Eighteen #2
My cheeks flushed. “I’m not—I wasn’t— Ugh !”
He shot me a sideways grin as he pulled two Xbox controllers out of a small wooden box tucked under the TV stand.
I slid my shoes off before collapsing on the couch.
Elliot tossed one and flopped down beside me.
“Alright, ready up. Let’s kill some zombies.”
He loaded into the game and instantly selected our go-to map— The Giant .
Most of the other maps we played tended to be…
completely chaotic and overwhelming. Origins had towering robots wreaking havoc on entire civilizations.
Moon had gravity-defying astronauts teleporting across the map.
And Der Eisendrache ? That one had a damn dragon.
But The Giant was just classic, straightforward zombie survival.
Ha . Funny.
Never thought I’d describe anything zombie-related as straightforward. I leaned forward, perched on the edge of the couch, eyes glued to the screen. A gentle nudge against my knee made me blink, pulling my focus.
Elliot’s leg had barely brushed mine, but it was just enough to make me fall out of my trance.
My wrists went slack.
His veins stood out along his forearm, his bicep flexing with every press of the controller buttons.
I couldn’t stop staring. Saliva pooled in my mouth.
I felt like some kind of feral dog. What was it about veins and strong arms that did this to me?
My gaze trailed upward, locking onto his face, zeroing in on his lips.
His tongue peeked out slightly as he concentrated, completely unaware of my spiraling thoughts.
Fuck.
I was in deep.
Then, the doorknob rattled. The hinges groaned. I jerked my head toward the sound just as Elliot’s controller hit the floor with a dull thud. We shot up from our seats, muscles tensed, just as the door swung open.
“Mom!” Elliot shouted, his posture becoming rigid as though he were encased in stone. “You’re back already?”
“Yeah,” his mother groaned as she jimmied her keys out of the doorknob. “ Emmy decided her tutor looked too much like Donald Trump, so here we are…”
His sister plowed into the living room, leaving his mother standing outside, shoulders hunched as she pinched the bridge of her nose.
My mind raced to keep up with the flood of new faces.
The family resemblance between the three was unmistakable.
His sister was slender, with wavy black hair and eyes that mirrored Elliot’s.
His mother, on the other hand, had a sturdier build, strands of gray threading through her hair, and deep creases on her forehead probably related to raising Elliot day after day.
“He was a walking tangerine.”
“ Emelia Oaklynn Keller , just because someone has a bad spray tan…” Her words faltered as she lifted her chin and her eyes connected with mine. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t know you had company.”
“Uh, yeah. Mom, this is Clarke. Clarke…my mom.”
I rubbed my upper arm while offering a quiet hello.
“Are you two…”
“Ye—”
“No!” Elliot cried, his words overlapping mine.
His mother’s eyes darted back and forth as she stared at us, her brows tightly pressed together.
I clenched my jaw, swallowing my words while my gaze remained locked on Elliot.
His lip twitched, but the rest of him went stiff as the weight of his own words crashed over him.
His sister halted mid-step, then slowly retraced her movements, folding one arm over the other as she watched us intently.
“I mean yeah,” Elliot recanted as he awkwardly shuffled over to me, throwing his arm over my shoulders. “It’s just…new.”
“Wait.” Emmy held out her hand. “How did you get her to date you? Are you paying her?”
“Paying? Are you—no. I’m not fucking paying her.”
Shifting her focus to me, she lowered her voice and spoke in a deeper tone. “Is he holding you hostage? Blink twice if you need me to save you.”
“Emmy!” Their mother scolded, swatting her on the back of the arm.
“What? It’s a valid question.”
“Oh my god,” Elliot muttered.
Laughter reverberated out of my mouth, spilling out as I cupped my face. I could feel the heat of Elliot’s gaze as his skin tinged with pink.
“I’m good,” I said with a chuckle. The next words slipped out before I could fully process them. “He’s actually the one who saved me, so.”
“Saved you?” Emmy let out a dry scoff. “From what?”
I clamped down on my tongue in an attempt to reel my words back in.
Lately, it seemed I had developed the awful habit of speaking before thinking, and— oh my god —it was getting me into some deep shit.
Maybe this is why therapists mattered. Dr. Google can’t listen to your woes, Clarke.
But it was the truth. My new, unfortunate habit involved spilling deep truths, and there was no undoing it now.
“I was just hanging out with some shitty people, and he helped me see how shitty they were.”
“And you trusted his judgment? Mr. King-Of-Detention ?”
“He uh…meeting him changed me. And I think I changed him, too. So yeah, I trust his judgment.”
Elliot’s arm tightened around my shoulders as he shook me slightly, my head bobbing from side to side.
“Aw. Thanks… babe .”
“Ew.” Emmy clutched her stomach. “I’m gonna barf.”
“Actually…” I cleared my throat. “If you need a tutor, Elliot could probably—”
“Elliot? Tutor? Have you seen his grades?”
“Yeah. Have you?”
She scrunched her brows, gawking in disbelief. Her lips parted several times, but no words escaped them. Placing a hand on her hip, she let out a hmph .
Their mother cocked her head to the side, jutting out her chin. Her words surfaced before Emmy’s. “Elliot has actually been doing really well in school this year. Maybe you could learn from his example.”
“That’s a horrible idea,” she deadpanned.
“Look, Emelia, I know I haven’t been the best role model, but I think I’m better than some knockoff Donald Trump, don’t you?”
“ Eh .”
“Seriously. If you want help…I—I can try. And if I don’t know the answer, I’ll find someone who does.
School isn’t something to fuck around with.
You need a diploma for almost everything.
Trust me—if I could go back and do things different, I would, but I can’t…
But I can change where things are headed. ”
His voice blended into the background, merging with that of his family. After that, I barely heard a thing.
My mind wandered, his words scraping at the edges of my thoughts like a faint echo.
For five years, I had wished I could go back to that day, to that exact second when everything changed.
I always knew that would never be possible.
So I buried it. I resented the idea of praying or wishing upon a shooting star, begging for things to be different because, in the end, it would be futile.
But maybe I had been looking at it the wrong way.
Who cares that I can’t go back? Maybe it was about doing things differently while continuing to move forward.
For me…but also for Jessie.