Becoming a DeMarlo

20: "Why do you care?"

Chapter 20: "Why do you care?"

After some time, the noise downstairs died down. Despite this, I didn't dare move from my bed.

And it seemed like I didn't need to, as someone knocked on my bedroom door not long after. 

I stayed silent, burying deeper into my bed.

The door opened, and Elijah walked in.

"I really don't want to talk," I mumbled, as he stood over me.

He ignored me, and placed something cold and wet on my red cheek.

I turned to see that it was an ice pack, and sullenly accepted it.

"Now, we need to have a chat," he firmly stated, not giving me much room for arguing. 

"Elijah, I am not in the mood—"

"Stop. Charlie isn't back until tomorrow and I can't wait around for him to come home and fix you."

"I don't need to be fixed," I argued, my voice giving away more emotion than I wanted.

"Right," he scoffed, pushing me over to take a seat on my bed.

I buried my face into my pillows with one hand over the ice pack on my cheek.

Elijah stayed silent for a few moments, before finally clearing his throat.

"So, that whole drama about the Hastings last week was because of your boytoy?"

"Don't call him a boytoy," I angrily snapped, fed up from all of the men in my life. I sat up and gave Elijah the most dirtiest look I could muster, catching him off guard as well. "Do you guys realize that I have feelings? You can't call me things like a whore and a slut and try to control me and who I like! That's my decision! Why can't you get that into your stupid fucking head? How long are you going to try and control me for? Huh?"

Elijah opened his mouth to speak before closing it again. He looked away to try and control the small smile that was playing on his lips. 

I furiously smacked his arm, making him blink in surprise before regaining his serious expression. 

"What?" he asked, nonchalantly. 

"This isn't funny! And for the record, you can tell your best bud Paul that I don't care what he thinks of me! And-And, the next time he touches me, I'll call the police! I don't care if family is everything, I...I hate it," I rambled, before my emotions got out of hand and I began crying again. 

I faced away from Elijah, expecting for him to bitch or mock me, but to my complete surprise: he stayed silent.

After a few minutes of me being buried in my pillow, Elijah pulled me over so I was facing upwards. I kept the pillow glued to my face to hide the tears streaming down. 

"Okay, enough crying," he ordered, which just made me angrier.

"No! You stop telling me what to do!" I argued, trying to push his hands off of me.

"Stop being dramatic. You weren't even supposed to have a boyfriend."

My head shot up above the pillow and I glared at him.

"And that justifies Uncle Paul slapping me and calling me a whore?"

Elijah's jaw clenched, probably out of annoyance.

"Perhaps from his perspective. I personally don't think it was right, which is why I've asked him to leave. He's packing up his stuff now."

This surprised me. I didn't think Elijah would go against him.