I refused.
“Anyway, I just thought you could get to know them. They’re decent enough guys.” He stirred his coffee, the spoon clanging against the side of the mug.
“Are they?” I asked.
He stopped stirring and put the spoon on the table, sticky, brown liquid pooling on the surface.
I gritted my teeth.
“Yes, they are,” he said firmly. He seemed flustered. Thinking about my question. Letting it ruminate.
“Okay,” I agreed.
He looked happy. Relieved.
I wasn’t either of those things.
Not now.
Maybe later.
Tate still lived with his parents, who happened to be out of town. The first thing I noticed as we walked into the small bungalow was the smell of stale cigarettes and nachos.
The sounds of yelling from somewhere within had me slowing my steps and taking my time.
No need to rush forward.
I wasn’t there by choice.
Elian had gone home to shower and change, leaving me alone for only forty-five minutes. I barely had time to register he was gone by the time he had come back.
He was happy. So happy. He wanted to show off his pretty new girl to his ill begotten friends.
His pretty new girl wanted nothing to do with ill begotten friends.
She wanted Dancing Green Eyes, joyful and full, all to herself.
The house was small and unloved. Falling apart and to the brim with neglect.
More shouting.
Laughter.
Noise.
I wanted to leave.
Elian’s grip on my hand was so tight it hurt. I gripped his just as painfully. He didn’t mind. He was holding my hand. He was ready to present me to the only people in his life.
The people that he had chosen to let into his make believe world.
I was curious about this Elian he had given them.
Because I knew it wasn’t the real one.
The one from Diamond Creek, Pennsylvania.
So while I would rather take him away from all of this, to keep him with me always, I’d bide my time. So I could see the show he chose to perform.
“Elian! My man! You made it! The match has already started!” The person I knew as Tate, waved from a threadbare couch in the center of a cluttered living room. Tacky curtains and nicotine-stained walls did little mask the smell of decay that hung in the air.
The 50-inch television blared at an ear splitting volume. The room felt packed with heaving, sweaty male bodies, hollering at men bleeding on the screen.
“Hey guys!” Elian yelled over the din. A simultaneous lifting of hands was the only indication that he was heard.
“They get really into their UFC,” he yelled into my ear. I heard him. I always heard him. He didn’t need to yell.
“Elian!” A squeal. A flurry of hands and lips. Two girls wrapped uncovered arms around his neck and pressed him close. Away from me. Pulling. Pulling. Away.
I narrowed my eyes as I watched Margie and a girl I didn’t recognize hug and kiss the man who I had come there with.
Mine.
Elian moved back to my side instantly. Like a good boy, he took my hand once again. I rewarded him with a smile. I knew how much he loved them.
“Girls, this is Layna. My girlfriend,” Elian announced, proud of himself. So sure. So confident. Easy grins and charming words.
This was their Elian Beyer.
Both women looked at me. Margie’s expression one of contempt. The other woman wore a look of interest.
“A new girl huh? That was quick,” the unrecognizable woman laughed, poking Margie in the side and giving her a pointed look. I didn’t like her.
I thought of my fingers in her eyes, gouging, pulling. Blood on the floor. Skin in tattered clumps in my hands. She wouldn’t laugh then. The only noise would be her screams.
“Gail, shut up, all right? Don’t make this awkward for Layna.” Elian’s threat was all words and no guts. He was smiles and teasing. He was easygoing and not hard enough.