Chapter Seven- Parasite
"So...what do you think?"
What do I think?
Sam and Frodo are fading, hobbling side by side into an endless abyss of sharp rocks.
Hmmm.
I think I'm a bit disturbed.
"Ehm, I'm a little freaked out, you know?"
Elijah frowns and shakes his head, "Freaked out?"
"Well...I'm dating a 3 foot hobbit with huge hairy feet who is potentially harboring secret sexual feelings for his groping gardener. And they are alone, in the middle of no where, with nothing to do."
Orlando snorts loudly, Elijah grins.
I'm thinking, go me!
Orlando says, "But Jules. Huge hairy feet, you know what that means, don't you?"
I nod in false somberness. "Aye. I do," A despairing sigh. "But that just increases the chances of him and Sam having a nice romp in the sack sooner or later."
I drop my head, broken hearted, and am immediately pelted with a pillow.
"You're just jealous!"
I snake my hand onto Elijah's thigh, slightly grazing over his crotch as I do so.
I breathe, "Yeah. You gonna do something about it?" My fingers draw soft circles over his leg.
Are you throwing up yet?
You should be. Any respectable breathing being should be.
I, Juliana Wheeler, am flirting. Actually flirting.
My mind is screaming at me, telling me to shut the fuck up and go to bed before I make even more a fool of myself.
But here I am, grinning girlishly at Elijah, massaging his thigh seductively, making horrible jokes.
The odd thing is no one's running away in disgust. In fact, Elijah seems quite allured; riveted to spot, eyes wide and mouth open slightly.
Maybe he just has a defect of some sort.
Nevertheless, my hand continues to trail up Elijah's thigh, nearing his crotch dangerously.
I'm wrong, of course. Someone is running away in disgust. Someone whose presence I'm trying desperately to ignore but whose mocha eyes are plaguing me, making such an attempt impossible.
"I better get going," Orlando says, standing abruptly, avoiding all eye contact. I just follow Elijah's indifferent nod and before I can feel guilty or shameful about it the door is closing behind Orli.
My hand stops.
"So..." Elijah has this really adorable habit where he chews persistently on his bottom lip when nervous. It makes me just want to chew it for him. "So...are we dating then?"
Chew, chew, chew.
I have this really annoying habit where I concentrate on small, insignificant details to distract my mind from other occurrences.
Or other people.
Chew, chew, chew.
I blink. "What?"
"Before...you said we were dating. Are we?"
Good question Elijah.
This whole past week has been fantastic. An upward spiral of just Elijah and I. No interruptions, no dilemmas. Just us in our own little world of comfort and lust.
I never even realized how much of a couple we seemed and I was even less aware of how we never once talked about it.
Now, I'm thinking maybe it's as simple as it seems.
"Yeah, I guess we are."
Elijah smiles brilliantly.
This is the part where I crave contact. This is the part where I becoming just one huge raging hormone.
This is the part where I don't just concentrate, but rather loose myself completely in the small, insignificant details so that the rest of the world really does melt away.
And Elijah just keeps smiling, eyes twinkling. Smiles like the entire world has just been handed to him on a platter, like I am that platter.
It's hitting me hard that I am the cause of this blatant happiness. It's hitting me even harder to know how wrong that concept really is.
I shouldn't have such power over him. I shouldn't be the determining factor in his happiness. I'll only bring him pain. He'll drink me in to feed his happiness, like water does life, but really he'll just be drinking a bucket of parasites, because I'll only take selfishly from him, suck him dry.
Surely he must know this. Surely he must know what a fool he is to allow me to have this place in his life. Surely he must know that these feelings he is having, whatever they may be, are only temporary delusions.
But he doesn't and the oblivious acceptance and adoration he gives me makes it impossible for me to resist him.
How can I refuse what I've never had but always desired?
So when his mouth descends over mine I don't hesitate in returning the kiss. I welcome his sweet taste, his soft, silky lips and am immediately filled with the need to please him.
I owe him that much.
Because he's been here for me. He's held me and made me laugh when I thought I had no laughter left. He's given me what I've needed and I've given nothing back.
No confidence. No trust.
I haven't given it because I can't.
But I can give him something else. Something physical.
I owe it to him and what's more, I want to give it to him.
Duty and desire combine to create an enormous explosion of passion.
So I kiss him like I've never kissed anyone.
I'm pouring all that needs to be conveyed into this kiss.
I'm telling Elijah what I need him to know.
That I'm sorry I'm so empty handed. That I'm sorry I'm such an endless pit of need, so unrewarding to supply. That the fact that he is just here, holding me, means the world to me and is more than I could ever hope for.
I'm apologizing and expressing my gratitude and praying he understands.
I'm telling him, Take me, I'm yours.
And take me he does. He pulls me so close to him that I'm just extension of his body, trails his hands over every inch of my skin and ravishes me in one simple kiss until lack of oxygen forces him to break away.
We stare silently at each other as we regain our breath.
The intensity in Elijah's eyes throws me off guard.
They hold so much more than desire.
They tell me he understands, maybe not in actual acknowledgement, but that some unspoken and unheard part of him knows this is all I can offer, and accepts it.
