Trouble in Paradise

Contrary to popular opinion, Eliot never slurred, even when drunk. So it was with great pronunciation and general magnanimity that he announced to Margo his intentions to abandon their friends and flee to Ibiza:

"I'm getting the fuck out of here," he said.

Margo came to the bedside, where he already had a suitcase laid out and half-packed neatly with button ups, vests, and the occasional ascot. Eliot was getting the fuck out, but he was doing it nothing but fabulously.

"Where are you going?" Margo asked.

He shook his head, taking pride in knowing that his hair stayed coiffed as he did. "Ibiza," he said. "Or that pub in London... or just Ibiza. I don't know. Just not here."

Margo touched his arm. "You want me to come?"

Eliot pursed his lips and nodded, his eyes never leaving the pair of sateen trouser socks in his hand. "Thank you," he said. He never slurred, but sometimes it was hard for him to speak.

He cleared his throat. Alice and Quentin had entered the room quietly, but Eliot felt their eyes on his back.

"What is it?" he asked.

"You're really leaving?" Quentin asked. His eyes followed Eliot's hands as he packed.

Eliot nodded. He flipped his suitcase shut and leaned down so he could zip it closed. He struggled in the name of fashion.

"But what about us?" Alice asked. "Are you just going to leave us here to face the Beast alone?" Her voice did that very unattractive thing where it got higher as she became more anxious. "What if it comes after you in—in Ibiza or wherever you're going? How can you just do something like this?"

Eliot shrugged and dragged his suitcase off the bed. "Turns out I have more will to survive than I thought," he said. "Very sorry. Hope you'll understand."

Alice's fists shook at her sides. "I didn't break into this school just so you could get us all killed!" she said.

Quentin put a hand on her shoulder, and she appeared to deflate.

"He's going through his own shit," Quentin said.

Alice turned on him. "Are you saying we should just let him go?"

"I'm saying—" Quentin grimaced. His mouth flickered between options. "I'm just saying that maybe there's nothing we can do."

"You always give up too early, Q," Alice said.

Eliot pulled up the handle on his suitcase and sighed. "I know I've said before that magic comes from pain... but sometimes you can't keep fighting. Sometimes you have to just give up and go home."

"You're not even going home!" Alice said.

Eliot turned to the two neurotic lovebirds and gave them a shake of his head. "No, I'm not," he said. "But this Beast thing is making us all so crazy that you're not even arguing logically." He turned to Quentin. "I know you'll understand... after what happened to Cancer Puppy... and your father."

Quentin's mouth formed a deep line, but he nodded.

"If you need me," said Eliot, "you know where to find me."

Eliot lay in a sun-streamed cabana, the muscle of his shoulders being lovingly kneaded by the hands of a topless, well-oiled twenty-something who was not into hombres. Oh well, you couldn't have everything.

Margo lay on the massage table beside him, her dark hair falling in swirls about her face as she gave a voluptuous moan from the touch of her masseuse's fingers.