A year and a half ago, Elijah and Gage swore to keep in touch. But inevitably, things fester and the two haven't really seen each other since Gage's 17th birthday party. But with Gage now starting his first year at Michigan State, and Elijah beginni...
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Elijah's apartment is nothing like I expected. He's a clutter-bug.
There are picture frames lined up along his bedside table. One with Corey and Cameron, another with KJ and a few other guys I don't know, and one more with his mother. The two of them sharing more features than I remember.
Donna McCay's head of full, tight-curls are sticking up in every direction, her dark eyes zeroed in on her son who sits beside her. She wears a deep brown shade of lipstick and has the whitest teeth I've probably ever seen. Elijah's got an arm around her shoulder, his full lips returning her smile.
The two of them look so happy I can almost feel the joy through the photo, myself. Then, my heart aches when I realize that's probably the last thing he sees before he goes to bed, and the first thing he sees in the morning.
Elijah returns from the living room just then, two bottles of water in his hand. He tosses one to me, sitting down next to me on his black sheet.
I can't help but stare. Even under the dark lighting of his bedroom, his skin is a warm, comforting breeze and his eyes invite me in further than we've ever gone before. As friends, of course.
He clears his throat, "thank you for um, taking me to the hospital," I nod, a silent of course. Anything for you. "I definitely wouldn't have gotten there without you." My cheeks heat.
"I should be the one thanking you. Not many of my friends would've stuck up for me the way that you did," other than Rick of course, "—even if it was really fucking stupid, I still appreciate it."
His eyebrows furrow in deep thought, an unreadable expression fused upon his face. He reaches up and scratches absentmindedly at the back of his neck.
I ask before thinking, "what is it?"
He meets my gaze and straightens his back, turning his torso more toward me, commanding my unwavering attention. "I wanna ask you something but I don't wanna make you uncomfortable."
My breaths shorten, voice suddenly small. "Go ahead," he's still hesitant and I wonder how invasive his question actually is. "Elijah, you can ask."
"You seem . . . different now," he begins in a deep, unwavering voice. The mere sound sends a shiver through me. "Since we reconnected or whatever. It kinda feels like you've been pulling away from me—since that birthday party back home."
I wish I could play dumb and act like I have no idea what he's talking about. But I do. I had spent the last year and a half keeping my distance from him. Hoping that it would keep my feelings for him at bay. Then maybe one of these days, I could look at him and think, hey, I'm not in love with you anymore.
But nevertheless, my feelings get stronger and stronger. And at the end of the day, I'm the one with the unrequited love, not him. It isn't fair for me to push him away because of a silly crush.
