— Chapter 42 —

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It caressed me in its soft embrace.

The water.

Pooling around the lower half of my body in the bathtub, the water left my sweatpants soaked and clinging to every inch of my legs.

But it wasn't enough to wash the blood off my hands.

Or maybe the blood wasn't there at all.

I kept tracing my focus over the ridges of my fingers, seeing my hands glossed over with thick crimson. The weight of it... the blood... I could feel it. It was burning my skin like acid.

But then I'd dip my hands into the water.

And just like that, it was gone. No blood. No scarlet stains. Not even a speck of dirt beneath my fingernails. None of the scorching sensations where the blood once was.

Just my own shaky hands.

"I'm going to wash your hair now," a voice whispered behind me. "Is that okay?"

The only reply Elliot got from me was the slow blinking of my heavy eyelids. It wasn't that I wasn't grateful he was here... I just couldn't say anything anymore. Not that anything I said ever really mattered.

My gaze drew back to the hands I'd submerged beneath the rippling water. The power had come back on in the last hour, so the bathroom was warmed by a heater fixed up in the ceiling. Elliot sat on the edge of the bathtub behind me, with my figure between his legs. My soaked sweats weren't the most comfortable to sit in, but I figured that was my fault for not complying with Elliot when he'd told me to take them off.

He figured that a bath would help me relax. That, and wash off the scent of alcohol I'd been drowning in earlier tonight.

Elliot spoke quietly, "Alright."

Squeezing the shampoo liquid into his palms, he briefly lathered it between them and promised, "I'll be gentle."

As he sank his fingers through my dark hair, I couldn't help but feel the chills traveling down my spine. Elliot was certainly careful with his actions, softly lathering the soap into my hair while droplets of water trickled onto my thick lashes. It was all too soothing.

I couldn't tell if the lightning had subsided or not. Between the blood on my hands, the scorching pain in my stitched side, and the aching of my tensed muscles, I could still hear the cracking in my eardrums. It wasn't lightning to me. It was gunfire.

The sound ricocheted in my pounding skull, striking my nerves and making me want to scream. But I didn't even have the air in my lungs to do so. No... all I had was the grim reaper looming behind me, breathing cold air down my neck, promising that I'd come with him willingly soon enough.

But the gunfire had died down since Elliot had come to find me. Sometimes it would strike out of nowhere in my head and make me recoil instinctively—but I always had Elliot there, resting a hand on my shoulder and reminding me I was still with him. That I was safe.

Why was he here?

What sane person would stay after taking a look at the impossible fucking state I was in?

Nobody ever stayed. Nobody wanted to bother with me because I wasn't their problem. So of all people... why was Elliot the exception? Why was he here taking care of me?

What had I done to deserve his help?

Elliot continued to lather the soap in my hair, softly massaging the peak of my head and behind my ears with his fingertips. Any other day and I would've melted in his hands at the gesture.

I didn't want him to leave.

Just for once in my stupid, sorry life... someone had accepted me for the way I was.

"I'm going to wash it out now," he uttered. "I hope the water isn't too cold."

But when he reached up to get the showerhead, it fumbled out of his slippery grasp, hitting the edge of the porcelain bathtub with a metallic clang. The sound was like another gunshot. It had me jerking away with a horrible shudder in my shoulders.

"Shit, I'm sorry—" Elliot stammered— "I'm so sorry."

Forcing deep breaths through my flared nostrils, I suffered silently as the sound echoed through my mind, goosebumps flaring over my arms.

It wouldn't stop.

It just kept on reverberating in my head, making my hairs stand on end and leaving my muscles rigid. It was a hurricane—and you couldn't fight a hurricane. Enduring it was the only way the torment would subside.

But then, as Elliot's small fingers curled through a section of my dark locks, another sound cut faintly through the air.

If you could feel sounds, then whatever was echoing through the bathroom felt like the comforting embrace of a warm blanket in a cruel winter.

Elliot... he was humming.

Quietly, of course, and in a tune that was smoother than honey. It distracted me from the thoughts in my head, drowning out the last faint echoes of gunfire and slowly calming me beneath Elliot's light touches.

