+ LOVING ELIJAH MCCAY +
VOL. 1: CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

     I don't know why I'm here. I don't why I'm sitting in the passenger seat of Terrance's car, with the windows up, and slow music is coming from his quiet radio. He's running his fingers through my curls, and is peppering small kisses up and down the crook of my neck.

     My lips are hanging apart, and I reach out for his shoulder, pushing him away lightly. He obliged, raising a dark eyebrow in suspicion.

     When Terrance first picked me up, we talked for a little while, as he drove down the lively streets of Chicago. We didn't stop anywhere, knowing that pulling over this time of night was far too dangerous.

     Then, he found a quiet spot near a hallow creek, and parked his old Toyota carefully, right beside a large, bolder sort of rock. And before I knew it, he was practically tearing my face off with his, lips eagerly latching onto mine.

     It had been so long since I'd shared a kiss with anyone, and once it was initiated—I found it hard to stop. My hands found themselves lost in his hair, as his lips ventured down my neck, sucking softly right atop of my pulse.

     But now, it didn't feel right. All I felt was alone, and lost.

     I pushed at his chest harder, when he tried to lean back in, eyebrows furrowing lightly. "Stop. I didn't come here to make-out with you."

     He ran a calloused hand over his face, features becoming the slightest bit irritated. "Then why did you come, Gage?"

     His words are so abrupt, as though I've disrupted something. I don't bother asking what it is, shaking my head in what feels like regret. He's the same person he was two months ago, but a small part of me was hoping he'd changed, when I called him.

     I was hoping that maybe—if I could find it in my heart to forgive him, I'd most-likely be able to forgive Elijah, too. But once again, sitting here—I realize that they aren't the same.

     At all.

Once Terrance decides that I've taken too long to respond, he leans back in, lips seeking out mine. This time, I let him, feeling his lips grasp onto mine, our lips moving slowly, but surely. The mellow tempo of the kiss, makes me toes curl with excitement.

And as he smiles into the kiss, tilting his head to deepen it, I can't help but wonder what it would feel like to kiss Elijah.

Would it feel good? Or maybe even better than good? Maybe amazing.

His tongue finds mine, as my trimmed fingernails dig into his shoulders, his left hands finding its way down to waist, gripping tightly. I'd kissed Terrance a hundred times, but this time it doesn't feel as good.

It doesn't feel right.

But I don't seem to care. Or rather—I don't want to care.

His lips are on my neck again, and I lean my head onto my shoulder, trying to gather my thoughts while engaging in such an action. I know he's leaving marks, and it reminds of the tons of times I'd asked him not to, back when we were still seeing each other.

But I guess tonight, he doesn't seem to care. And neither do I. He feels different—like maybe, he's in pain, too. I want to ask him if he's alright, but I quickly remind myself, that I wouldn't want him asking me that same question.

So, I don't hover. I simply bring my hand to the back of his neck, and grip tightly, bringing myself onto his lap, and settle comfortably. My back is pressed against the steering wheel, as his hands travel down to my bottom—gripping tightly.

Our lips attach once more, this time a bit more intensely. I frown in confusion as he pulls away, a nasty sort of smirk reaching his breathless lips. He pulls me closer by my bottom, gripping harshly.

"Look who's finally putting out." His words bring me back to reality, and I push at his chest just as I did before, settling back into the passenger seat.

His expression drowns in irritation, a groan leaving his swollen lips. "Are you serious, G? I was kidding. Don't be like that." He reaches for my free hand, while my other props my head against the window.

I shake my head, leaning both knees toward the window, my body language loudly signaling the fact that I don't want to speak to him. Terrance exhales, hand reaching out for the radio, and turning down the slow tempo that was previously playing.

     My fingers fiddled with a string hanging from my sweatshirt, as I silently cursed myself for ever calling Terrance.

     Leaning my elbow onto the car door, I looked over at him, and watched as he sat back in his seat, long legs spread widely. His actions mirrored mine, as we both seemed to become more and more awkward as the time went by.

"This was a mistake," I whisper, still watching his expression closely. "It doesn't feel right, anymore." My voice is shaky, as though I'm afraid of the words that are leaving my lips.

