The Price ࿊f Peace

☮️:049

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Before we get started, this chapter is extremely heavy. Please take breaks, get water, and be open minded. There is a panic attack depicted at the end, please be mindful of yourselves and your needs. No story is worth your mental health, and I cried like 3 times writing this, so, please be aware.

Somewhere in Oakland
Thursday September 23rd, 2024

Elijah sat calmly in the driver seat of his GLE. He was parked on the front lawn of his mother's house. A house he'd long tried to put behind him, but he just kept getting dragged back.

There were so many..too many memories in that house, and he fucking hated it. He hated how weak being there made him feel.

Every time he came back, it was like he was that same, scared sixteen year old boy, leaving the house indefinitely, quiet as a thief in the night, and shaking like a leaf.

As always, he wondered what led him to this point—right back where he started. At this old house.

It was Yaléna.

Somewhere in Oakland
August 14th, 2024

Syara walked through the parking lot of her apartment slowly, making sure to take in all of her surroundings.

She was supposed to be on her way to her internship at a children's psychiatric facility, but she decided she'd check her mail since she was on extremely good timing.

She fumbled with her keys for a moment before picking out the key to her mailbox, holding the keyring up by just that key, and checking her surroundings once more before inserting it.

Syara wasn't surprised by what she found: a couple past due subscriptions to magazines, —for some odd reason— a Valpack, bills, and a few other miscellaneous things.

She didn't go through it thoroughly until she reached the safety of her car and had locked her doors.

There was nothing out of the ordinary, until she noticed a letter addressed to her. It had no name, nor return address. Solely her name, and her address.

Syara's eyes squinted at the envelope and she looked up through her heavily tinted windows, once more, to make sure no one was watching her as an eerie feeling crept into her stomach.

She took her time opening the envelope, carefully tearing it open, and tossing the excess paper into the mini-trash can that she kept in her car.

In her experience, shit like this was how people died. Still, she opened the letter, unfolding its three folds to see a scripted page.

"Ms. Cuban,

Though I know that many lies have likely been spun to you about who I am, I thought it was best to inform you of who Elijah is—who he truly is.

You may think you know who you're dealing with, but you don't. Elijah is a manipulative, evil young man, and the devil's light burns ever bright in his heart.

Not only have I, myself, tried to snuff it out, but my brothers, my sister, my poor nephew, my very own beloved Mother wasted the last of her life trying to fix that boy.