Carefully taking the showerhead this time, he started up the water and let it trickle on his hand first to check the temperature. When he finally began to rinse out the suds, I tilted my head back slightly, closed my eyes, and leaned backward to be closer to him.

The gentle sounds of his voice put me through a wave of emotions I hadn't felt in a long time. I couldn't even describe it.

It just felt like... well... home.

I'd always wondered why everything felt out of place, and now it was blatantly clear. The apartment had never been a home before this point. There was nothing here that gave me a reason to keep going.

But now... now there was Elliot. His very presence seemed to lock in a piece of a puzzle that had been missing for years. He was distracting me with the quiet hum of his voice, soft notes connected in a repeated melody for me to get lost in.

I wasn't thinking about the burning in my side anymore, or the blood that had been on my hands, or the pain in my body.

Just Elliot.

And I couldn't help but wonder what a sorry prick like myself had ever done to deserve the time of someone as remarkable as him.

It was a little while longer before we got out of the tub. Elliot took the time to dry out my dark locks with a clean towel he'd found, while my sweats pooled the floor with water. When he was done drying my hair for me, he left me alone with a fresh set of clothes to change into, disappearing somewhere into my bedroom.

Frustrated thoughts poisoned my mind. God, you're pathetic, Noah. Getting people to baby you like this? For fuck's sake.

I swallowed hard and got changed out of the wet clothes, slipping into a fresh set of sweats and a grey shirt. But I made the mistake of catching my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

My eyes came to focus on my complexion. The sunken eyes and my dark shadows. The paleness to my skin, and the lack of life behind the expression on my face. A ghost.

It had been a long time since I'd seen that face staring back at me. A shadow self. The abyss.

It was a harrowing sight—the way its eyes seemed to do nothing but scorn me, promising my inevitable downfall. Death by my own hands. It was a reflection of the worst depths of my soul, wearing my face and perpetually taunting me into succumbing to its violent desires.

I slammed the palm of my hand against the mirror half-heartedly, but it was enough to draw me from the daze I'd been placed under.

I just couldn't look at it anymore.

Finally emerging once I'd gotten myself in order, I opened the bathroom door only to find Elliot still inside my trashed bedroom.

He'd fixed up the sheets on the bed and... puffed out the pillows? The rest of the place was still a mess—the furniture was upturned and things were still littering the floor. But Elliot himself had a dustpan in his hands, kneeled down to sweep up the glass I'd smashed to pieces.

His hazel eyes met mine with care.

"I just wanted to pick up the glass," he told me quietly. "I'll get out of your way in a little bit."

I stared down at him, bewilderment simmering away in my chest. A lengthy exhale left my nose. What possible reason did he have to go to such lengths in helping me? It wasn't worth the effort.

Oh, fuck this.

"Don't bother," I muttered.

"You could hurt yourself if I don't."

I found a path through the chaos and reached for the light switch, letting the room go dark. Elliot passed me a concerned glance. That's not what I meant, I wanted to say.

Instead, I took a gentle hold of Elliot's soft hands and pulled him to his feet, much to his confusion.

Pushing him onto the bed, I barely listened while he blurted out, "What do you think you're—"

He cut himself off when I got in after him.

Moving Elliot onto his side with little effort, I got close to him and pressed myself to his back. My arms wrapped tightly around his torso, quickly finding comfort in being the bigger spoon. His legs got tangled carelessly with my own. Letting my face hide in his soft locks of hair, I embraced him completely and let my emotions get stuck in my throat.

Elliot, stunned, was rigid for a few moments.

I stilled behind him, content with our position, pulling a slow breath in through my lungs. And after a little while, he slowly came to relax in my grasp.

He was so warm.

Every part of me was drawn to him. The softness of his voice. How he smiled at me like he'd never smiled a day before in his life. That he didn't hesitate to help, even when a prick like me didn't deserve it. And how innocent his eyes were despite nightmares of the outside world, always admiring the beauty of the little things around him.

I wanted to be with him.

"Noah..." he whispered to me.

I didn't reply, too swept up in trying to purge the traumatic thoughts from my head. Elliot's presence was a helpful distraction.

