Eli 27
Eli
The onions hissed when they hit the pan, the sizzle loud in the quiet flat. I gave them a quick stir, then set the spoon aside while I reached for the garlic.
In the other room, Rowan sat slumped on the sofa with a throw blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He stared blankly at the muted telly, but I didn't think he was taking any of it in. He hadn't moved in twenty minutes. Not even to sip the tea I made him.
I turned my attention back to the cutting board and pressed the side of the knife flat against the garlic, crushing it with more force than necessary. The skin split with a satisfying pop, and I tossed the cloves into the pan before the onions had a chance to burn.
Marcus had shown up a few more times in the past couple weeks. The knocks always came some time after I left. Different days, same pattern. Somehow, he knew when I was here and when I wasn't. And every time, Rowan shrank further into himself.
I hadn’t made any headway convincing him to go to the police.
We had enough proof to bury Marcus, but Rowan was still too scared to do anything.
Too convinced that pushing meant lighting the fuse.
He was shutting down again, and it killed me to see him like this.
No matter what I said or did, I couldn't pull him out of it.
I added another splash of oil to the pan and kept my hands busy. If I watched him too long, I'd break something.
I went on autopilot as I finished stirring the pasta into the sauce and let it simmer while I grabbed a few dishes.
It wasn't anything fancy, but it was familiar and grounding.
Who knew if it would help, but it was all I could offer tonight.
I scooped a portion onto a plate, then grabbed a fork before heading for the sitting room.
Rowan never once looked up. His eyes stayed glued to the television, to the point that I wondered if he was even seeing it at all.
I kept my voice soft as I set the plate on the coffee table. "Here. Figured you could use something hot."
No movement at all.
After a moment, I crouched down to his level and tried to get his attention. "Ro, you need to eat. You've not had anything all day."
His eyes flickered, just a bit, but not toward me. He blinked like he was trying to process what I said, then his gaze drifted elsewhere. Even tracking a conversation cost more energy than he had.
I held back a sigh and stood up. None of this was his fault. I knew that. But Christ, I hated feeling this useless. He’d become a ghost of himself again, and I hated that I couldn't reach him.
A sharp knock cracked through the air and made me flinch.
Rowan jolted with a full-body start that snapped him out of whatever frozen state he'd been locked in. His eyes darted to the door, wide and panicked. But then he went still again with that fixed, hunted look that had become so familiar these past weeks.
It could've just been Mrs Cavanagh checking in.
She'd taken to doing that every now and then to see how Rowan was holding up.
But she also knew what was going on. I'd told her about Marcus lurking around and asked her to keep an eye out when she was home.
She wouldn't just knock. She'd text me first.
Even if she'd forgotten, that knock had too much weight behind it. Too much intention. It wasn't her.
My phone pinged in the kitchen. That was the sound I used for the camera alerts.
My hands clenched as I stared at the door. It had to be Marcus.
"Eli, don't."
My gaze shot back to Rowan. That was the first time he'd spoken all day, and those two words were so quiet I almost wasn't sure I heard them. Every bit of colour had drained from his face. His fingers tightened around the blanket, but there was no real strength in the grip.
I didn't want to get him worked up. But I also couldn't just stand here and let this happen again. I marched toward the door before I could stop myself.
His voice rose behind me in a forced whisper, more desperate now. "Eli, don't – please – "
I kept my steps quiet as I crossed the room, then leaned against the frame. I didn't open the door yet or even touch the handle. I just stood close and tilted my head to listen. It had to be Marcus knocking, but I couldn't figure out why he was here when I hadn't left.
At first, nothing. Just a tense, thick silence. Then another knock came, followed by that voice that made me want to eat glass.
"Come on, Rowan, open up. You make it worse for yourself every time you ignore me."
Another pause. Then the voice again, closer now. Smug as ever.
"You can't keep hiding in there. You're wasting everyone's time with these games. Especially his."
My jaw locked, but otherwise, I held back. I wanted to hear exactly the kind of shit he'd been spewing when I wasn't around.
"Look, I get it. You needed someone to swoop in and make you feel like you're not completely falling apart. But be serious. He's not going to stick around for all this. He didn't sign up to babysit a grown man who's scared of his own shadow."
I heard Rowan suck in a breath behind me.
