Elijah has spent Christmases in Florida at Cocoa Beach ever since the incident on Christmas Eve when he was 17 that led him to despise the holiday with the desire to wipe away all memories and thoughts of the dreadful night 5 years ago. He's an aspi...
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I liked to pretend that the knocking at my door was just a faraway drumbeat that some mediocre SoundCloud rapper was using to get a beat going. That was a lot more fun to imagine than what was likely at the door. Which, at first, I assumed was going to be River. Profusely knocking at an annoying rate to try and get me to come out with him, or something. It was half past ten at night, and I wasn't planning on going anywhere after today.
I'd kicked the day off strong with sand-balls, and I was going to end it with a glass of merlot and the bruschetta I'd made not long ago. I'd spend the rest of my day grabbing ingredients from the market a mile away, then treating myself to the bottle of wine, and relaxing on the beach. I just laid there all day. Sunglasses on, ice cold water from the shop just up the beach, headphones plugged into one ear to hear the music, but also to hear the waves crashing, seagulls squawking all annoyingly to make the peace sort of dreadful.
Anyway, I had a very casual, calm night planned. No shenanigans. I wasn't getting pulled to any sort of party, or into any Christmas-y activity tonight. I could once again prove how amazing my game was tomorrow. A new day. But while today lasted, the last thing I wanted to do was answer the door.
It wasn't even River. It was Elijah.
"Let me in!" he called from the hallway, after banging for what felt like hours. I could have put on my headphones and turned them into noise-cancelling mode. That would have put him to rest eventually.
But while I was trying to have a good time without the headphones, Elijah was seriously disruptive.
When I opened the door already glaring, Elijah stood there holding a brown paper bag, and then shoved his way through the door without even asking.
"Thanks for letting me in."
I spun around, still half in the open doorway. "I could also let you back out, thank you very much. I didn't realize I was actually letting you in."
"Well, that's what opening the door was for," Elijah said, putting the bag down on the kitchen countertop next to my bruschetta, which he was eyeing. "That bruschetta is gorgeous, what the fuck?"
He caught my gaze and we were both just looking at each other. Elijah was taking off his lightweight denim jacket, the same one he wore pretty much everyday when he wasn't outside. Or so I'd noticed. He hung it up on one of the barstools.
"Are you going to shut the door, or is this an open house now?" he asked.
I sighed. "So you're here to stay. Great." I shut the door, and suppressed the need to groan really loudly to be dramatic. "When did I ever say 'Hey Elijah, come on inside, it's so good to see you! Please, make yourself at home!'"
"I thought I heard that, actually. After knock number 23."
I rolled my eyes.
"Also, you broke into my room this morning. So, I don't think you get to be the bitter one," Elijah said. "Except I'm not bitter because I was gifted breakfast. Breakfast and sand. Not a bad combo, if you ask me."
