Page 27 of Plight
It was pissing me off. Frustrating me to hell. I wasn’t weak and helpless, yet helplessness was what I always felt when I’d upset those closest to me, because I felt what they felt one hundred times over. And although Elliot and I hadn’t been close for quite some time, we’d been as close as two young people ever could be, and that tattooed your soul. His pain was my pain. His sadness was my sadness.
It always had been.
Searching his face, I noticed the moment it changed from joyous to acquiesced, from cheerful to accepting — his smile fell, his eyes dulled.
“Mum, Jeanette,” he announced, nodding toward me before standing behind Helen and placing his hands on her shoulders. “Danielle and I have something to tell you.”
I squinted my eyes at him but then opened them wide with recognition. Oh, yes, we do! The truth. My stomach dropped, and I wasn’t sure in that moment that I wanted them to know the truth. If we did confess, I would lose Elliot again, and I wasn’t ready for that.
A feeling of pending loss crashed into me like a wave into the shore, and I did the first thing I could think that would draw it away. I shot up from my seat like a jack in the box, moved closer, and touched his arm. “Yes, we do.”
He narrowed his gaze on my tightly pressed fingers, but I continued, staring at our mums. “We … we just want you to understand that we wish to take things slow.”
From out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Elliot’s head jerk toward mine, kinda comical-like, and the fear of losing him started to lift, so I continued. “Nothing ever good comes from rushing, does it, Elliot?” I asked, batting my eyelids and snuggling into his side. “Unless you’re in a race, of course, and we’re not.”
The ‘what the fuck?’ expression on his face and his statue-like posture was priceless. It near had me bursting into laughter and high-fiving myself over my very convincing performance. But, at the same time, I’d just inadvertently dug us a deeper hole, which was really fucking frustrating. Damn it! What am I doing?
Pulling away just slightly to rethink the monumental fuck-up I’d just instigated, I was instantly reeled back in with a thud to his rock hard, toasty warm chest.
“No, we’re not,” he announced, proudly. “A race must be won, and we’ve already won ours, haven’t we, honey?” Honey? No! I don’t want to be a ‘honey’. It’s sticky and sweet, and practically bee vomit.
I faked laughed. “Oh, schnookums, yes, we have. The best race of our life.”
Elliot near choked so I figured ‘what the hell … I’ve already dived right in’, and grabbed his arse, wrenched him to me, and stuck my tongue right down his stupid, annoying, tasty throat.