Accepts me.
I smile and with a guttural growl Elijah gathers me into his arms, gently yet hastily, and brings me into my room. When my back touches the bed and the door clicks softly shut, my brain immediately switches off.
Darkness, void of all thought, invades any logic I once had. Instead all that remains are just feelings. Just lust and need and hunger.
I welcome the darkness though, because within it is a bright light, too far to reach, yet so tangible. So I embrace it, respond without reservation as Elijah explores my body with mouth and hands.
Cloths are discarded, sensations are heightened, and warming darkness consumes. My body pulsates with raw feeling, soaks it up in the absence of expression. The darkness, the promise of light, is all I need.
Bare skin upon bare skin is all I need.
Warmth.
We both take it from each other, both give it.
So the soft sheets billow around me, Elijah's warm body and passionate kisses pressed firmly over me and, in innate trust, I surrender myself completely to the unknown.
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Waking up to Elijah is like waking up to the smell of Belgium waffles; cooked by a loving mother and to be eaten by the perfect family. Waking up to Elijah, spooning and safe, is like waking up to the life that never seemed possible.
Maybe I'm dramatizing it. Maybe I'm overreacting to a silly everyday occurrence.
But it's not everyday. Not for me.
If I were watching myself right now I'd be rolling my eyes.
Sap, sap, sap.
Elijah shifts behind me, groans in awakening. I stay silent until his arms tighten around me.
I say, "Good morning."
I'm feeling very cliché. Like I'm in some silly movie, waking up in that ridiculous after-sex glow, without a care in the world.
I hate feeling cliché, but I really, really like it too.
I can feel Elijah smiling against me.
"Good morning." His words are muffled into my back.
I don't want to dwell on this after-sex glow. I don't want to think about how right it feels and how wrong it should. Or maybe it's opposite. Maybe I don't want to think about how wrong it feels and how right it should.
I don't know.
I'm confused and I don't want to dwell on it so I'm not going to.
I say, "Let's do something productive today."
Elijah just chuckles and runs a tantalizing finger down my bare side.
"Like what?"
I shiver, slide out from Elijah's warm embrace and off the bed in attempt to remain neutral.
"Let's go...let's go explore the city for old music shops."
"That's productive?"
"For me, yes."
There's an uncomfortable pause, interrupted only by the squeaking of my bed as Elijah gets up.
I'm standing still as stone because I'm petrified of what I'm feeling.
I'm standing frozen, trying so hard to not react as Elijah slides his arms around my waist and rests his chin on my shoulder.
"Jules, what wrong?"
What is wrong?
"I...this feels wrong."
Elijah tenses and I blink at my own blunt words.
What?!
Where in the hell did that come from?
"What do you mean?" His voice shakes slightly.
I don't respond. I can't respond. I'm too afraid of what will come out if I open my mouth.
So Elijah and I, we just stand together tensely. We go,
Blink. Blink, blink.
And wonder what just happened to that bliss we shared.
Elijah finally breaks the silence, repeats his question, "What do you mean, this feels wrong?"
I bite my lip in search of an answer.
I see Elijah's smiling eyes, feel his body pressed to mine.
I remember Orlando's comforting embrace, his empathy.
I think of my own pathetic sobs.
I hear a voice scream through the deep red of flowing blood.
The silence engulfing me whispers menacingly, seethes out accusations.
Why does this feel so wrong? This happiness? This comfort?
Because the accusations are spoken in truth.
I whisper, "I don't deserve this."
Elijah's arms tighten around me again.
"Don't deserve what?"
You, Elijah, I don't deserve you. I don't deserve this bliss that you give me.
I don't even deserve to be breathing.
"All of it."
Pathetic little me is crying again. Crying in disgusting self-pity and weakness.
Pathetic little me is leaning back into Elijah's embrace, feeding off his comfort.
Taking, taking, taking and never stopping.
"That's far from true," Elijah tells me, turning me in his arms. "You don't even know how deserving you are..." He rambles on his reassurance, but I'm not listening.
I'm just shaking my head.
He doesn't even know and I'm wondering when he will.
When he is going to see me for the parasite I am?
When he is going to realize what a waste of time and effort having me in his life is?
The look in Elijah's eyes tells me that he's far from this realization. The look in his eyes tells of nothing but the genuine belief that I am deserving.
Such certainty stops my tears.
"Come on," Elijah coaxes. "Let's get dressed and go looking for those music shops."
I let him lead me to the bathroom.
I'm understanding something in accepting my own selfishness.
If Elijah is so willing to believe in my worthiness, who am I to dispute him?
Sooner or later, he'll realize otherwise, for sure, but as of now what more can I do than characteristically benefit from his delusion?
Nothing.
I can only live as a true parasite. I can only allow myself to take what comfort and joy I can in the shadow of his naivety, use it in attempt to forget the pain.
It isn't a flattering decision. It isn't something I enjoy, embracing my own selfishness. It isn't something I truly want to do.
It is survival.
I force a smile up at Elijah, poor clueless Elijah, and cling desperately to his side.
I say, "Thank you," And pray he misses the guilt so deeply embedded in my voice.
