my lighter.” She hurried back to the front of the shop.

Tate started to get to his feet but I gave him a look. “You can have yours later,” I told him.

“Oh. Gonna let her down all gentle like, huh? Is this about that chick?” Tate whispered.

“Shut up,” I warned just as Margie returned.

We walked outside and I immediately lit up. The smoke billowed out in front of me. It had started to rain. Margie huddled underneath the awning but I stepped out into the downpour, not caring in the slightest that I was soaked in only seconds.

“You’ll get sick, Elian,” Margie scolded.

I ignored her. “We need to talk, Marg. About what happened two weeks ago.”

Had it only been two weeks?

Margie sucked on her cigarette and blew it out in an angry breath. “Don’t you dare tell me it was a mistake.”

“I wouldn’t, Margie. But it’s over. That part of our relationship anyway. I hope we can still be friends.”

I had always been adept at doing this. Ending things.

No hurt feelings.

Soft. Gentle. Tender.

People liked me. I counted on it.

But I was fumbling this. I was going to make it worse.

Because I had changed.

Two weeks.

That was it.

And Elian Beyer was finished.

“Friends? Are you kidding? You f*cked like you meant it, Elian!” Margie spat out and I knew this was going to get nasty. There was no easy cutting of loose strings. Not this time. Or ever again.

I was all wrapped up in loose strings, dangling, ready to strangle me.

Just don’t see her.

“We had fun, Margie. It was great…” I trailed off, not knowing what else to say. I had built my life on saying the right thing. On being able to tell people what they wanted to hear.

Why was it suddenly so hard to remember my role? To play my part?

Elian Beyer. Twenty-eight years old. Son of a happily married couple. Brother of Wade and Leanne. Uncle to two nieces and a nephew. Lies. Lies. Lies.

But it’s who I was. Who they knew.

Margie threw down her cigarette butt and ground it out underneath her shoe. “You’re a jerk, Elian.” She meant it. She hated me.

I didn’t want that to happen.

I needed her agreement. Her acceptance. I needed to be the nice guy.

The first kinks in my armor were starting to show.

When you go home tonight. Go alone.

“I know,” I agreed, knowing that even as I struggled to smooth this over, I couldn’t leave the door open to anything between us. Margie wasn’t who I wanted.

“This is about that freaky girl from the bookstore across the street, isn’t it? Tate says you’ve been engaging in mutual stalking for months. It’s weird, Elian. Seriously.”

I was going to have to have a conversation with Tate regarding his too big mouth.

“She’s not freaky,” was all I could say. I sounded ridiculous. Margie looked ready to stomp on my testicles with her shit kickin’ boots. I had completely underestimated the power of estrogen scorned.

Margie glared good and hard. I felt some guilt. I wasn’t heartless. I never went out of my way to hurt anyone.

Even the people I had left behind…

“I don’t want things to be awkward here at work, Margie. Tell me what I can do to make this easier on you.” Did I have to sound like such a condescending douchebag? But my mind wasn’t really here anymore. It was elsewhere. Thinking about plans made and futures undecided.

Margie snorted. “You should have thought about that before you bent me over my kitchen table.” Then without another word, she slammed through the door, and I stood out in the rain, caring, but not enough.



I had left home thirteen years ago. Before graduating from high school. Still wet behind the ears. With no freaking clue what I was doing or where I was going.

But I had an idea of how the world really worked.

I had been given a horrific introduction into the lives of real men and monsters.

Elian Beyer was born the day I left the boy behind and forced myself to become someone else.