"And when he's finally had enough, who's left?"
You absolute fucking rat. No wonder Rowan was so messed up.
I unlocked the door and yanked it open before I could think better of it. The force made the handle crack hard against the stopper. Marcus jerked back a step, and his smug expression slipped.
For just a second, I saw the surprise flash in his eyes.
I stepped fully into the doorway. "Yeah. It's me."
He recovered fast. The surprise vanished behind that arrogant grin like it was never there. "So you're fighting his battles for him?"
"That's none of your business."
His lips curled in amusement as he sized me up. "Is that what this is now? You're playing house while he falls apart on the sofa?"
"I don't give a shit what you think it is. You don't belong here, so piss off."
He smirked, but I didn't miss the way his shoulders tightened. He didn't like being caught off-script.
Good.
"You don't get to keep circling and pretending he owes you something. You show up here again, I'll make sure it's the last time."
Marcus didn't answer right away. He just stood there with a lazy posture, but I could almost hear the gears working in his head as he recalibrated. Then came the sneer.
"You're just a placeholder. You know that, yeah? Soak it up while it lasts. He'll remember what a mess he is. And you'll realise you can't handle him. You don't have the stomach for it. You'll leave just like everyone else has."
My jaw tightened so much it ached, but I didn't otherwise react to him. That was what he wanted. He was looking for a crack in the wall, some proof he'd hit a nerve. I refused to give him that.
Marcus leaned in a bit. Not enough to get in my personal space, but enough to test my boundaries. "It's cute, though, watching you play the hero." He gestured vaguely into the flat behind me. "But someone like him doesn't need rescue. He needs someone to manage him."
That one just about did it.
I stepped a little closer, anger flooding my veins. "You're done. Get out."
His eyes narrowed a tiny bit, and I saw the first crack in the mask. That pompous little smile twisted into something meaner. Darker. But before I could fully clock the change, his fist flew at my face.
I didn't expect him to actually hit me. His knuckles landed hard enough to make me stagger half a step back, and my hand shot out to catch myself at the doorframe.
He took another swing, but this time I caught his wrist, twisted, and spun him around. I shoved him forward until he slammed face-first into the opposite wall.
He hit with a solid thud and a surprised grunt. His body jerked as he tried to get free, but I tightened my grip. I yanked his arm up as far as it would go and pinned him with mine braced tight across his back.
"I said you're done," I growled, pressing him into the cold plaster.
He twisted hard and tried to shove back, but he couldn't get leverage. "You think you're gonna scare me off?" he spat through clenched teeth. "You don't call the shots, Elias. I own him."
"No, you don't," I shot back. "You never did."
He thrashed with one last burst of fight, wild and clumsy. Not anger or desperation. Something was unravelling now that he wasn't in control.
I yanked him back and shoved him down the hall. He stumbled a few steps but managed to catch himself before he hit the floor. Immediately, he whirled around and straightened to posture like the psychopathic peacock he was. Chin up. Shoulders squared. Rage carved into every line of his face.
"You're gonna regret this," he hissed, his voice low and venomous. "You're both gonna regret this."
I clenched my fist, the heat burning through my chest begging me to just knock him out cold. But I didn't. I wouldn't stoop to his level.
Instead, I spat, "Get out."
He held my stare for a second too long. Maybe he couldn't decide whether to try another swing or spit in my face. But then he forced his shoulders to relax, gave a stiff jerk of his jaw, and stormed away without a word.
I didn't move until I heard the door slam shut behind him. My hands shook slightly from the confrontation, and every muscle in my body was coiled tight. I tried to breathe past the adrenaline rushing through me, but then the door across the hall creaked open.
Mrs Cavanagh peeked out at me, one eyebrow raised and her mouth pressed into a line I couldn't quite read. Not disapproving, exactly. More like she was gauging how close things had come to blood on the walls.
That's when I realised I'd slammed Marcus into the wall right next to her flat. Probably rattled her front door.
I straightened and forced my voice to steady. "Sorry. Didn't mean to bother you."
She just waved a hand. "Oh, don't fuss. That ferret-faced bastard had it coming."
I blinked.
"It's about time someone knocked the smug out of him. Shame you didn't aim lower." She gave a quick wink and a smile, then shut the door again with a decisive click.
