+ LOVING ELIJAH MCCAY +
VOL. 1: CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

The rest of that night was quiet. I hardly spoke to Spencer, who seemed to be enjoying exchanging sibling war stories with Elijah, who listened for hours on end. By the time the movie started, I had sat myself down in the seat closest to the wall of the row in the theatre we had chosen.

     It was just high enough so that we had a clear view of the screen, but low enough so that I didn't have to climb a hundred steps to leave, and come back again. I was sat next to Elijah, who had his right arm thrown over the back of my chair. When I first noticed that he'd done it, I smiled subtly to myself, knowing that if I commented on it, he'd move it.

     I held both arms close to my chest as I watched the movie in absolute silence, occasionally letting out a chuckle at a funny part. Everyone else seemed to be doing the same thing, all except for KJ. He held his gaze toward the screen, hardly blinking every few seconds.

     Rolling my eyes was inevitable when he finally stood from his seat, on the far left of the row, and descended down the lit staircase that lead outside of the theatre. Elijah saw my expression of distaste in the corner of his eye, turning to me with a raised brow.

     "Don't pay attention to him," he whispered closely, turning his torso so that he was no longer facing Spencer, who had become solely focused on the movie, and was now facing me. "Next time he won't be invited. I promise."

     The look on Elijah's handsome features show me that he is sincerely apologetic about how the night has been going so far, but I simply shake my head. Now uncrossing my arms to appear less hostile, and more approachable. "You don't have to do that. We're both your friend, we'll just have to find a way to tolerate each other."

     "Think you can manage that without trying to gouge his fucking eyes out?" he asks jokingly, with his full lips spread out into a knowing smirk. The arm that has itself planted behind my head, now so close to my neck that I can feel the little bit of hairs that he has growing there.

     "I think I can," I smile, eyes locking with his green ones, the sound of the movie being drowned out into the background by our conversation. "Do you think you can manage sneaking your car onto my parents driveway at . . ." I take a peak down at my cellphone, and chuckle as I see the time. " . . . at eleven o'clock?"

     Elijah's eyes widen briefly when I say the time, his hand reaching for my cellphone. When he reads it for himself, he sighs inwardly. "Shit. I forget that you have like, a curfew or something."

     Scoffing, I reach out, grasping onto my cellphone, and sliding it back into my front pocket. "Oh, come on. I do not have a curfew. Just a set specific time that my parents prefer me to get home every night."

     "Gage," he begins, "that's a curfew."

     "It is not." I defend myself, trying my best to hide the grin that threatens to grace my lips.

     "Yes, it is."

     When I open my mouth to respond back with a witty response, the words get caught in the back of my throat when KJ is making his way into the theatre again, trudging up the lit steps. That same uncomfortable and cold feeling spreads rapidly throughout my insides, and my skin feels as if it's peeling.

     His darkened blue eyes catch mine in the dim lights that are blaring from either sides of the walls in the theatre, and I keep his stare. When he notices this, he keeps his stance neutral. And I'm rather surprised by this. I would have expected a laugh, a comment—but nothing came.

     Elijah could see my look of distaste returning to my features, and his eyebrows furrowed. Mine followed suit when I see that KJ is making his way toward me, a soda can and large bag of popcorn planted in his hands.

     When his feet are both planted before me, he turns his head over to Elijah, eyebrows raising as if he was subtly asking him something so obvious. Elijah didn't budge for a few seconds, looking over to me to check if I was alright with, whatever KJ was asking.

     I could even see Spencer's head turn over to look at what we were doing, and why KJ was standing in the middle of the walkway.

      Finally, Elijah stood, and walked down the aisle a little, so that he was now sitting beside Spencer, who wore a surprised expression. KJ took the now empty seat beside me, not saying a word—or moving a muscle for a few moments. Neither did I, although I really wanted to.

     Just when I'm working up the nerve to ask what that was all about, he turns to me with a serious expression. "Here." He speaks quietly, but not low enough for a whisper.

     He hands me the large bag of popcorn, then the red colored soda can. My mouth is probably hanging open in shock, as I gather the junk food in my lap. "W-What are you doing? Why are you giving this to me?"

     KJ shrugs, crossing both arms across his chest with a look of—nothingness. "You looked hungry."

     "But why did you get it for me? I could've—"

     "This is me trying to apologize for earlier," he says in a low voice, obviously irritated. "Did I really need to say it loud?"

     My eyes crease together as the bag of popcorn remains sitting idly on my lap. "Yes, I think it was and is very necessary for you to say it out loud."

