A Little Bit

Chapter 37

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Eli

Two weeks have passed. Two weeks of me sitting on my ass, watching life continue without me. I really don’t care. I hope it doesn’t come back for me. Everyone else can keep living their lives, and I’ll sit in my unkempt dorm staying in this moment in time. Never having to move on. Perpetually feeling the pain.

Like right now, I’m laying in my bed, surrounded by unwashed clothes while I try to work up the energy to walk my body to the window so I can smoke.

Katie comes by every so often to make sure I eat and shower, each time trying to coax me out of my cave. It never works. I do eat whatever she brings, though. So, she wins with that.

I didn’t tell her what happened between Warren and me, and she didn’t even ask. She understands that she doesn’t need to know the specifics to help me. She probably thinks he broke up with me because he can’t be with a man. And I’m going to let her think that. Telling the truth, that I fell in love with my sister’s killer, just doesn’t sound like a good time to me. I’m not ready to share that.

“Killer” sounds like such an intense word for him. It is technically correct. But still, it implies that he’s this car-wielding psycho who saw her and revved his engine to mow her down. And it’s not like that. After last week, learning about Charlotte’s past, everything has become more complicated. My feelings are just a complete clusterfuck right now, all of them running around my brain and setting shit on fire.

I finally will my body to move, dragging myself out of bed and plopping down in the deep window sill. I open the window a crack, letting some of the chilled fresh air blow into the room, a much needed refresher to the feet smell currently holding the space hostage.

Reaching back over to my nightstand, I take the joint I just rolled off the top and bring it to my lips, cupping my hand against the breeze to light it.

I breathe in deeply, holding it in my lungs, letting the burn fester for a moment before blowing it out. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I find the familiar number and press it, then put it on speaker and set it down. The line trills a few times until her voice filters through. “Heyyyyy. It’s Charlotte. I can’t come to the phone right now. You know what to do.”

Beep .

“Hey, Char. Hope you’re doing okay. Wherever— uh —you are. Anyway, I have some shit going on in my life that I need to sift through and who better to talk to than the person at the very center?” I let out a hollow laugh and then scrunch up my eyebrows. “Or maybe that’s the worst person to talk to. I’m not sure, honestly. But yeah, remember that blond guy I talked to you about? The senator’s son? Well… he killed you.”

My eyes travel to the window, watching the wind blow the trees, the Spanish moss dancing against the gusts as I take another drag off the joint.

“I guess—I know what he did was wrong. He knew about it and didn’t tell me. I know he should’ve told me. But I just… I still want him, even though I can’t have him. Because I can’t, right? Do you think I’ll ever be able to forget him?”

The line stays silent.

“I don’t want to forget him,” I whisper.

Then I just sit there, breathing into the phone.

“I-I think I know what I want to do. I just need you to tell me it’s okay, Char.”

A particularly aggressive gust of wind blows outside. The air howls and the trees bend. The branches smack against the open window, pushing it open wider, making me jump. Quickly setting my joint down on my little ashtray, I reach over to pull it closed, but another blast of wind materializes. The trees bend even further, making the branches practically reach inside to me.

I turn my head against the debris of bark and leaves it sends in with it, blindly reaching for the latch so I can pull the window closed.

I finally grasp it, quickly shutting the wind out.

“Sorry, Char,” I mutter dazedly, as I begin absently brushing off any junk that might’ve flown in, not finding any on the sill around me. “There was just all this crazy-ass wind and it?—”

I cut myself off when I go to brush off my lap, finding the only thing to have landed on me.

A bundle of Spanish moss sits there. Innocently enough. But it’s screaming at me. Telling me everything I wanted to hear but wouldn’t let myself accept.

“Is this your answer?” I whisper to the phone.

There’s no response.

“I love you, Char,” I say, the emotions and realizations getting the best of me, making my face crumple in sorrow. My voice is shaky and raspy, barely able to form any words. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. I know I was young, but I saw the signs, I just couldn’t figure out what they all meant.”

