𝒆𝒍𝒊
I woke up really early to somehow drag myself out of bed and take a shower. It'd been almost two weeks, and that's gross, especially with all the stained blood on my bed and my clothes. Most of it, I wiped off. Apparently some got on really weird parts of my body, though, like under my collarbones and the side of my stomach.
But it's gone now, and I'm not really dressed up, just new, clean clothes and clean me. The clothes consist of sweatpants and a very big t-shirt, which maybe isn't a good way to say I missed you and I'm excited to see you. Rhys told me on the phone that it was fine, though. He even said I didn't have to shower if I couldn't, he just needed to talk to me. I felt it'd be disgusting if I didn't.
Now I'm sitting on the little bench my parents have in their hall, waiting. The t-shirt is red, matching all the red and raised scars over my arms. It's been a few years since I started cutting over scars, and it's starting to change my skin, it's no longer a smooth surface with some scars popping out. In certain places it looks like I've had a rubber band around it for so long it's permanently like that now. In others it's all so raised my arm looks swollen. A few long and deep cuts go over my forearm. I didn't bother patching them up and now they've dried and scabbed, a mostly yellow, wide and long scab that makes it look infected but I'm pretty sure it's not.
I rub my eyes. Try to convince myself I'm not doing this for attention.
I'm only wearing short sleeves because I want to. Not because Rhys will see it and maybe care.
A knock on the door startles me. I get up, put my hand on the door handle...
Am I sure I want him to care? He sounded sad on the phone. This was the problem. He felt things and I sought his attention so he took care or me instead of dealing with those things.
He always said short sleeves were okay. He always said short sleeves weren't attention seeking. He always said that even if it was, that was valid.
Do I even want to talk to him? He said it was important but I don't know if I want to. Not because I think he's lying, but the longer I stand here and wait, the more I start picturing scenarios where things go bad or awkward and my hand is sweating.
It's just Rhys.
I open the door. "Hi." I almost forget to move away so he can come inside.
Rhys gives me a faint smile and steps into the hall. "Look, Eli, I, uh..."
I close the door, awkwardly turning away from him to avoid eye contact, taking way more time than necessary.
It's weird. It hasn't been that long, but I was used to seeing him every day the past almost five years. We lived together for, like, two and a half years. Now we're not. We never will.
And he's standing here, in my parents's hall. He hasn't done that since we were eighteen. Usually he walked me home and he'd kiss me quickly before leaving. I hadn't told my parents I was gay. It wasn't really fear, more just...
I don't know, actually.
I don't know why he's hesitating either, but it's making me nervous.
"I know we have things we should talk through, I owe you some answers and I'll give them to you, I swear, I just..." Rhys looks away. "You know, I didn't skip dance and come back to this hellhole to do that. Something happened, and..."
