While I enjoyed every moment with Elliott, I didn’t really care to learn the guitar, though it did help me to be physically close to him while having an obstruction between us, keeping me from pouncing on him.
As much as I loved listening to him, my mind wandered as he placed my fingers on the strings and told me the names of the various chords. I had come over here with the sole purpose of getting him to tell me about Christmas and I knew that he wanted to know why I stole the car.
I really, really didn’t want to tell him. It was weird and foreign to say things like that out loud. I wasn’t used to it. I knew that somewhere in the world there were people who looked out for little girls, but none of them were in my world. Either I was a really good liar or most people who ever came into contact with me really just didn’t give a shit.
But now with Elliott, it was impossible for me not to share these things with him. He wanted to know and more surprising than that, I wanted to tell him. It made no sense. How did someone want to tell something and not want to tell at the same time?
It was a proven fact that he saved me from stuff and somewhere inside of me I felt like maybe if I told him more shit, he could save me from that, too.
Right after he rearranged my middle and ring finger, I just started talking. If I waited, I would never speak and if I never spoke, he would never speak either. “I stole the car because Helen took him back.”
My eyes were fixed on Elliott’s nice-looking toes. I watched them curl as I heard his hands drop into his lap.
“I was in the shower and when I pulled the curtain back …”
Look at you, all grown up, but you’re still so beautiful.
“I didn’t know why she would take him back. She was so mad at him, not because he did that with me, but because he was with anyone other than her.”
Don’t worry. Your mother went to pick up dinner. I missed my dirty girl.
“I was … frozen because I thought he was gone. It’d been years and he …”
Show me, Sophie. Show me you haven’t forgotten how to be my dirty girl.
I felt so sick saying the words. I felt weak at remembering him standing in the bathroom, his eyes looking at my naked, dripping body. No matter how many guys I’d had sex with since him I felt so young and fragile underneath his stare.
No matter how hard I had fought against the memories of him, of what he had done, of what he had made me do, he was back for real and just the way he looked at me forced me back into the role of his dirty girl.
My body reacted instinctually. I hated it, but I knew that he was going to do what he wanted whether or not my body was prepared.
“My mom was gone and it was just us. I knew how mean he could be and I didn’t want him to hurt me, but he …”
I stopped. My eyes moved from Elliott’s curled toes to his fisted hands.
I missed you. Oh, fuck, you’re so dirty!
“So after … when my mom was back and they were eating dinner, I left. I couldn’t find the keys to Helen’s piece of shit, so I had no other choice but to borrow my neighbor’s car. She’d loaned it to me before. I just didn’t have the time to ask her.”
“Y-y-y-you w-w-w-were rrrrrrrunning aw-way?”
I could tell how agitated he was by how badly he stuttered. I felt bad unloading this onto him, but he’d asked and now I needed him to know.
“This dude I got weed from had lots of guns and he’d told me that if I needed one I could borrow it. He knew Helen was a bitch, not that I told him or anything. But then the highway was so freeing. I felt like I could … But I was distracted and …”
“W-w-w-was the g-g-gggggun ffffor y-y-you or fffffor hhhhhhim?”
I knew what he was asking and the honest answer was that it hadn’t mattered at the time. One way or the other that fucker wasn’t going to touch me again.
“I tried to just keep driving. I could’ve been in North Carolina by morning or so. I could’ve lived on the beach somewhere. Then I thought if I could just keep going north, I’d find my d … Tom, but I was going really fast and I was thinking about other things and I didn’t see that truck or all the brake lights of the cars ahead.”
Elliott’s knuckles were white and I focused on the healed cuts on his hands and the bluish-green bruises.
“No one at the hospital asked where I was going and they assumed that I’d been injured in the crash. Then Helen showed up and told a bunch of lies like always. The doctor and the social worker tried to help but I knew nothing good would come of talking about it. The police … they just … I mean they just didn’t care enough to ask the right questions. I was arrested.”
I sighed and let my eyes travel up to Elliott’s tight jaw. “But it was a solid five days away from Helen’s house. That was … a relief.”
“W-w-was the gggggun fffffor …?”
His lips were nearly perfect, but I hated how they were set in a frown and how that frown was because of me.
“I just … I just wanted him to stop and he wasn’t ever going to and who knew what Helen would do if she … if she found …” I couldn’t go on. I knew he could fill in the blanks. I couldn’t stand to think the thoughts in my head and there were no words to adequately address them, even if I could have forced them from my lips.
I love your mouth, Sophie. Show me how much you’ve missed me.
That day in the shower, I should have tried to get away. I was older than before. I was bigger. He was obviously still bigger than I was, but I could have kneed him in the nuts. I could have scratched his face. I could have … There were so many things that I could have done, but I was fairly certain that it would have ended with me being hurt even more.
Just like Elliott said, it was amazing what people could do to survive.
He’d stood there looking at me in the shower. All he had to do was tell me how much he missed me and my knees buckled. I found myself doing all of the same things I told myself I would never be forced to do again.
