I needed him, and he said he needed me, so here we were.
“Elliott,” I said softly. “I think I might’ve, um, overreacted. I’m sorry.” My voice cracked as I fought against the tears that threatened to spill.
I wondered if I would get a response. I was shocked when I heard his voice.
“Sophie.”
I whipped my head up to find him finally looking at me. He blinked and for a moment I recognized that he hadn’t stumbled over my name.
“Dddid you get hhhhhigh?”
I moved closer to him. I took his right hand with my left and held it, my thumbs smoothing over his skin. Ordinarily, I hated this kind of contact, but in this moment, it felt right and good.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. I didn’t want to say “yes,” and I figured that my apology was as good as an admission.
Elliott nodded, his fingers tightening just slightly around mine as he tilted his head to the side and laid it on his knees. Moving my free hand to his head, I threaded my fingers through his hair. I could feel the shiver that ran through him.
I didn’t know how much time had passed before anything else was said, but when he spoke again, he confused me. “Mmmy dddd, ffffather”
“What?” He wasn’t stuttering so much as drawing out the words, and while I understood what he’d said, I had no idea why he said it.
“Mmmy bbbaaaack.”
Now I could really tell that he was sedated. The way he spoke was completely different, but I pushed those thoughts away and concentrated on what it was that Elliott was telling me.
It wasn’t until he lifted his head and ran a finger over a small raised line on his collar bone that I realized he was answering my question from earlier. “Your dad did that to you?”
Why had I not felt that raised flesh before? I loved his collarbone.
His nose wrinkled as his eyes closed. I could barely see the nod he gave me. “Why?”
It was a stupid question. I knew as well as anyone that there was no rhyme or reason as to why someone would do something like that.
“Ffffffrom p-paaaain cccccomes p-pppur-purity,” he whispered after lying his head back down on his knees. His words shocked me.
“What?”
He sighed and I hated it. “Mmmy ddd, fffffather sssssssaid I w-wwwasn’t clean enough. Mmmmy soul w-w-was t-t-t …” His words died and were replaced by something that sounded like a rumble.
It took everything I had not to get as loud as I had in the car when he’d told me about his mother. He hadn’t liked that reaction and I didn’t want to do anything else to set him off. I’d already done enough.
“So he hit you?” I looked at the scars I could see, the ones on his shoulders that curled up from his back. Hit wasn’t the appropriate word. “Whipped you?”
“P-paaaain is c-cleansing.”
I looked at his hands and saw fresh bite marks. They were red and swollen.
His shoulders rose as he shrugged. I hoped that his father’s bullshit didn’t make sense to him. I hoped he knew that his father was fucked up.
“Ev-every night d-d-during mmmy pr-praaayers.”
His stuttering had started back up. “Every night what, Elliott?”
He lifted his head and my hand fell away from his hair. “I-I c-couldn’t t-talk r-riiiight. I mem-mem-memorized every p-praaayer and vvvvverse he told m-me to, b-b-but the Devil m-made m-me the way I was,” he finished in a hurry.
It was the most messed up thing I’d heard in my life. Even when Helen was going on and on in one state of paranoia or another, her insanity made more sense to me than a father beating his son in the name of someone’s idea of god.
“Elliott,” I whispered. “What do you mean? What way?”
His eyes locked with mine. He looked as if what he said next should have been abundantly clear. “W-w-w-wicked.”
His eyes were dead. “He wwwwwould p-p-p-p …” The repetition continued until he stopped and took a deep breath. “Put a b-broom d-down and I w-w-would kn-kneel on it t-to s-say m-my prayers. It w-would be hours and I w-would cccccry. I c-couldn’t go m-more thaaaan a f-few wwwwwords wwwwithout st-st-stuttering and I w-would have to st-start over.”
I wanted to hug him. I wanted to hold him more than I had ever wanted anything in my life. I inched closer, my hand still linked with his. “Damn, Elliott.”
“B-but he said that the p-pain w-w-would w-w-w-wash away the sssssin, j-just l-like J-Jesus on the cross.”
A tear slipped from my eye and I watched with blurry vision as he shook his head. “D-don’t b-be mmmad, Sophie.”
I answered him with a shake of my head. How could I have been mad at him? I knew that I wasn’t the only one in the world to experience pain at the hand of someone I should have been able to trust, but hearing a first-hand account from Elliott was nearly too much to bear.
“No,” I whispered to him. “I’m not mad at you.”
Moving closer still, I was able to put my hand on his knee. His eyes were locked with mine. They made me want to break down. I had never meant to have this kind of relationship with him. I had never wanted to know his secrets. I never wanted to care like this about anyone in Damascus. But here I was, neck-deep in the shit with him. There was no way I could deny how connected I was to Elliott. There was no lying about my feelings now.
I couldn’t help but think of the contrasts between Elliott’s childhood and mine.
Elliott’s father was methodical, whereas Helen was passionate. I didn’t know which was worse: a father who you knew would beat you at regular intervals or a mother who could snap at random.
