Oblivious

37 // Green clashing with brown

Slubberdegullion
(n.) a worthless person

-Elora-

Men are stupid.

Men are shit.

Men are pathetic.

Im pathetic.

Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic.

I must be a man to be this fucking pathetic.

My tears have stopped but my eyes are puffy and my lip is bleeding and my cheeks are red because I cried myself to sleep.

And somewhere between falling asleep and waking up crying I've come to the conclusion I'm pathetic.

Pathetic and unlovable and unworthy of being anything more.

Maybe all I'll ever be is a pretty face. If I'm even that.

My window pushes open and I'm flying out of bed, grabbing at the stick on my floor and holding it in front of me as a weapon.

Elijah comes through the window, landing on the floor with a thud.

He's standing almost instantly and the sight of him nearly has me buckling at the knees.

He's got black joggers on, the same ones he was wearing at the party, an old stained t-shirt, no socks and mismatched shoes.

Definitely in a rush to get here.

But why? Did he come all the way here to make me feel more miserable? To ridicule me further? To make sure I fully understand how pathetic I truly am?

He stares at me and I stare at him and the only thing standing in-between us is my stick, which doesn't do much as a weapon because Elijah walks forward until the spike is jabbing into his stomach.

His arms reach out as if to grab ahold of me before he pulls them back down. "Daze."

"Don't call me that." Moving the stick forward I stab him in the stomach slightly to get my point across.

Elijah swallows harshly once, his entire face falling before he manages to pull it back up again. The perfect mask. He nods, steps slightly closer despite the stick in-between us. "Elora."

And although I don't want him calling me Daze, him calling me Elora guts me.

It tears at my insides, claws and settles deep into my stomach. It makes this feel real and nauseating. And my eyes sting.

Elijah seems to notice because he frowns, takes a deep breath tilts his head to stare at the ceiling. His hands tugging at his hair, his own eyes watering ever so slightly. "I didn't mean it."

He's back to making eye contact. Green clashing with brown. Tearing me apart with every shallow breath that leaves him.

"It doesn't change anything." Elijah bites the inside of his cheek, taps the stick as if to say drop it, but I don't, I move it and jab his stomach again.

"But you have to know I didn't mean any of it. Not a word." He tilts his head, looking all disheveled and messy and distraught and the stick wobbles. "But I don't know Elijah."

"I'm sorry." Elijah's bottom lips wobbles, and it's entirely pathetic how much I want to give in and forgive him. But I can't. "Okay."

The corner of his lips tilt slightly. Only a fraction. "Okay? Like okay go fuck yourself or okay I forgive you?" It comes out a little hopeful and it has my wanting to curl up into a ball and die.