     It's crazy to think that there was a time that I couldn't go longer than a day, without wanting to see him, or be near him. Where he would consume my every thought, my dreams—he was always in my head. And now, whenever I looked over at him, all I felt or rather—all I saw, were memories.

     Memories that I now realize, I still have yet to let go of.

     Even while with Elijah at the fair, and during our dine-in's together, all I would do, was compare how different both of the boys were. As though I was looking for something, anything to point my finger at.

     But I want to let it go, I want to move on. I don't want to feel any sort of attachment toward Terrance, anymore. Not when I know that it would always lead to a disaster. He had hurt me so badly, before the school year had started, and I used to resent him for it.

     I'd spent weeks trying to pretend like the hurt wasn't there, or that I was completely over it. And when Elijah came skipping back into Chicago, it made it several times easier. Especially when it was brought to my attention that I still had feelings for him.

     But now, I want peace. I want peace, and I want to move onto better things. Better people.

     Terrance looks over at me, continuing on from my last statement. "It doesn't," he agrees, running a hand through his unruly head of dark curls. "Gage, why did you call me?"

     I think that I know the answer to that question, but I'm too much of a coward to speak the truth. But I push aside any of my wandering feelings, leaning in closer, preparing myself to be as brutally honest as ever.

     "I-I was lonely, and I wanted to see . . ." I pause, watching as his deep brown eyes never stray from mine. "I wanted to see if you were lonely, too."

     Terrance lets out a humorless laugh, leaning both elbows onto his knees. He looks sad, just as I probably do. And I know that something—or someone, is bothering him, too.

     "Well," he begins in a slight whisper, "lucky for you, I am."

     My body is shifting toward the middle of his car's console, both of my legs now held up against my chest. My heart is clenching at how broken he looks, and I scold myself for being so selfish. How had I not seen that he had problems of his own going on?

     I'd been selfish while calling him, and asking him if he were busy. I felt nothing but remorse now when I looked over at his saddened features. I wondered what could've happened to make him seem to closed off.

     "Why are you lonely?" I asked slowly, awaiting patiently to see if he were going to answer.

     His tongue darted out to lick at his drying lips, cheeks darkening under the moon's fluorescence. I wait, and wait, watching as he gathers the courage to speak. I could only imagine how difficult talking about this is for him.

     Even while we were seeing each other, we never really talked about anything serious, which explains the fact that we never felt anything for one another, other than infatuation.

     But I'm guessing whatever he's about to talk about, goes far beyond that. And far beyond us.

     "His name is Rory," his lips spread into an unintentional smile, as his eyes begin to sparkle in ways I've never seen before. Other than when my father looks at my mother—and I can only describe that look as utter and absolute—love.

     The way he smiles, makes me smile. And the only thing I can think of is, I want whatever they seem to have.

     "He's—he's something else, man," Terrance doesn't seem to know how to describe this so-called Rory. "It's different with him, so fucking different. I couldn't even tell you what the hell goes on in my head, when he walks into a room.

     "Or when he smiles—God, that smile." Terrance absentmindedly bites at his bottom lip, fingers clenching together tightly.

     I can't help but frown, settling my legs down on the seat again, giving Terrance a confused sort of look. "Then why are you lonely?"

     My question seems to push him back into reality, sitting back up in his seat, coming down from his memorial high. "I was a coward. And now, he doesn't want anything to do with me."

     "Oh, come on." I give him a light shove at his chest, leaning back and pushing a curl behind my ear. "I'm sure that's not true."

     He chuckles lightly, and I smile, this time genuinely. It's nice to feel comfortable around him, again. After so many weeks of trying to hate him. Because I have to remind myself, time and time again—that we were friends first.

     He leans his head back onto the window, twinkling eyes looking down at me. "Yes, it is. The last time we talked, he made that very, very clear."

     I don't pry any longer, only accepting his words for what they are. Or for what they seem to be.

     Terrance places a knowing smile on his lips, crossing both lean arms across his relaxed chest. He gives me a look, a look that says he's about to ask me the same set of questions I've just asked him. And I guess after all that he's told me, the least I could do, is share with him, too.

     "And what about you?" He asks, and my heartbeat accelerates.

     I take the clueless route. "What do you mean?" But he knows—he knows that I know, exactly what he's talking about.

     "Why are you lonely?"