“Elliott?” I kept saying his name. I didn’t know if I did it to comfort him or myself at that point.
He moved slowly, sliding down the bed until he was lying, facing away from me. I took this as the sign to leave. He was finished talking. He’d already revealed a lot to me. More than he’d probably told anyone else.
I let my hand rest on his bicep, my eyes carefully taking inventory of the scars on his back. I could tell his father had whipped him with a belt. The square indentation with a small, thin line in the middle could have only been a belt buckle. It must have hurt. Some of the other scars, the winding ones, could have been made by any number of things. A wire hanger, an electrical cord, a wooden rod, a thin tree branch, a rope.
I couldn’t help but sigh.
This sucked.
I felt incredibly helpless. “I’m sorry,” I whispered to him.
He didn’t respond, so I let out a deep breath.
I moved to get off the bed. I had to accept that I had damaged him and my relationship with him. Before I could stand up completely, I felt his fingers wrap around my wrist.
I hated being grabbed like that, but I fought with my instincts, remembering that it was Elliott. He was safe.
Turning, I found him twisted around, his hazel eyes fixed on me. “C-c-can you st-stay?”
I was confused. He wanted me to stay, even after I had yelled and was mean to him.
“Yeah,” I answered in a soft breath.
He tugged me gently before letting go and lying back down. My lips pressed together as I crawled into his bed. I hoped that this was what he wanted. I wasn’t sure if I could or should be this close to him, or if I should go sit on his couch, but he had pulled me to him, so I lied down behind him.
After a while, his breathing evened out. I wasn’t sure if he was sleeping or not. I let my fingers trace over his scars again before draping my arm over his side and hugging myself closer to him.
It felt unnatural to hug someone like this. I had to fight against my instinct to either break the contact altogether or intensify it into something sexual. Neither would have been appropriate, but I had to keep touching him because Elliott needed this type of contact. He needed som
e kind of connection that was safe.
I didn’t want to think about everything he hadn’t told me. So I closed my eyes and focused my thoughts on my silent apology.
I knew when I heard his whispered breath of a voice that the words he said were not his own. “And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain.”
I had no idea how to respond to that. What the hell was I supposed to say to that? It was a programmed response that had been embedded into his mind. I didn’t understand it; the words or his reason for saying them. It felt like the weight he carried around had been transferred to me. While I had my own burdens to bear and never asked for more, it felt right to help lighten his load.
This stuff with Elliott was heavy, but I wanted to help.
“I mmmmissed you, SSSophie.”
“You okay?”
I looked up at Tom as I closed the door behind me. I didn’t have the energy to talk back to him. “Yeah, why?”
He shook his head, his lower lip jutting out just slightly. He watched my feet as I kicked off my shoes. “You looked upset this morning and now …”
“I’m fine,” I said with a sigh.
“Have you eaten?”
I glanced at the clock and shook my head. His concern for my eating habits was wearing thin. Helen probably would have been happy if I’d died from unmanaged diabetes.
“Well, I know it’s not fancy or nothing, but I’ve got some spaghetti cooking.”
I gave him a small smile. “Great.”
I moved to the kitchen, knowing that if he was watching a game, the noodles were probably overcooked already.
I went about finishing dinner, thinking about how my relationship with Elliott had changed over the past few weeks. He was so much more real to me now. I understood him. Not completely, but better. I couldn’t ever go back to seeing him as just another kid from school.
I knew that I really hadn’t thought of him that way for quite a while, but now I felt connected to him. I had never felt like this. I had never wanted another person in my life before. Everyone had just served a purpose. Even people who were “friends” weren’t really a part of my life. They were just peripheral people.
But Elliott was something else entirely. He was becoming, or in truth had already become, someone I actively wanted to see every day. I wanted to spend time with him. I almost needed to look into his eyes and contemplate what was going on behind them.
It was that want and that need that made me truly feel screwed up. I didn’t understand it.
I’d gotten so involved in cooking that I hadn’t noticed small tears had seeped from my eyes. Tom stood at the entrance of the kitchen, watching me.
I jumped when he spoke. “What’s wrong, Soph?”
My hands shook as I buttered the toast for garlic bread. “Nothing.”
“You don’t have to keep everything to yourself. I know I haven’t been there for you in the past, but I can help now.”
My first instinct was to tell him that I didn’t need him. I don’t know why I didn’t do just that, but instead I just blurted out the truth. “Elliott’s dad whipped him when he couldn’t talk right.”
He sighed and my fingers tightened around the butter knife. “I’m sorry.” His apology made no sense to me. Why should he be sorry? He hadn’t whipped him.
My eyes closed for a moment and I took a deep breath. These tears were stupid and I needed them to stop. I hated crying and it seemed it was the only thing I could do lately. If I were high, I would’ve been fine.
I picked up the saucepan to pour it over the pasta but out of my periphery I saw Tom move toward me. He wasn’t threatening. His hands were at his sides and he was moving slowly, but my mind and body froze. As much as I tried to fight the reaction, my hand released the pan and it clanged loudly to the floor.
