Chapter 8 – “exile （feat. Bon Iver）” - Taylor Swift
VIOLET
“EXILE (FEAT. BON IVER)” - TAYLOR SWIFT
She looks like a drowned rat.
I have to bite back a laugh at that intrusive thought because the look on her face tells me right now is clearly not the fucking time.
Her depthless brown eyes look even darker with the purple circles beneath them, telling me she didn’t sleep last night.
Her clothes are soaked, clinging to her skin, water cascading down her face and legs.
Her hair hangs in heavy, wet clumps around her shoulders, drops falling off the ends and into the puddle she’s now formed on my doorstep.
She’s a mess.
Her eyes are red-rimmed and swollen. I can’t tell if she’s actively crying or if it’s just the rain falling down her face in heavy rivulets. Her gaze bleeds desperation, and her soft mouth parts, breath huffing like she can’t quite find the words.
I don’t have them either. I’m too fixated on those lips. Fixated on every inch of my skin they’ve brushed across, on all the words they’ve ever said. In the way they moved as they whispered my name that night just before she left me. How goddamn badly I long to hear them beg for my forgiveness.
I’m still staring at them as they begin to move, and my eyes snap to hers.
“I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” she whispers, voice raspy like she’s been running.
“Did you walk here?” I ask.
“Ran.”
Her soul-snatching gaze meets mine, and I’m immediately swallowed whole, drowning within her. Cursed by those endless brown eyes.
She’s like a fucking enchantress. A goddamn demon, harboring my being.
“So I’m your last resort?” I ask.
She sucks in a swift breath, eyes falling to the ground, and it’s like I’m being let free. “It doesn’t sound like you’re particularly interested in being my first these days.”
Because you ruined me.
“I’m not.”
“I can’t stay with Everett anymore,” she whispers.
The tone doesn’t invite much room for argument, and I wonder if he kicked her out after discovering her drinking. I wonder if she finally pushed him to the edge. My stomach twists with a pang of guilt. I didn’t think he’d give up on her when I told him about it.
“I can’t stay with my parents, or with Leo. I don’t want them to see me like this.” Her voice is so broken, and knowing the aspects of Elena’s personality that haven’t changed, I imagine that sentence was a hard one for her to admit. Especially to me.
“Why me?” I ask.
She raises her head, and now I know for sure that the moisture brimming her eyes is tears. “I don’t want to keep hurting them, and my personal implosion doesn’t hurt you. You don’t care about me anymore.”
You are so fucking blind.
Somehow, I remain stone-faced.
For reasons beyond my control or comprehension, I open the door wider and step aside. She’s timid as she enters my house, slipping off her shoes and refusing to leave the entry rug as she drips water all over my floors.
I shut the door, leaning against it. “I don’t have it in me to take care of you anymore, Elena. I have nothing left to give you.”
She closes her eyes like she can’t bear to look at me, and it’s a quiet moment before she clears her throat, finding her composure.
“Can you let me crash on your couch tonight?” She forces a smile that is so unconvincing it’s like she’s forgotten how to smile at all.
“For old times’ sake? I need space from my family to figure some shit out. I’ll be gone by morning. I swear.”
Her bottom lip trembles as she crosses her arms over her chest, nails digging into her forearms. I don’t know if she’s fighting back tears, or if she’s so cold she’s shivering, but I can’t fucking stand the sight of it.
I nod toward the staircase in front of us. “Upstairs, take a left. The room at the end of the hall has an ensuite. Take a shower and crash there tonight. I’ve got spare clothes in the dresser and towels in the closet.”
She nods, and that goddamn lip is shaking again as she whispers, “Thank you.”
A rogue tear escapes her eye, falling down her cheek in slow motion as she turns toward the stairs. She’s halfway up before I call out, “Five hundred.”
She pauses, keeping her back to me.
“Five hundred a month and you can rent the room. It’s cheaper than anything else you’ll find in Pacific Shores.”
She spins, tilting her head as her dripping hair falls over her shoulder. “Why?”
I don’t like the idea of trading vulnerabilities with her.
I never want to lose the upper hand again, but considering she’s homeless, wet, and begging for a place to sleep, I figure it’s safe for me to say, “I have trouble staying afloat in the winter when business is slow. I’ve been considering getting a roommate for a while to help with the mortgage. ”
“But you didn’t want to live with a stranger?” Elena asks.
“I don’t want to live with anyone.” I shrug. “But I was starting to believe a stranger would be better than someone I do know.”
She leans against the railing. “So, why me?”
“Because you are a stranger to me, Elena,” I say, cementing the boundary I’ll need if I’m going to share any kind of space with her at all.
Her features explode in shock before morphing into something like despondency. She swallows, giving me a shallow nod, her gaze fixed on nothing in particular, like she’s completely lost inside her own mind.
“I don’t have that much money on me right now,” she admits quietly.
“Pay it by the first. That’s two weeks.”
Her eyes lift to mine, and all I see is hopelessness in her gaze before she nods once again. I turn on my heel before marching through the living room and into my bedroom off the den, leaving her standing on the stairs, dripping wet and in tears.
I listened to the shower run, the sound of her footsteps above my head as she padded around the spare bedroom, and the creak of the bed as she climbed inside of it. Only then did I allow myself to attempt sleep, only when I knew she was too.
It evades me as I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling. My mind plays our interaction on a reel, glitching and pausing at the broken look on her face when I walked away.
My skin itches with the urge to fix her, a dawning realization that I may let her destroy me over and over again, because somehow, it feels like home. Parts of me want to welcome it, thinking that the pain she brings is better than the numbness I live in now.
Elena Ramos is my purgatory.
My bones ache for her touch, my soul screams her name, and I’ll never fucking escape it.