A Little Bit

Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-Two

Eli

I stare at his eyes while the whispers echo around me. There’s a small group nestled around my drawing, everyone periodically pointing and gasping.

It’s all a little dramatic if you ask me. It’s just a drawing. It doesn’t mean anything. In fact, it means nothing.

I wish I would’ve done something else for this credit. Anything else. But I couldn’t. His face whispered to me. It pulled at me. Some masochistic part of me wanted his face up here on this wall in this old-ass museum in this old-ass town, my pain drawn in white charcoal for all these people to gawk at.

The good part of this is that people seem pretty interested in it, so someone will probably buy it, and I’ll never have to see it again.

That thought makes my stomach turn slightly, but I ignore it. I need it gone.

I continue to stand there. All night. I keep trying to tear myself away, maybe go look at the other pieces or something, but I can’t seem to. My ears perk at everyone’s conversations like I’m his little guard dog. Even after everything, I can’t seem to stop wanting to protect him.

I wonder what’s going through their minds. Nosy asses. Dying to know how the senator’s son’s face ended up in this little gallery show.

I asked that my name be left off of the official title placard. I don’t want anyone walking up to me and asking questions—only using it as a way to feed into the toxic gossip in this town.

One of the museum volunteers comes up and puts a red sticker under the title placard, indicating it’s been sold.

Relief and sadness commingle into an unknown feeling inside me.

“You really captured his eyes.”

I whip my head to look next to me, seeing a beautiful blonde girl standing there, head looking up at Warren’s face.

“Hi,” she chirps, turning to me and sticking her hand out in my direction. “I’m SJ. It’s so good to finally meet you.”

SJ. His sister. My face falls. “I don’t want to talk to you,” I say through clenched teeth, shaking my head. “Did he send you? Trying to get me to?—”

She widens her eyes and vigorously shakes her head, her hand retreating. “Oh, god no. No no no. He’d probably murder me if he knew I was here. No. Definitely not.”

She laughs a little at the end, and I can’t help thinking how different they seem. She gives off a carefree energy, but also the sense that she’s chaotic and frenzied right under the surface, or maybe right on top. So unlike Warren and his buttoned-up persona.

I stay silent, replaying the moments I frantically looked for a way to contact her, making sure he wouldn’t do anything stupid.

I clear my throat and look back at the canvas. “So… I see you got my message. And made it there before anything… happened.” There’s too much vulnerability in my voice. I want to sound apathetic. Unaffected. But unfortunately, my feelings for him don’t just disappear because of his actions. I wish they did. It would make everything infinitely easier.

She lets out a huge sigh as she says, “Yes.” She grabs my arm, making me look over at her, seeing her eyes filled with sincerity. She speaks carefully, enunciating each word in her next sentence. “Thank you. For finding me. I don’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t shown up when I had.”

I need to know more. Is he okay? How did she find him? What happened?

But instead, I purse my lips to keep myself from asking, because I don’t need to know. She found him and I shouldn’t care about anything else.

She interrupts my thoughts. “He’s home now. Sleeping, thankfully. Finally . I had to slip some melatonin in his food to get him to”—she makes a clicking noise in her mouth and closes her eyes, miming sleep, then perks back up—“hopefully he stays knocked out until I get back.”

I blink a few times in shock. “What?”

She rolls her eyes and waves a hand at me. “Oh, relax. They give that shit to children . He’s fine.”

I shake my head before rolling my lips. “Well, there’s really nothing to be said between you and me. You’re wasting your time coming here.”

She’s silent about that, staring at the drawing in front of us, her eyes carefully rolling over it. “He’s lucky to have you,” she murmurs, a reverence overtaking her face as she continues to stare.

“He doesn’t have me.”

She ignores that too, taking a step closer to the canvas. “It’s all there,” she says in an awe-like whisper. “His pain, his struggle, his beauty. All wrapped up into that stoic face, hiding it all from the world.” She abruptly turns to me, her eyes screaming earnesty. “You see him.”

I’m silent.

“He loves you.”

My heart clenches at her words. The same pain I’ve been feeling every fucking day giving an extra little stab.

“That doesn’t matter.”

“It was an accident. Do you know what happened that night?” she asks quietly.

My eyes flick around our surroundings, making sure no one can overhear before angrily whispering, “None of that fucking matters either. Would it matter to you if it was an accident? If it was your brother who was killed? Would you be so quick to just forgive the person who took them from you?”

She doesn’t answer me, tears filling her eyes, making them glitter under the spotlight above our heads.

“Exactly,” I mutter. “I’m sure it was an accident. That doesn’t change the fact that it was him. He did this. He irrevocably changed my life by getting in the car that night. And even if I… even if I care about him, I’ll never be able to forget that.”

She nods slowly, turning back to the canvas and taking a few moments to sniff and collect herself. “I know nothing about love and probably never will… it just seems like what you both have”—she raises her hand to hover her fingers over the drawing, ghosting over the strokes of charcoal without touching it—“is rare.”

I say nothing back, but her words do sink in, shuttering me in sadness, because she’s right. What I feel… it’s otherworldly. And I just know, deep in my gut, that I’ll never get this with another person.

The universe hates me. Of all the people to make me feel this way. It chose him. Thrust him into my orbit to annihilate me.

She points at the title. “ A LITTLE BIT, what does that mean?”

Everything.

“Nothing,” I mumble.

She pats my shoulder. “Thank you for finding me.” Then she turns and leaves me with everything she’s said. Everything that makes more sense than I want it to.

I miss him. That’s no secret. But I meant what I said. How in the fuck am I supposed to get over this?

A few moments later, a new voice comes up behind me. “Eli. Wow, bud. This is amazing. Really breathtaking.”

I turn to find my dad’s smiling face, still looking up at my work before he looks at me, breaking into an even bigger grin.

He holds his arms open and I fall into them immediately. “Thanks for coming, Dad.”

“Of course,” he says as he pulls back, but keeps his arm around me so we can stand side by side and look at the canvas. “I really have been meaning to visit earlier, but work has just been so hectic. I’m glad I could make it up here for this.”

“Me too.”

We stand in comfortable silence for a minute before he hedges. “So, eh, how are you holding up?” His voice holds an immense pity in it.

I sigh. “I’m alright.”

“We love you—we’re just worried about you. You’ve got thrown quite a doozy.”

I laugh darkly. “Yeah. A doozy. It’s not a doozy for you?”

He stops, looking at the ceiling to think for a moment. “Well, yes, but I mean we always knew—actually this isn’t really the place for this conversation. Can we get a bite after this? I have some things to talk to you about.”

I eye him, nerves dancing around in my stomach, because someone needing to “talk” to you is never good.

“Sure,” I say, hoping that whatever he has to share is not about to turn my world upside down any more than it already is.