The Stella I Remember

27| Missing Anchors

"What are you talking about, Marcus? What's wrong with Elliot?" 

Marcus shifted on his feet before taking a few steps further down the driveway. He turned a little towards me and leaned back against his black truck. The black jeans he was wearing matched perfectly with his black and silver Saints jersey. His dark hair was a little shorter then Elliot's. Slicked back it almost looked like it was professionally done. 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of Marlboro Reds and a yellow Bic lighter. 

"Elliot didn't mention you smoked." 

"He doesn't know. I only do it when I'm stressed." He lit the cigarette and inhaled deep. "I've had this pack for months. Besides, Abby hates it. I try my best not too." 

His unexpected smoking habit aside, now wasn't really the time to be beating around the bush. Every instinct in my body told me that whatever Marcus had to say was going to be a punch to the gut. 

With all the surprises that I've experienced since finding Elliot in my kitchen, I really didn't think I could withstand another blow. 

"Marcus, what's going on with Elliot? You're worrying me." 

He didn't look at me. Instead he took a long drag of his cigarette. 

"How serious are you, Stella?" 

"About what?" 

"About him. How serious are you about Elliot?" 

Well didn't that make me feel caged in and vulnerable. My first instinct was to go inside, grab Elliot, and return to our cabin bubble. But I didn't do that. I just crossed my arms over my chest and took a deep breath.

"I love him, if that's what you mean." 

It was true.

Bits and pieces of my lost memories were coming back the more time I spent with him. And the more memories that came back, the more love I felt for him. 

"I like you, Stella, and I think you're good for him." He took another drag, then put out the cigarette on the bottom of his boot. "Even back then I could see it in his eyes when he talked about you. Don't get me wrong, I thought he was crazy. I mean it was hard to believe that a seventeen-year-old could fall in love like that." 

Marcus finally turned towards me. His gaze was gentle, but I didn't miss the seriousness and worry that lurked behind his brown eyes.

"I know what ever happened between you two at the festival was real. But you haven't—shit, Stella. You didn't see him after." 

Guilt rushed over me. I felt like I was going to throw up all over Elliot's driveway. I already knew that the pain Elliot felt was my fault. I wasn't going to deny that. But being constantly reminded of that was killing me.

"I'm not blaming you," Marcus whispered as if he sensed my thoughts. 

I brushed my hair back from my face. "Doesn't matter. I blame myself anyway." 

"I don't blame you, Stella. Not at all. What happened to you was tragic and fucked up. When I said you didn't see him after, I meant that you didn't see who he became. He wasn't the same Elliot that's in my kitchen right now. He was a broken shell of a man who barely made it through each day. Then there was what happened two years ago." 

Two years... "You mean when his parents died?" 

"He told you about that?" 

"A little." 

A little was pushing it. He told me they passed away, but when I asked him how it happened he wouldn't give me specifics. It didn't take a genius to know that pressing him for more information wouldn't have been a good idea.