Elliott’s question about who the gun was for forced me to remember how I felt that day. I knew there was a chance that I wouldn’t be able to kill him. As I drove to my dealer’s house, I realized that the only other way to get him to stop was to end my availability to him.
He couldn’t fuck me again if I was dead.
So the plan had been to get the gun, go home, and see what happened. I was going to see which option would win out.
Then I realized that I could just keep driving and never go back. Helen wouldn’t have missed me. No one at school would have cared.
Then I saw the truck spin out in front of me and I rear-ended that Lexus.
“Sophie?”
My eyes moved from his jaw and lips to his eyes. Just as I began to feel comfortable with the weight of them, I saw his hand move in my periphery and I flinched back.
“Don’t.”
His hand dropped back down into his lap again.
I didn’t want to be touched right now, even if it was the comforting hand of Elliott. “I’m sorry,” I whispered as I clutched the guitar closer to my chest.
After a few moments of staring at his long toes again, he broke the silence. “C-can I hhhhold you, Sophie?”
Although my brain shouted out that I didn’t want to be touched, my body told my brain that it longed for his arms and ached for his heat. Slowly I put the guitar to the side and shifted my body until I was against him. His arms moved around me in a tender and cautious way. He rested his chin on my shoulder and I drank him into me.
We sat like that for a while until I felt better about having shared my story with him. I remembered that he said he would tell me about Christmas, or at least that maybe he would. I hoped that my sharing would help him feel comfortable enough to give me another little clue about who he was and how he ended up here.
“T
ell me about Christmas.”
He took a deep breath and my body moved with the slow rise and fall of his chest.
I hated this shit.
I hated that we couldn’t just be like all the other kids in the world. I hated that instead of thinking about what our parents were going to get us for Christmas, we were thinking about what it was like to be powerless and afraid.
“I d-don’t know hhhhow I ffffeel about Ch-Ch-Christmas. It w-w-was the one t-time of the year w-when my d-d-d-d, ffffffather allowed m-m-mmmmmmusic. I alw-w-w-ways liiiiiked hhhearing the sssssongs of p-p-p-p-praise.”
One time of year he was allowed to listen to music? Elliott was a musical being! I’d never known someone who knew as much about music or had as many songs on their iPod as he did, not to mention that he could play just about anything and make it beautiful.
I hated his father even more now.
“But it is alssssssso a t-t-t-time of Sssssssalvation.”
He didn’t continue right away so I asked, “Like for your soul or whatever?” I knew very little about the Christian religion in general and I knew even less about whatever screwed-up version his father subscribed to.
When he didn’t answer, I turned in his arms and studied him hard, noting his mixed expression and far-off eyes. He could’ve meant anything, but I knew from the spots of darkness in his eyes that it had something to do with his mother.
When I realized that Elliott had only ever spoken about her death and never about her, the realization hit me like a fist in the belly. If he thought Christmas was a time of salvation and wasn’t sure how he felt about it, then there was a good chance that it was all linked. In fact, I was sure of it. I put two and two together and remembered that Elliott had said that maybe ending her life was his mother’s salvation.
I put my hands on either side of his face and positioned his head so that he would have to look into my eyes. His were lost and looked more than a little like they were dying. “Did your mom do that shit at Christmas?”
His reply was slow in coming.
“Yes.”
My heart sank at his confirmation. What kind of woman did that? Who the hell could go before their son during the fucking “happiest time of the year” and blow their brains out in front of him?
“Did she do it on Christmas?”
He shook his head and shifted his eyes away from me. “T-t-two d-d-d-days b-b-b-b-b …”
“Two days before?” I clarified when he couldn’t finish.
His eyes closed and his head fell forward in my hold. I pressed my forehead to his and felt the warmth of tears trail down my eyes.
It was strange that I could cry for him when I had such a hard time crying for myself. I didn’t know what to do. I had no experience helping others with heavy shit like this.
It felt like a good time to get high.
“Truly my soul waiteth upon God: from Him cometh my salvation. He only is my rock and my salvation; He is my defense; I shall not be greatly moved.”
I hated those motherfucking bible quotes. They weren’t right and they weren’t normal and although his voice was beautiful, I hated the words. And yet, I had no words to offer back to him. I had nothing within me to even begin to combat the damage within him.
“I-I-I d-d-don’t hhhhhave a sssspirit t-to give to the LLLLLord, SSSSophie.”
I pulled away, searching his face for some kind of answer to the millions of questions I wanted to ask. I found nothing except a blank expression and dull eyes.
“I w-w-w-won’t ever be ssssssaved.”
“What? How do you not …”
His voice was but a whisper when he answered me. “He ssssaid my mmmmmother t-t-took it w-with her, b-but I know the t-truth.”
“What’s the truth?” I asked quietly.
His eyes closed and again he pressed his forehead to mine. “I w-w-was b-b-born w-w-without one.”
I hadn’t ever stopped to think about my own philosophy about spirits within, but of all the people in the world to think they were soulless, Elliott shouldn’t have been one of them. How could he be so beautiful without a spirit, without a soul?
