+ LOVING ELIJAH MCCAY +
VOL. 1: CHAPTER SIX

     The seats in Elijah's car are so unbelievably comfortable, that I feel like I might melt into them. He's kept his quiet, as I sag into the crook of my seat. He asks me to put on my seatbelt, but I can barley hear him over the pleasure emitting from both his air vents and his signature smell that practically lives in his car.

     Soft musics comes from the backseat, where I'm guessing his speakers hide. He seems calm, almost too calm. And with me, being only the tiniest bit tipsy, I find anxiety and fear in such a fact.

A minute goes by—and nothing. He doesn't speak, doesn't ask for my address, and doesn't even bother to ask for my name. But still, I'm grateful he swooped by and offered me a ride, because in this moment, I couldn't for the life of me remember my cross streets.

Maybe it was his eyes. And the way they'd occasionally flicker over at me. Or maybe it was his lips, and the way he'd bite onto his bottom one whenever making a difficult turn.

If I hadn't realized before, I definitely did now—I was still so, so captivated with Elijah McCay. Why, I couldn't say, considering I, myself, haven't figured it out yet.

But still, I knew nothing about him. Absolutely nothing.

Well, I did know a few things, I knew that he was born and raised here in Chicago. I knew that he had a brother, who was one or two years older than me. I knew that he had grown up with both parents, due to them always showing sportsmanship at every single one of his games.

Those games that I'd had to fetch him water, and I remember that whenever our fingers would accidentally brush one another, I would blush profusely, and pray that he hadn't seen.

"Where's your place?" The question is slow, and spoken with a deepened voice, that seemed to have matured since the last time I saw him.

"W-West Hudson st, I-I think you can take a right h-here." He seems only the least bit irritated by my stuttering. But if only he knew, that I was even having trouble breathing, at the moment.

His tanned skin is shown in the lights coming from the street. His long fingers squeezing onto the steering wheel, every few minutes, although afraid to lose control.

"You don't seem too sure about that, Gage." My heart begins a dreadful beat when he speaks my name. Like my body, nor mind can handle hearing it. I want to ask how he knows it. I want to ask why he even bothered to learn it.

But instead, I lean my head against the passenger sides window, cheeks reddening. "N-No, I'm sure. Just not completely sober at the moment."

He sends me a look, brown eyes seeming just a little intimidated. I want to ask why, considering the fact that he's probably the tallest person I've ever met—even with me being around six feet.

Then, I catch sight of myself in his rear view mirror, and I realize I've got dry tear streaks running up and down my cheeks. Just spending a mere five minutes alone with Elijah, had made me completely forget about Terrance.

And this is when I realize how severe my crush actually is.

I'm embarrassed, hiding my cheek into the cross of my t-shirt, watching as he awkwardly clears his throat, fingers flexing once more. "Was there any particular reason why you were walking around at midnight, crying with beer stains on your shirt?"

I take a few seconds to assess my t-shirt, groaning aloud when I see what he means. I hadn't even realized that I'd spilled beer on myself—obviously too worked up in my argument or spat with Terrance.

"Yes, yes there is actually," then, the mumbling and rambling begins, "t-there's this guy, who I really, really thought was going to be my first, you know? T-Then, right after I give him my first kiss, he disappears, and I don't see him until the beginning of this year."

     Elijah is completely silent, staring straight ahead, like my issues are prepubescent. They don't seem to faze him at all.

     I think to myself, quietly after this. He seems to not care at all, like maybe he's immune to it, or he's been through something much grander. I want to ask what it is, but I'm forced to profusely remind myself that he doesn't know me.

     He has no idea who I am, and has picked me up from the side of the road, due to the kindness in his heart. The road's lights and signals are getting blurry, like I'm gradually falling asleep.

     The embarrassment is fluttering in my chest, as I repeatedly internally ask myself why I felt the need to spill my own drama. Even though he seems to not give an actual shit.

     Then, he speaks, "so, you've been ghosted for the very first time, huh?" I can hear the humor in his voice, and my heart flutters due to it being an unfamiliar sound. But still, I'm careful in this unfamiliar territory.

     "Seems like I have. And since I don't know you, and I probably won't remember this tomorrow—I'm just saying that if it happens again, I'll probably crawl into a hole and die." A dark, and tired chuckle leaves my lips, as he shakes his head with little effort.

     He continues to drive, although I can't help but notice that it's much slower than before. And I begin to think, maybe, just maybe—he's interested in my petty, high-school drama. "Anyway, at this party tonight, he corners me in the kitchen and tells me that he isn't ready for anything serious.

     "But if I'm being completely honest, I never actually asked for any sort of commitment. All I expected was a call, or even a text message, you know? A-And he couldn't even do that. I can't even imagine what would have happened if we would have gotten together." My chest is lighter, now. And the mere thought made me smile a small smile.

     Talking about this has been something that I've swept beneath the rug, knowing that people would just call me sensitive and the typical feminine-homosexual-teenage-boy.

     But Elijah only quirks an eyebrow, his shoulders relaxing into the back of the drivers seat. "How old are you?"

     The questions throws me off a bit, as I run a hand through my curls. "Sixteen, why?"

     He lets out of a laugh, like my age has just completely diminished every issue of mine I've just described to him. "That's your answer, Gage. You're sixteen-years-old. People like, um . . ."

     ". . . Terrance."

     "Yeah, yeah, people like Terrance won't matter in five years. Why are you so hung up on this guy, anyway? Just—don't be." I can't help but laugh aloud at his words. I wasn't hung up on Terrance, that's exactly why I was so angry in the first place.

     Because even with me never actually falling for him, he still managed to hurt me. And apparently toy with me for months.

     "Thanks for the advice, next time I'll just—get over the guy." He chuckles, and once again, my cheeks are a bright, bright reddish color.

     But thankfully, due to my tanned skin tone, and the sky being too dark to see clearly, he can't tell. "I'm just saying, your life would be so much easier if you just—didn't feel shit."

     "Is that your method?" My question is leading toward a tease, to test just how far he'll go before I can make him laugh, "just don't feel shit?"

     He can sense my intentions, and turns the radios knob down, his jaw clenching in sheer chuckles. The conversation ends there, as he pulls into a familiar street, and I can recognize my house. I point a finger to it, and motion for him to slow.

     At this point, I'm much more sober than I was when the night began, but I'm still only slightly wobbly. I stay seated in his car for a while, as he stares at me in pure confusion.

     I don't want to go inside. Sure, I wouldn't mind having a nice glass of milk, but I'd much rather be with the guy who I never had the opportunity to get to know before.

     I turn to my left, watching as his dark brown eyes narrow down at me in impatience. "Are you going?"

     My tongue darts out to lick at my drying lips, watching as his eyes follow the slow movement. I'm sure I could belt out my millions of thoughts, and get away with it due to me being under the influence.

     But I settle for a more subtle approach, as a familiar song begins to play softly in the background of this unforgettable scene. "I'm hungry."

     "Okay . . ."

     "So can we go somewhere to get food?" My words are hopeful, the most hopeful they've been all night. I'm sure I look not-so-neutral right about now. I know that I've still got tear streaks running down my face, and beer strains on my t-shirt.

     But still, Elijah says, "okay."