He always smelled so good. Like velvety sandalwood and sweet amber. Warm, woody, and comforting, almost like the fresh pages of a book. Calming. You could always tell when he'd been in a room purely from the lingering traces of his scent.

I couldn't help but bury my face in his hair.

My eyelids fell shut after a few minutes as if to mimic the motions of sleep. But after tonight, and all the horrors racing through my mind, I knew sleep was entirely off the table. It was nice to pretend, though.

Holding Elliot like this had managed to give me a small sense of peace. I wanted to hold onto that feeling for as long as I could. I wanted to stay with him in this moment forever.

Because it wouldn't be like this tomorrow.

"Noah, you've got a fever," Elliot told me, but there was a kind tone to his voice. "You'll get me sick."

"You used to sleep outside in the cold," I muttered in reply. "I think your immune system is pretty bulletproof."

But I still hated that he'd been through that.

After a few moments, Elliot spoke again.

"I'll go to the store in the morning," he said, "so I can get you something for the fever. You shouldn't be straining yourself in the condition you're in."

I clenched my jaw but said nothing.

I'd always been the one to go help other people with their problems—never the one to be helped. So having Elliot make promises about taking care of me wasn't something I knew how to respond to. I just didn't get it. All I could wonder was why. Why was he going to the trouble?

He asked me, "Did you need me to get you anything?"

I sighed.

"What the hell are you doing, Elliot?"

He didn't seem to understand. "What do you mean?"

"All of this. Taking care of me. Cleaning things up. Bathing me, for fuck's sake," I scoffed lightly, disbelief in my tone. "Why are you going to all the trouble of helping me?"

Elliot shuffled beneath my grasp.

"Well... because you did the same for me," he said. "When I was going through it, and I didn't have anybody to turn to, you were the only one who cared. You helped me—and I was just a total stranger to you."

I hung onto every word that left his lips, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude at the answer.

"I don't mean to overstep any boundaries," he told me. "I just... I want to take care of you for once. Really. It's the least I could do after all you've done for me."

It was as simple as that. All my overthinking tonight was for nothing. Elliot, for whatever reason, cared. And that was more than enough for me.

I moved my arm to rest my hand in his hair, carefully tracing my fingertips at the top of his head. His hair was so soft. It reached down to his neck now, much longer than when I'd first laid eyes on him. His dark roots had become quite noticeable.

I noticed the passive state he fell into at the gesture, relaxed in my arms, and breathing quietly while I played with his hair. He really was a textbook alley cat.

I said, "Can I ask you something?"

Elliot nodded in response.

"Before, when you found me having a panic attack... you got me to distract myself by focusing on the chain," I expressed. Biting my cheek for a moment, I eventually asked, "How did you know to do that?"

For a few moments, Elliot's silence was the only answer to my question.

Then, he confessed, "My mom used to have panic attacks a lot back when I was younger. I was sick of never knowing what to do, so I just... picked up a book and taught myself how to help her. Grounding usually worked. It was better than having her deal with things like that on her own."

I couldn't help but be slightly surprised by the unexpected answer.

A massive sense of responsibility like that in someone who was just a child—no wonder Elliot had grown up to be so independent. Even as a child, he'd been taking care of other people, no doubt raising himself. But I wondered if anyone had ever bothered to ask if he was okay.

He was just a kid. A kid that had to take care of himself in the way parents were supposed to. A kid that had all this responsibility to look after others—but was he ever free to just be a child?

I pulled him closer to me, feeling my heart ache at the newfound knowledge.

And I forced out, "That must've been so hard."

Elliot tensed up as he processed the meaning behind my words. Holding my hands at his chest, he curled into my figure and stayed quiet after that, savoring the comfort of the moment. I wondered if he knew how much he mattered to me... because my heart just wouldn't let me voice it. And that fucking sucked.

I wasn't exactly thinking through my actions when I put my hand in his hair and left a tender kiss at the back of his head. Perhaps it was a gesture of gratitude. For listening. For being here with me.

Elliot deserved so much more than what the world could give him. He deserved better.

He deserved to be happy.

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Romance... but what if, instead of kissing, we just... matured spiritually as a result of meeting each other...