The Contradiction of Solitude(61)

“This is she.”

My heart started thumping in my chest. Thump. Thump. Thud.

“This is Michael Pierce, the warden at Red Onion State Prison. I received your message in regards to your father Cain Langley.”

I swallowed.

“Thank you for returning my call, Mr. Pierce,” I replied weakly.

“How can I help you, Miss Whitaker?”

I put down the framed photograph that I was wrapping with tissue paper and bit down on my lip. Hard.

Was I really doing this?

It was time.

“I wanted to see about visiting my father. If that’s possible. I completed the visitor form as well as the background check online.”

“I checked the status of your background check before I called, and it seems it has already gone through. Which is pretty darn quick for government.” He chuckled. I didn’t.

He cleared his throat and continued, “I’ve put you on Mr. Langley’s approved visitor’s list. Visiting hours are on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday from eight until three. Visits can last up to three hours. It’s important that you familiarize yourself with visitor regulations before you come.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“Depending on the number of visitors there may be a delay or a limited amount of time given for the visit.”

“Okay,” I said softly.

Buzz…

“Do you have any other questions, Miss Whitaker?”

“No, I think that’s it. I appreciate you calling me back.”

“Not a problem. Goodbye.”

“Bye.”

I hung up the phone. I picked up the picture and stared down at the tiny smile and dusting of freckles. Eyes that saw nothing.

Not anymore.

“You’re better than a star, Lay. You’re like me. You make the stories. Those stars will one day belong to you.”

I wanted my own stories.

Not these.

Not the ones he gave me.

The frame slipped out of my hands and fell to the floor. The glass shattered and scattered. Pieces sliced my naked feet.

Pain.

Pain.

Was I ready?

I was ready.



“Where did all the pictures go?” Elian asked, walking into the living room. He looked bad. The worst I had seen him. I had been sleeping over at his house. He seemed to rest better there than here. He was impatient in my apartment.

He paced a lot. Never still. Jittery and on edge.

It irritated me.

“I packed them away,” I replied, taking note of the pronounced shadows beneath his eyes and the way the green had stopped dancing a long time ago.

It made me sad.

Sad.

Sad.

Empty and confused.

Dark and shrouded.

Where had Elian Beyer gone?

“I think I got fired today,” he announced. His voice tired. Unemotional.

Not caring.

“You got fired?” I asked, not surprised. He hadn’t been going to work. He hadn’t been doing much except for loving me.

He loved me with a dying heart.

“George asked me to leave. Told me to go home.” His laugh was joyless. Void. There was no happiness there.

Elian turned in a circle in my living room. Turning. Turning. Never stopping. Dizzy. Falling over. Collapsing on my couch.

“Should I go home, Layna? Where would I go? To you?” he barked. His laugh taunting. Cruel.

He was angry.

At me.

“You came here, Elian. You tell me,” I threw back at him. I had to be careful. I should be patient. He was unraveling. Quickly. I didn’t have much time. To stop him. To stop myself.

Frozen thudding in my chest.

“What’s wrong with me?” he agonized. Miserable.

“Nothing,” I swore, sitting down beside him. Pulling him in. Holding him close. Mine. Always mine.

Elian laid his head on my chest. His ear over my heart. “I had been holding on for so long. I had a life. Friends. A job. People liked me. Now what am I? What have you made me become?”

He blamed me. He should. I’ve ruined him. I hated it. But I meant to. It’s what I had to do.

“Let me tell you a story, Elian,” I whispered into his ear. His lips pressed firm on the column of my throat. Tongue wet. Tasting and devouring.

“Tell me,” he begged.

“About a girl named Layna. She wanted to be a star. But her father said she never would be…”



“Would you come with me on a trip?” I asked sometime later. Elian had drifted off to sleep for a few minutes. Not long enough for him to feel rested but now he was much more calm.

More rational.

Maybe my story helped him.

The way they had always helped me.

“Where do you want to go?” he asked, his voice soft. Aching.

I sighed. How would I tell him? What would he do? How would he react?

I had a feeling he would need this as much as I did.

“To see my father.” Elian stilled in my arms but he didn’t pull away.

“Where’s my phone? I can hear it ringing,” he said excitedly. Patting his pockets.

I framed his face with my hands. “Listen, Elian. I want to see my father. And I think you should come with me.”

He shook his head. His too-long hair falling in his eyes that no longer danced.