The Older Man

Twelve

"I could really use a cigarette."

Elijah'a eyes shot up to the petite woman. His brows disappeared behind the fallen pieces of his hair. He examined the way her eyes dulled. The slopes of her eyelids hung low. Her under eyes were shadowed by her exhaustion.

"Why would you want a cigarette? You don't smoke."

She scoffed and brushed a frizzy strand behind her ears. For too long, there was a pause. Her agitation filled the air. He could taste her misery. Her apathy. 

"Because a cigarette sure beats this crap. Plus I've heard a nicotine addition does wonders for stress."

He wanted to laugh, but he knew better. She was serious. Self destruction seemed the better option than pursuing a bleak future.

"You know what does wonders for stress, pretty girl? Taking a break."

His chair scraped against the hardwood floor. He stared her down and let his feet take him where he belonged. He watched her eyes ignite and a blush creep onto her cheeks. A sly smile tugs at his lips and she's in his arms again.

"How about I take this beautiful lady out on the town? Maybe go to a bar and drink your stress away?"

"Oh do. I would give anything to float!"

Within thirty minutes they were dressed. Clara grabbed her wool coat and scarf while Elijah adjusted his shirt and hair. She grabbed the doorknob, but a hand pulled her back.

In his arms, she melted away. He held for a silent moment, rocking to the tune of her breath. He held her hands and warmed the tips in his palms. He brought her hands to his lips and kissed each digit. He marveled at her smooth palms and kissed them. She watched, unaware of the heat in her stomach and chest. The fire his gentle touch brought. The way he washed her misery away and filled her with hope.

"You forgot your gloves." He whispered, sliding the leather on her warm hand. She sighed, unable to speak. The air was too warm. It was too intense. She was suffocated by the weight of his touches.

He held her against his side as they walked down the street. He didn't need to hold her so close. He didn't need to hold her at all. They could walk side by side. That should be enough, but it wasn't. No, nothing was enough for him. He had to touch her and know that this wasn't a fantasy or some drunken wet dream. He needed to know she was there.

"You know, you don't need to hold me so close." She whined, gently pushing off his side. He wanted to tell her he did. That she would run when given the chance. Especially since he knew her secret.

"Hold my hand." Clara grabbed his palm and leaned her head on his arm. Unknowingly, his body relaxed. A sigh left his lips and he squeezed her small hand. She wanted him to. It wasn't a dream.

The bar they walked to was popular with people at his work. It was classier than a college bar, but not dead like a bar you'd find in the suburbs. Plus, the drinks were pretty cheap. When they walked in, the hum of voices and music greeted them. Following the noise was the heat. It was a Friday. Bodies clustered the area. And boy were they sweating.

"C'mon let's check our oats." He tugged her hand and they were waiting in line. Elijah watched her take it in. She seemed enthralled by the energy. The way people seemed so at ease.

"Why is everyone so chill?" She mused, turning her face to him. He could have kissed her there if she wasn't so coy. Her eyes glistened with the whimsical youth that he dreamt of. The eyes he always wanted to see. All he wanted was to make her happy. To show her life is so much better when you chase joy.