“No, baby,” I said, once again cupping his face in my hands. Then I remembered and called him by his name. “Elliott, you have a soul. I can see it.”
He shook his head. “You’re wrong.”
His hands were on my hips as I sat on my knees in front of him; then his mouth attached to mine. At first, his lips moved slowly against them but then the need seemed to build. While I needed him too, I let him control it all. I was not about to push my will onto him.
But I also didn’t stop it when his hands tightened on my hips and he pulled me onto him. His moist breath was on my neck and I ducked my head just a little in order to breathe him in. Maybe if I pressed myself closer to him, he would be inside of me, and I didn’t mean just his boy-bits, but his whole self. Maybe if he were absolutely as close to me as possible, all of his pain could transfer into me.
I would rather feel the pain of a hundred Elliotts than have him suffer a moment more.
Even as his mouth attached itself to my neck, sucking and licking at my scar, my thoughts were on how I could ever take the pain away. As his hands moved under my shirt, my sole focus was on how to make him whole and glue his broken pieces together.
But when his arms tightened around my back and drove me harder into him, my only thought was how I could get his dick out of his pants and into some part of me.
I rocked on top of him as I held his head to my neck.
I swore that he growled just a little when my legs managed to wrap around his hips.
I was draped on him and he wasn’t stopping me.
His mouth spurred me on. He pulled me even closer.
Elliott was hot.
I wanted him.
I wanted all of him, not just his hard parts. I wanted those soft little pieces that could get hurt from just a careless word. Those little pieces needed protecting and I could do that.
His hands were at the front of my purple shirt now, popping the buttons and peeling it away. I grabbed at the bottom of his and tugged it up. I needed his skin against mine.
He was clumsy about removing my bra. He hadn’t had much practice and I loved every fumbling second of it. Elliott’s mouth sucked on my chin and as strange as it was, it could have been the most erotic thing I’d ever experienced in my life.
Finally my naked breasts were pressed against his bare chest. My hands glided over his unsmooth back and he did not stop his mouth’s movements.
I probably should have stopped him myself. There probably should have been something in my head, telling me he was only doing this because he was emotional and upset. I should have thought he would hate himself for this later, but the only thing I could do was let myself feel him.
He moved me back until I was against the carpet and he was on top of me. His hands were everywhere but I couldn’t pinpoint their whereabouts until they moved to another part of my body. Elliott never broke the contact of his mouth on my skin.
My back arched and of their own accord, my legs moved upwards to find his hips again, but he was quick and avoided being trapped by them. Elliott needed to be in control of this and he was doing a fantastic job. I needed him in a way that I had never needed anything else.
It was as if I only had a moment to enjoy the simple pleasure of his mouth on my breast because before I knew it, his hands unbuttoned my jeans and pulled the zipper down slowly.
I could focus on nothing but the sensation his fingers, his beautiful musician’s fingers, were creating. While he didn’t fumble as much as he had with my bra, it was obvious that he was inexperienced.
His inexperience was sexy.
The fact that it was Elliott, my shy, sexually repressed Elliott, doing these
things caused a flurry of excitement within me. Whether he meant to or not, he built up the sensations until my body couldn’t bear it anymore.
When I could finally open my eyes to look at him, I wondered if he wanted something in return. I was more than eager to get my hands on him, but I didn’t want to rush him. I didn’t want to do anything that would upset him.
As if he could read my mind, he shook his head just slightly as he pulled his hand away from my body.
I rolled onto my side to face him.
“W-w-w-w …”
I stroked his cheek with my thumb, hoping to relax him.
“W-w-w-was that o-o-o-okay?”
I smiled at him, amazed that his shy, embarrassed and insecure nature could come back after something as brilliant as that. “You can’t tell?”
His brow creased and the question stayed in his eyes. He needed to hear that he had done a good job. “Yes, Elliott. That was wonderful.”
I had to hand it to him; he was fucking brilliant at distracting me and avoiding issues.
His smile owned every bit of me, but the thought in my head scared the shit out of me.
I loved this boy.
I was at the stove in Tom’s house, using the wooden utensil to push around my sautéing brussels sprouts. I wasn’t cooking anything else. Just brussels sprouts. I didn’t remember why.
They smelled good and my stomach growled. Despite not being able to keep much food in my belly, I was hungry for the first time in months.
I felt like I was in a hurry. Looking down at the pan, I knew that I had put a little too much olive oil in it. It spurted and crackled and a little wayward pop landed on my wrist. It stung, but not in any kind of lasting way.
Being burned and cut were just facts of life when one cooked a lot.
Still, the tiny jolt of pain snapped me out of my lingering fog and again I wondered why I was only cooking brussels sprouts. Tom didn’t even like them.
Just before I was going to set the utensil down on the spoon rest, I felt a presence behind me and as usual, I bristled. There were hands on my hips and the scent of earthy oranges filled my nose. Without having to turn around, I knew it was Elliott, and I relaxed.
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