Five Steps Away

Chapter 11

Elijah's house is your average suburban home not too far from my house. Clean, not too big, not too small, with picture frames decorating a good 60% of the walls. It's cozy and quiet—probably because it's the middle of the night—and it smells of warm bread and coffee.

He walks me upstairs to his room quietly (his parents and sister are sleeping), and sparks fly in my stomach again. The second the door to his bedroom opens, he hastily grabs a pile of clothes that was lying on his floor and shoves it in his closet, embarrassed. I chuckle, before plopping down on his bed and laying on my back.

"Be honest, did you actually enjoy yourself tonight?" I ask.

"Yeah no I did. Dancing was surprisingly fun." He says, before laying down next to me. Our arms touch and a moment of silence passes by.

"Alya?"

I turn my head to look at him, and he does the same, our faces are inches apart.

"Yeah?" I respond softly.

"What happened at Ivy Cool?" I feel my face drop. I have to stop myself from replying with a snarky remark.

"I..."

"It's ok if you don't wanna tell me," he says. I bite my lip, looking into his eyes. They're soft and attentive. I have his undivided attention, something I haven't had with anyone else in a really long time.

I mean the closest thing I have to that is aunt Mia, but her eyes are also riddled with pity. There isn't a trace of that in his.

"When we were leaving Ivy Cool..." I look down at my fingers. "My ex... slapped my butt." I shut my eyes tight as if the darkness of my eyelids will suddenly make everything ok.

A long moment of silence passes by, and with each second that goes without noise, the more I worry that maybe he'll tell me that it isn't that bad. You're overreacting.

That is until I hear him let out a ragged breath.

I slowly open my eyes to see for the first time a sliver of anger in his.

"He's not getting away with that, ok? I won't let him," he promises.

My heart pounds against my chest. "Elijah, don't."

"No. He doesn't get to fuck you over like that anymore."

"Yeah? And what are you gonna do?"

"Something. But I don't want to just sit and watch this happen."

"I don't wanna talk about it anymore." My voice cracks.

"But—"
"Just forget it. I don't wanna talk about it anymore. It was stupid anyways."

"It's not stupid," his eyes soften, before he holds my hand. "He should have never done that." We're reimursed in silence. I feel like we're constantly talking about me. I don't know why I always have to make everything about myself. I barely know anything about Elijah, and here I am babbling on about my problems. Problems that aren't even that significant.

He slapped my butt. And what? It's almost commical how stupid that sounds. To think that I'm hung up on this when so many people go through so much worse.

"What's your favourite colour?" I ask, needing to change the subject.

"Uhm, blue. Why?"

"What's your favourite food?"

"...Pizza."

"Favourite movie?"

"Can't choose."
"Favourite artist?"