PART ONE
Chapter One Friday, 4:56 pm
Elijah slumps in the arm chair. His fingers fidget with a loose string on his hoodie. His psychiatrist, Dr. Claire Davis, sits across from him. He's known her for almost a decade now. She leans forward. Her white blouse, the one Elijah likes with the thin metal straps, contrasts against the dark leather of her chair, and the warmth of her skin. He can sense the hard questions that are about to come and locks his jaw.
"Elijah, have you been taking the medicine I prescribed?" she asks. Her voice is soft but firm.
Elijah shifts uncomfortably, straightening his back. "Uh, yes," he stutters. He holds her eye contact and hopes that she believes him.
Claire raises an eyebrow, her eyes scanning over Elijah's appearance. "It seems like you haven't been getting much sleep lately. Have you been taking care of yourself?"
Elijah shifts in his seat again, feeling defensive. "I've just been busy with classes and stuff," he mutters.
Claire leans back in her chair, her eyes locked with Elijah's. "Elijah, I'm here to help you. But in order for that to happen, you need to be honest with me. Are you struggling with something?"
Elijah stares down at his hands, picking at a loose thread on his hoodie. "I just...I feel guilty all the time," he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
Claire leans forward again, her expression softening. "About what happened fifteen years ago?"
Elijah nods, his eyes still fixed on his hands. "I know it wasn't my fault, but...I can't help feeling like I could have done something. Like I could have stopped it from happening."
Claire reaches across her desk and places a comforting hand on Elijah's arm. "Elijah, you were a child. There was nothing you could have done. You need to let go of that guilt and focus on healing."
Elijah's eyes finally met hers, and he feels a weight lifting off his shoulders. "Thanks, Dr. Claire," he said softly. "I'll try."
Claire smiles at him. "That's all I can ask for."
As Elijah steps out of Dr. Claire Davis's office, he feels slightly defeated but optimistic. He's greeted by a lonely winter street. The air is crisp, a blanket of snow covers the world around him. The coolness of the air seeps through his hoodie and into his bones. Elijah takes a deep breath to process the beauty around him. The trees and bushes are draped with snow, and the sound of a distant snowplow echoes through the silent neighborhood. Stunning snowflakes drift down and land in his hair.
Despite the peaceful atmosphere, Elijah can't shake off the permanent weight he feels in his chest. He's been seeing Dr. Davis for years, but the guilt haunts him. He tries to push it away, but it always finds its way back to him. He is in a cycle of self-blame, and no matter how much progress he makes, he can't seem to break free.
Elijah begins to make his way home, his footsteps leave imprints in the soft snow. He keeps his head down, lost in thought. As he walks, he tries to focus on the present moment, on the beauty around him. The trip to his apartment building is brisk and chilling.
Elijah gingerly makes his way up the sketchy steps caked in ice to the third floor, gripping the thin metal railing with his numb right hand. Atop the steps, he fumbles the keys with frozen fingers. The door creaks open to an open kitchen and living room. The thick grey carpet stained by previous students, softens his steps as he steps inside.
The walls of Elijah and Hudson's apartment are sparsely decorated with only a faded sports team poster that Elijah pretends to like and a signed poster from Hudson's favorite band. Despite the lack of adornments, the space feels comfortable and lived in. A well-loved brown leather couch is situated in the center of the room, and a flat screen TV is perched on top of a stack of milk crates in the corner.
