Elliott Miller is your average 23 year-old, only with a lost father and a resentful mother. When he goes back to his hometown to make amends, he inadvertently gets dragged into the activities of an illicit criminal group.
Enter Marcel Nixon, 25, wh...
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"But why me?"
I fell back onto the couch, my head reeling with this new information. Technically it wasn't new because all this started because of it, but it was still jarring for an incident to have actually happened. 'It' here being the fact that I was being tracked by a gang. Apparently it was referred to as "The Dark Side", which sounded oddly familiar, but I couldn't quite pin down why.
"You remember when you went back to your hometown and saw those men smoking from a cafe?"
The memory slowly came flooding back as I instantly recognized the name.
"But surely it can't be the same..."
He grimly nodded and I fell silent, wishing I hadn't been to that wretched town in the first place. Nothing good ever came out of there.
"In order to put into perspective just how dangerous they can be, all it took was one look from your side for them to instantly suspect you. That's why we're taking all of these precautions. They can be ruthless if they want to, and that's the reason I was so upset at not being there earlier."
"You said you had to meet with your boss to discuss something."
"It could've waited."
I was suddenly curious as to what Marcel was talking about. It most probably wasn't work-related, seeing how little he spoke of it so it had to be something else entirely.
"What was it?"
"What was what?"
"Marcel, stop the nonchalance. If you don't want me to know, just say so but if it concerns me, I think I have a right to know."
He flinched slightly at how harsh I sounded, my tone surprising myself too. Guilt washed over me as he turned away to look at his phone.
"I'm sorry, I have something to attend to."
I watched him disappear up the stairs and heard the faint thud of his door closing. He seemed so elusive of late and I could never catch him for more than five minutes alone.
I wondered if the incident in the alleyway affected him as well. Was he now uncomfortable in my presence? Maybe Viv was wrong after all and that little speck of hope I had was simply wishful thinking.
Or maybe, just maybe, she was right. If she wasn't though, I'd be crushed, ironically. But I was willing to risk it. I had nothing to lose at this point. Either I'd be proven right, or pleasantly surprised.
I like where this sudden boldness came from, feeling good to not be crippled by second-guesses for once. Perhaps it was the thought that on the off-chance that he really did reciprocate something towards me, I'd find some happiness; a rare treasure to me.
I sat there for about ten minutes staring at the wall, playing out all the ways in which the conversation could go. Finally, having had enough, my legs got up automatically, and led me up the stairs, stopping right in front of Marcel's bedroom door. I was fully prepared to be disappointed, but proud to have taken my shot nonetheless.