My emotional tirade is interrupted by the call-waiting beep, and when I pull my phone away from my face to glance and see that it’s Katie, my stomach drops. Katie never calls. She’s one of those antisocial people who absolutely loathes phone calls. So she must be calling for something really important. Or really bad.

“Uhh, I gotta go, Char. I’ll-I’ll talk to you soon. I love you. Thanks,” I say, rushing to answer before it goes to voicemail.

“Why are you calling me?” I ask hesitantly.

There’s just a lot of breathing at first. No—more like panting, like she’s running. “Have you seen it?”

“Seen what? Are you running or something? You seem out of breath.”

“Yes!” she yells back at me. “I was trying to get to you in person but I didn’t want you to stumble on it on your own and be caught off guard, so I thought I’d—Oh my god! Get out of my way! Can’t any of you people see that I am in best friend crisis mode? Move! Honestly, Eli, people are the absolute worst. And they move so slow.”

“Katie?”

“Yeah?” she pants in my ear, that wind whipping sound blaring all around her voice.

“I need you to focus with me for a second.”

“Ugh,” she groans. “I know, but these people move so goddamn slow and it’s triggering me.”

“Well, you’re triggering me by dragging this out.”

“Okay, now you’re being rude.”

“Katie!”

“Fine. Sorry. I’m still so far away from your place so I’ll just tell you on the phone.” She clears her throat. “ Phew . I’m tired now. Who would run for fun?”

“Katie,” I whine.

“Aw. It’s cute when you whine. Okay, fine. Go to Warren’s instagram page and look at his last post.”

Nerves dance in my stomach as I put her on speaker and do as she says. “Am I going to like what I see?”

“I honestly don’t know,” she says with a solemn tone, succeeding in making me even more agitated.

With shaky hands, I find his profile and click on it, quickly locating his most recent post.

It’s just a blank black background with white text. A few paragraphs and the icon in the corner telling me it’s a multi-picture post.

My eyes focus on the text, looking but not comprehending anything it says in front of me.

“What does it say?” I croak out, hoping Katie will take pity on me and give me the condensed version. That she won’t make me read it. Won’t make me feel whatever tormented emotions will decide to surface from his words.

“Read it,” she urges.

I allow my eyes to center on the text, beginning to read what he has to say.

Several years ago, when I was seventeen, I was involved in an accident. I won’t name the victim to protect the privacy of the family. My car struck a pedestrian, killing them. When the accident was investigated, I was cleared of any wrong-doing, but the accident was still covered up. A grieving family was put through more agony than they were already experiencing when they were pressured to sign an NDA to keep the accident a secret. All because of me. To protect me and my future without my consent.

I’m so deeply upset that the family had to go through this on account of me. I did not know what exactly was going on behind the scenes, but I believe I knew enough to suspect that something wasn’t right. But instead of speaking up or investigating further, I caved in on myself, nursing my own guilt and shame about what I had done.

It was wrong. I was wrong. Those who engaged in the cover-up were wrong.

I hope I can be better in the future, not by being a senator, as I have no desire to follow that career path, but by trying to be a better person, getting the help that I need, and speaking up when sensing injustice.

Thank you. -Warren

“Eli?” Katie’s soft voice filters through the haze surrounding my mind. “Did you read it? What the fuck is he talking about?”

“I-I-I…” I’m stammering, unable to form any thoughts except one that pushes its way to the forefront of my mind.

Go to him. Go to him. Go to him .

“Oh! Did you swipe to the second one?”

I do so wordlessly. It’s shorter. Only three words. Well, three words and an emoji, but despite their brevity and the chaotic emotions coursing through my veins, I still feel the corners of my mouth tip up higher and higher until my cheeks hurt.

Also, I’m gay.

“Katie. I gotta go,” I blurt.

“Love you, best friend. Good luck, and tell him I will fuck him up if he hurts you again,” she answers without asking anymore questions.

I smirk. “You don’t know what I’m doing.”

She scoffs. “Oh okay, sure. Bye, Eli.” And then she hangs up.

I’m still smiling as I stumble through my room, tripping over fucking everything to grab a jacket and slip into my shoes, barreling out the door with a new sense of determination. And no doubts.