He stopped. “Sophie …”
I looked from him down to my feet. They were covered in tomato sauce and it was just too much. My fucking jeans were ruined. The hot sauce burned through my socks. It covered the floor around me and up the oven and two of the bottom cupboards.
I would have to clean it up and remake dinner.
“Fuck!”
I ran my hands through my hair before squatting down to pick up the pan. I didn’t reach for the handle, but tried to pick it up from the lip. It was still hot and I dropped it again.
I was pissed.
I took that stupid pot by the handle and swung out with it, feeling relieved as it smacked against the cabinet. I wanted something to break, so I did it several more times until my energy had fled. I was left feeling horrible, covered in red sauce while my father just watched.
“I’m sorry.”
I glanced at him and I hated what I saw. He was just standing there, looking completely bewildered and like he had done something wrong. The sadness on his face would have been hard to miss. I didn’t know why he was apologizing, but I hated it.
The tears continued to pour from me and I felt helpless again. Dinner was fucking ruined and there was so much to clean up and I really just wanted to be high or sleeping. “Shit,” I whispered.
“I’ll clean it up. Don’t worry about it.”
My body tensed as he moved again even though he moved away, grabbing the towel that hung near the refrigerator. I forced myself to do something other than weep. I stood up straight and stepped away from the mess.
“I fucked up dinner.”
I moved as far away from him as I could get, but realized too late that I’d backed myself into a corner and if I had to get out of the room it would be much more difficult now.
“It’s okay. It’s just pasta.”
I felt so worn out as I watched him clean up the mess I’d made.
“I’m tired.”
He looked up, his hands pausing for a moment. “I know you are.”
EDalton123: Sophie?
I was surprised that he was even up. From the looks of things earlier, Dr. Dalton had pumped him full of sedatives. I hadn’t left until he was sleeping and was sure he’d be out for a while.
YoSoph: Are you okay?
EDalton123: I’m okay. I’m sorry.
YoSoph: For what?
EDalton123: Everything. I’m just making a mess of everything.
YoSoph: If you were here, you’d hear my sigh. You don’t make messes, I do.
EDalton123: Are you mad at me?
YoSoph: No.
EDalton123: You were mad though.
I wondered if he was still sedated or if some of that had worn off. If I had to guess, I’d say that he was still at the very least sluggish. I knew that Elliott had more to say than what he’d written.
YoSoph: I told you that I overreacted. I’m sorry.
EDalton123: I’m sorry I told them.
I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. I just wanted to be done with it. He’d told them, I’d gotten mad, I got over it and now couldn’t it just be done?
YoSoph: I know you are. It’s okay.
EDalton123: I had to tell them.
YoSoph: I know. Are you going to school tomorrow?
EDalton123: No.
YoSoph: Can I come over again?
EDalton123: It’s Stephen’s day off. He’ll be upset if you skip school to hang out here.
YoSoph: What about after school? Can I come over then?
EDalton123: Yes. I can’t pick you up though.
YoSoph: It’s okay. I’ll take the bus.
EDalton123: You could ride with David and Jane.
YoSoph: I’ll catch the bus.
I had gone to school as planned but I could only tolerate sitting through two periods. I snuck out the back, through the park and the woo
ds and then walked down to the public bus stop on the other side.
A half-hour later I was knocking on Elliott’s front door. It took a while but the door finally swung open. Dr. Dalton was clutching a cup of coffee, dressed in flannel pajama bottoms and a black v-neck t-shirt.
“Shouldn’t you be in school?”
“Yes. I’m skipping. Now that we’ve established that I’m a rule-breaker, can I come in?”
Dr. Dalton processed for a moment, blinking twice before looking behind me and then shivering from the wind. He moved back and I slipped in beside him, careful not to brush him.
“He’s in the kitchen.”
I wondered if he was drugged already.
I walked quickly, shedding my coat and hat, and found him in the kitchen, staring at the coffee pot. He had on the same black pajama pants, but he now wore a white t-shirt. His feet were bare and they were nice. I watched him for just a bit, wondering what the hell was running through his mind as he looked at the appliance.
I thought for sure he’d stop staring at the stupid thing and notice I was there, but he didn’t. I had to decide if I wanted to disturb him or not. Then I had to decide how I would go about it. I could just say his name or I could go to him, throwing myself into his arms.
My feet moved. It was only after I was standing next to him that his eyes left the coffee maker and found me. I resisted the insane urge to throw myself at him because his face was blank for just that brief moment before his brain caught on to the fact that I was actually standing there.
“Hi,” I said quietly as I rose up on my toes and opened the cabinet beside his head. I pulled out a large coffee mug and poured my coffee. It was hard to focus when I felt the very tip of his finger running down my arm.
“SSSophie.”
I gave him a smile, and then quickly checked his coffee mug. It was half-full, so I refilled it and held it out to him. Once he took his cup, I took mine in my right hand and laced the fingers of my left with his. I tugged gently and was happy when I felt him follow me. Leading him out of the kitchen, I kept my head down as we passed Dr. Dalton and made our way upstairs.
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