Colors of Paris ◇ Elijah Stevenson

Chapter Twenty Nine.

I take a shaky seat on the edge of the couch instead of going up to him yet and bury my face into my hands. I try to not cry because I feel like that wouldn't help me be better. I open my mouth but there is no words left to think let alone say. There is a deep hole in the middle of my heart that keeps trying to suck the rest of me into it. To say the least, I feel as though I have lost a part of me a long time ago.

But that's the thing, I have been regaining that part for months. Elijah's been slowly slipping through my fingertips since I have seen him again, and I am not realizing that. After this, I truly don't know how to feel towards him. After hearing what he has to say for my question. I trusted someone that night and those other nights that I shouldn't have trusted, and I liked somebody that doesn't know how to work with his own heart, let alone someone else's.

I get up from my spot off of the couch and then go through the crowd of drunk individuals who are grinding up each other as some sort of Tupac song comes on. I try to ignore the ones that want me dragged into as well. I walk to the bathroom that I found is on the the first left. There isn't anyone in it at the time so I close the door with me behind it.

I take my hands from my face and push my already messy hair out of the way, leaning against the bathroom door. I dont know if Elijah saw me go in here. Or worse he would go up to me instead. I don't know if I can ask those things when  I was so vulgar the first time we talked again.

Sure enough I could hear him outside the door, most likely leaning against the bookshelf rolling a cigarette as he does a monologue for the audience he does have. I get up from the spot on the bath tub I sat at for a minute and limp across the room slowly as if someone can hear me trying to hear him. I press my ear against the door and block out all the other noises in my head and the drunk individuals snickering to themselves. And for once I listen.

When I listen to what he says it is a monologue from the movie. I sink down almost as I realize he does a twist. A big twist.

My conflicting heart keeps hearing his crying that seems to be real for acting. Way to real. The way he mumbles words I can't understand other than "hate" and "myself". Before he breaks down the fake tears again, I feel for him deep down, someway I do. Because just like I, Elijah had a lot to say that night and tonight. In this moment I couldn't care less about what his excuses were, but now I am beginning to at least think about them.

As I sigh and sadly shuffle away from the door, I recall for the first time in a week ever since it has almost happened that he did admit to me one thing that night and another one tonight that corresponds to it so much. He told me he had a problem with it. A really, really bad problem, which later became an addiction.

"Shit," I exhale, flipping down onto the tub. I stare at the ceiling and the tile work.

I wouldn't ever guess that out of all the things that went through Elijah's head during that whole time was an addiction and not only me.

I never realized for almost two years I had developed feelings for a crack head.

"He's not a crack head," I sigh to myself. I am already starting to take back everything i have even said to him and do want to start over. Elijah's not a drug addict nor was he one in the first place. Somewhere deep down in that pit hole of despair he had to go through, there held a man that wanted to scream free. A man that didn't want to do anything but love himself and love those around him. I have been trying to teach him to do that since day one.

He was lost just as I was, (or maybe still am), but in a completely different way. I replayed the words he said to me when he told me he has been trying to stop multiple times in past, but he never could do it. That getting high is a way for him to forget he hates himself and hates what he has done.