     His head snaps toward me, a frown line of irritation forming on his forehead. "But I just said it—"

     "I really, really think that it's necessary to sincerely apologize after being an asshole to someone you barely know—"

     "Gage!" He almost shouts, trying to keep his eyes on the ground, and nowhere near close to meeting mine. His action makes me roll mine. "I am sorry."

     "For . . ." I pause, waiting for him to elaborate on his somewhat shitty apology.

     KJ let's out a sigh of despair. "For being an asshole." When he says this, his clear blue eyes are finally brought up to meet mine, and my heart softens at the gesture.

I don't say anything more, merely tilting the bag of popcorn toward him, subtly asking if he'd like some. He doesn't speak either, simply dipping in his hand, and grabbing a handful. We all finish the movie in a comfortable silence.

When the movie ends, a few people in the theatre send us all a look of displeasure. If I were to take a guess, we were talking much too loudly for their liking, and we're probably lucky that someone didn't snitch. Especially for that little scene I pulled outside, in the hallway.

I wait for Elijah and KJ to pass me, and make their way down the steps, so that I can catch up with Spencer, and ask how he was doing. When I finally caught up to him, he sent me a sharp grin, which let me know that he actually was having a good time, and enjoyed the company of both Elijah and I.

And KJ, I guess.

"How'd you like the movie?" I tease, knowing that we've both seen it a million times.

Spencer chuckles at this. "It's a classic, I would one hundred percent spend another twenty bucks to see it again. Would you?"

My eyes widen in a joking manner, knowing that going to the movies is always so much more expensive than it needs to be. "I don't know about another twenty bucks." I laugh, grabbing onto the handle of the door that leads out of the large building.

Elijah and KJ have already caught up to the car, and settled themselves inside of it. When Spencer sees this, he begins to walk a little faster, me following his lead. And after buckling myself in and readjusting my sweatshirt, Elijah begins the long drive back toward Chicago.

Once we're in front of my familiar house, Elijah lightly steps on the breaks, careful to make sure that they don't make much noise in the process. After saying goodbye to everyone in the car, I step onto the pavement, shutting the backseat door even more quietly.

Then, Elijah is off, with Spencer hanging his head outside of the backseat window, and yell out a sweet, "bye!" I politely wave back, being so grateful for the fact that I now have more friends. Friends that I'll need for when my best one moves away. Forever.

Sneaking into my house through the back door was been more difficult than I had anticipated. The squeakiness of it was a sound that would definitely interrupt Toro's sleep if he were to overhear and think that I was an intruder. But thankfully, I got inside quietly, and tried my best to creep up the steps without any of them creaking.

When I reached the top step, I moved toward my parents bedroom door, which was cracked open the slightest bit. I was only checking to see if they were fast asleep, like I expected them to be.

But my heart began to hammer in my chest when I saw my mother, wide awake, a key in her lap and a tall glass of wine in her hand. When my eyes scaled hers, I could see the tear streaks that were hiding there. And the faint trace of mascara that was hidden above her sheer coverup.

Not at all caring about getting caught anymore, I stepped inside of my parents room, and took a long look around. It was a mess. The familiar scent of my fathers cheap cologne was gone. Along with his jacket that was always slung over the closet door, and his watch that was previously my grandfathers—something that my father never took off.

My mother's eyes swoop up to meet mine, and the clear speckles of green in them are now sheltered by the tears she'd been crying. A sight I wasn't very fond of.

"Mom," I quietly began, "what happened? Where's dad?"

My mother chuckled lowly, although there wasn't a single trace of genuine humor in it. "He's gone."

A thousand possibilities were running through my mind when she says this. How could my father just be gone? "What do you mean? Where did he go?" Anger rises my chest when she doesn't answer me. When she doesn't even bother to look me in the eye.

"Mom, where is he—"

"He's with her, Gage." Her words don't make any sense. She still didn't explaining where he is, who he's with, and why all of his things are gone.

"W-What do you mean? Who is he with?" I couldn't begin to wrap my head around this. Because it was beginning to sound like something that I didn't what it to sound like. My father was a good man. A good father, a good husband—just a good man.

Was my mother about to tell me that he wasn't any of that, after all?

Finally, she turned to me, and patted the space beside her on she and my fathers shared bed. I sat, waiting for an elaboration. "Abba's with another woman." I could see the hurt rise in her eyes, a look she shared with mine.

I didn't ask any other questions, couldn't find it in me to tear her apart just to answer them. I merely held my arms out, and felt as she crashed into them, sobbing so loudly. I'd never seen my mother cry, let alone break down.

Anger was all that I could feel when my head turned to my fathers side of the bed, as my eyes caught sight of that family picture frame that resided on his night table. I needed to see him. And I needed to see him, now.