For the first time all day, my tension eased. Just a bit. Enough that I could let out a small laugh under my breath before I stepped back into Rowan's flat.
I shut the door behind me with more care than I'd shown when I threw it open. The locks clicked into place, but I didn't move right away. My heart still hammered in my chest, and I needed a second to calm myself down.
Then I glanced at Rowan – and I froze.
He sat exactly where I left him, but his posture had changed. He wasn't slumped anymore. His eyes were wide, locked on me, and I could see the tension in every inch of his frame.
Shit. He saw all that.
I dropped my gaze as my pulse spiked for a whole different reason. Of course I'd scared him. Me storming out, slamming Marcus into the wall, getting in his face. I'd gone in furious, and Rowan – God, Rowan had survived someone who looked just like that when he lost control.
I scrubbed a hand over my face and backed up a step, as if that might help soften what he'd seen. "Sorry," I said quietly. "I didn't mean to – I shouldn't have gone at him like that."
"You're bleeding."
My hand paused as I looked up.
Rowan had set the blanket aside and stood, though he hadn't moved very far away from the sofa. He was still watching me. A bit wary, still clearly rattled. But I didn't hear any fear in his voice now. Just concern.
"What?"
He gestured to his own mouth. "Your lip. It's bleeding."
It took me a second to figure out what he meant, but then I reached up to touch my mouth. A sharp sting immediately hit, and so did the faint metallic taste on my tongue. I pulled my fingers away and found blood.
Marcus must've split my lip when he got that punch in. I hadn't even felt it.
Rowan took a step toward me. That same tightness still tugged at his shoulders, but something had changed. The wide-eyed shock from a moment ago had dialled down. His eyes held a new kind of focus. "Sit down," he said, his voice soft but firmer this time. "Let me clean it up."
I started to protest, but the way he looked at me made me stop. This wasn't about the busted lip. Rowan was trying to push back against the helplessness. He needed to do something to feel like he had some kind of control in all of this.
So I lowered myself onto the sofa without a word. The cushion dipped beneath me, and I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees, watching Rowan as he moved around the flat.
He didn't walk fast. His head stayed down as he disappeared down the hall, and I could hear the shuffle of the cabinet door opening, the quiet clatter of something being moved aside. His movements sounded careful. Deliberate. I could only assume he was trying to process what just happened.
When he came back, he held a small first aid kit in one hand and a damp cloth in the other.
He knelt in front of me, close enough to reach, and hesitated before setting the kit down and meeting my eyes.
He lifted the cloth, and I could see his hand trembling.
Only a little, but enough that I felt it when the cloth touched my lip.
He lingered for a second after dabbing away the last of the blood. Then he slowly reached up and tipped my face to the side to get a better look. "He really decked you."
I huffed a quiet breath, part laugh and part wince. "Yeah. He got a good one in."
He reached for the Vaseline, unscrewed the jar, and put some on his fingertip. He hesitated, his finger hovering just above my lip, and I held my breath as he gently smoothed it over the cut.
After a moment, he said, "You're better at holding your ground now than you were in school."
That made me smile for real. "Low bar. Back then, I picked fights I couldn't always finish."
"You got a bloody nose just for looking at Callum Whitby wrong."
"Still say he had it out for me."
Though he didn't quite smile, the corner of his mouth twitched like he wanted to. The weight he was carrying seemed a little lighter for a second. Then he looked down at the cloth, now streaked faintly with red. "Does it hurt?"
I shook my head, even though it did a little. "Not really."
He went still briefly, then gathered up the cloth and kit and carried everything into the kitchen.
I heard the faint snap of the kit closing, the quiet pull of the freezer door, then the rustle of a towel being pulled from the drawer under the sink.
His footsteps were soft on the way back, and when he knelt in front of me again, he held a wrapped ice pack.
He didn't speak as he brought it up to my lip. Just pressed it there gently, more focused than I'd seen him in a long time. I watched the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the way his fingers curled around the ice pack to keep it in place. He was still shaken, but he was trying.
I lifted my hand and let it rest lightly over his. His eyes flicked up, startled at first. But he didn't pull away.
"Thanks," I said quietly. "You'd make a decent nurse."
That earned me a bit of a look and an eye roll.