Title: Empty
Author: Elandae (j_3101@yahoo.ca)
Pairing: Just Elijah
Rating: R
Summary: Things aren’t always as they seem.
Disclaimer: I don’t know any of the people in this, it’s all made up.
Feedback: Always welcome.
Warning: Some icky bits in here, I guess. Nothing too graphic, just be warned. J
Dedication: For the one who doesn’t like fluff (you know who you are!)
It's so safe to play along
Little soldiers in a row
Falling in and out of love
With something sweet to throw away.
But I want something good to die for
To make it beautiful to live.
-Queens of the Stone Age
Emotionally, he was empty. There just wasn’t anything in Elijah. But he smiled that sweet smile, and looked at people with those too blue to be real eyes, and they believed him. He was an actor, that’s what he did. He was just better than everyone thought. He created a façade, a cover, and they all believed it. No one knew that Elijah felt nothing. He was empty, entirely devoid of….everything. No one knew that, no one really knew *him*. He laughed and he joked with the hobbits, faking happiness that he did not feel. Had not felt for so long that he couldn’t even remember what it was like. It should hurt, should feel wrong not to experience things, when everything is fake. When it’s all an image you’ve created. But it didn’t, because Elijah didn’t feel wrong, he felt nothing. That was the point.
When his girlfriend had told him that she loved him, he had said it back. He didn’t mean it. He didn’t love her, didn’t feel much of anything for her, but that was what she wanted to hear, what she needed. And Elijah gave it to her, because that was what he did. When they had broken up, and she had tearfully accused him of never really loving her, he had denied it. But he hadn’t. And once she’d left, he’d gone back to what he was doing before she had come, watching some meaningless show on TV. Nothing had changed for him anyways, just one less person to have to fake these feelings for. He had watched the tears pour down her face, seen the raw emotions in her eyes, and as soon as the door closed behind her, he had forgotten her. Now he couldn’t even recall her name, her face, she was just another blur.
There was only one time when Elijah felt something. When he drew that cold, sharp metal across the perfect porcelain of his skin. Watched the blood bubble up, slide down, the crimson glaringly bright against his nearly translucent skin. That was real, the pain was tangible. Elijah felt something then, the clarity of the wound, watched in awe as the blood flowed smooth and beautiful over his skin. Beautiful. The metal, so shiny in the light, glaring, it’s sterile purity tainted by his blood. He loved that small piece of metal, in the only way he could. Loved it for its perfection, its beauty, its pain. The only time Elijah didn’t feel hollow was when he felt that all too familiar coolness beneath the heat of his fingers, when he felt that precise pain, flowing sweetly through his veins, taking over him. Then he was in control. Then things were right, beautiful.
A drop of blood spattered onto his finger. Elijah looked for a moment, studying the blurred edges, the vivid color. He raised his hand to his mouth, running his tongue over the splotch, closing his eyes as the hard metallic taste danced gleefully across his tongue. So right.
He loved the pleasure as the pain ran through his slender body. It hurt so good. He could feel it centered in him, the ache bringing him to life. Not for long, never for long enough, but awoke something within him. Something he could not name, but felt that he should know. It always ended too soon, the euphoria melting away, leaving him sitting there on the bathroom floor, holding his arm, his leg, whatever was bleeding, and empty. Always empty.
Dominic had seen a cut once, asked about it, concern in his eyes, real concern. Elijah had made something up, something that made Dominic laugh, flashed those blue eyes at him and made him forget. And it was easy, so fucking easy, that for once in longer than he could remember Elijah’s laughter was almost real. Almost.
Elijah was more careful after that. They couldn’t know, they would not understand. They had control, Elijah made it look like he did, but the only time he was in control was when he locked himself in the bathroom, the cold bite of steel into delicate flesh. That was control. That was beautiful in its agony, its unforgiving throb. They couldn’t understand that, finding happiness, his only happiness in the edge of a blade. The deeper he cut, the better it felt. The sweet surge of blood, cleansing him, purifying him…..tainting him.
/ / / / /
It happened one night when had invited the hobbits over. They had been having fun, very loud fun. Elijah had laughed harder than any of them, until tears poured down his cheeks, wondering how why he felt most alone when he was with other people. But being someone else is demanding, and Elijah grew tired early on in the evening. He yearned to lock himself in his bathroom, and make this emptiness dissipate. For however long, it did not matter, he just needed to feel something.
He made his excuses and escaped to the bathroom, shut the door behind him, not bothering with a lock, he knew they wouldn’t disturb him. He reached into the drawer and rummaged around until he found what he was looking for. He pulled his hand out, tossing the wrapper aside, until his happiness lay, sparkling dully in the palm of his hand. This time, he felt happier than he ever had before. So happy, that he started feeling dizzy, his head reeling, he slipped down the wall, landing with a thump on the floor. This time he felt so happy his vision blurred, blackened. So happy, so tired, suddenly it was so hard to keep his eyes open anymore….couldn’t fight it anymore. Let it wash over him, pull him under, not even hearing the knocking on the door, increasing in urgency….just closed his eyes.
/ / / / /
Elijah awoke in a sterile white room. His eyes were dry and grainy, and he had no memory of how he had gotten in here. He looked around, realizing that the hobbits were surrounding his bed, all half asleep. Where was he? How had he gotten here? He cleared his throat, trying to speak, his voice coming out light and rough.
‘What happened?’
The hobbits around him jumped up, exclaiming over the fact that he was awake, too happy to see him open his eyes after the interminable night that they didn’t even start with the questions yet. Those came later. Floods of them, never ending questions. Friends, family, all wanting to know why he had done this. What made him hurt himself like this? They didn’t understand, didn’t know. The emptiness, what’s like to feel nothing. To be able to find happiness only on the sharp edge of a blade. They made him talk to more people, professionals. And they told him that that wasn’t happiness, they wanted to know what was going on. So Elijah told them, he broke down and told them. He cried, his chest heaving with the strength of his sobs. Told them everything they wanted to hear. After all, he was a better actor than any of them knew.
The End.