A Little Bit

Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Eli

Age 14

I watch as Charlotte pulls clothes off the hangers in her closet, blindly throwing them behind her and completely missing the suitcase on the bed next to me.

“Why do you have to leave again?” I ask, trying and failing to not sound like the whiney younger brother that I am.

She sighs, walking over to her empty suitcase and picking the clothes up from the floor to throw in there. “It’s just college orientation, E. It’s only a few hours away. I’ll be back in a few days.”

She looks up and throws me a smile, but I just continue to pout.

“How about,” she continues while going back to her closet and grabbing some shoes. “You can call me whenever you miss me. And if I don’t answer, just leave a voicemail and I’ll get back to you. Sound good?”

I nod my head and smile while she walks back over to toss her shoes in the suitcase. “But no more leaving,” I say, letting a stern expression slip across my features. “You just got back.”

She trills her lips on another sigh while she slams her suitcase closed, aggressively pushing it down to keep everything contained. “That was… something different. It won’t be as long and I shouldn’t be leaving again until the fall when I start school.” She ends her statement on an exaggerated smile.

“Mom told Dad that she’s nervous for you to go.”

Finally getting the zipper to close, she brushes a wayward piece of dark hair off her face and rolls her eyes. “I don’t know why. She’ll be there and up my ass the whole time.”

She looks at her closed suitcase, getting lost in a trance for a few moments before turning and walking over to her jewelry box. It’s old. I remember her getting it for Christmas when I was five. She was nine and obsessed with ballerinas, so when she opened up the baby-pink jewelry box and saw the delicate ballerina figurine spinning on the inside while chiming a familiar tune, she lost her mind, squealing and throwing her arms around Mom’s and Dad’s necks.

Now, I watch as she pops the ballerina and her stand right off the box, reaching into the hole it left behind and pulling out a small baggie filled with four little white pills.

She slips one into her mouth and swallows it without any water, which I don’t know how she does, because I always need a ton of water whenever Mom makes me take medicine. Then she shoves the baggie back into the hole and begins placing the ballerina back on.

“What are those?” I ask tentatively, feeling an uncomfortable feeling spreading in my belly, but not understanding why.

She shakes her head while still focusing on placing the ballerina back, getting frustrated when she lets go and it doesn’t spin. “Nothing. And listen, don’t mention it to Mom or Dad either.” She looks over at me for a moment, winking before going back to her task of fixing the figurine. “It’s our little secret—Yes! Got it.”

She turns back toward the bed, looking over the packed suitcase and nodding her head, before throwing herself next to me.

I lay back and do the same, both of us staring up at her ceiling in silence until she speaks again. “Eli, you’re going to make someone so happy one day. Girl or guy. Promise me that I’ll get to meet anyone you’re ever serious about.”

“Of course,” I answer automatically, scrunching my brows together. “Why would you not?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Life might get in the way. Who knows what will even be going on in our lives in a few years. I gotta make sure that they’re good enough for you. Because you’re so good inside, E.” She huffs at the ceiling, the misery coming off of her palpable.

Throwing her arms above her head, she continues, “The world is a cold place. And people are selfish. Remember that first and foremost. So if you find something good, first, you gotta pass it by me, so I can tell you if it’s real, then, just hold on for dear life.”

I turn my head so I can look at her—face still pointed up, her eyes peacefully closed. “Okay. I promise. I’ll check them through you.”

“And I’ll tell you if it’s real.”

“How can you know?”

She turns her head to meet my gaze, but she looks different. Her eyes are shiny and have this wistful look in them, like she can see through me, through space and time, while a lazy smile plays on her face. “I’m your big sister. I just know things.”

I smile back at her, even though something about her demeanor is making me feel uneasy.

She turns her head back to the ceiling and flings an arm over her eyes. “I’m getting kind of sleepy, E. Let me just lay here for a bit.”

I nod and get off her bed, heading for the door. “Love you, Charlotte.”

“Love you, Eli. I’ll see you when I get back.”

Present

The blank canvas stares at me.

I hate this part. The part where you have to start from nothing. It always feels so bleak, making me want to give up before I even get started.

This one feels extra daunting.

I usually use cream colored paper with black charcoal. But for this exhibit, I want to do something new. To stand out. So I chose a black canvas and am using mostly white charcoal.

I get the credit for participating, so I just have to create something . Put anything on that canvas. It should be easy.

And yet, I can’t seem to think of anything to draw but one annoying thing.

Flicking my lighter open, I lift the blunt I just rolled and light it, inhaling and closing my eyes. And there he is. Right behind my eyelids. Of course it’s him. He’s always there. Staring back at me in my mind’s eye, looking timid and alluring in a way that no unattainable man should.

Truthfully, he’s been on my mind since I first wrapped my hand around his majestic dick, but since waking up to him sleeping on my floor, having come to me in the middle of the night when I called, my fixation, or whatever you want to call it, has gotten worse. A disease slowly eating at my body and my mind.

I exhale the smoke, feeling more at peace when the sweet smell of the blunt wraps around me. I pick up the charcoal and make my first marks on the paper. It means nothing if I draw him. He’d be an astounding subject. He attracts everyone’s eyes. It’ll get the attention I need. The credit I need. And someone will buy it, taking the compulsions out of my hands too.

This is an exorcism, expunging the mania that has consumed me recently.

I fall into a trance, recalling every detail I can about the features of his face, beginning to sketch the rough outline of his jaw, the dimensions of his eyes, how far from his nose they are, from his mouth.

When I raise my head for air, it’s suddenly dark out.

I stare at the canvas. I have months left to finish, but I can see it starting to take shape. And despite my initial thought that it would extinguish the turmoil in my brain, the longer I look at it, the hotter it burns.

I want him.

And looking back at the beginnings of his face—the beginnings of his eyes , something I never draw—I don’t care to fight it anymore.

Grabbing my phone, I type out and erase a few different texts, before deciding on something and sending it.

I throw on a jacket and hat and barrel out the door, not even waiting for an answer back.