— Chapter 28 —
Pulled Apart at the Seams

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E L L I O T

"Hey, Elliot."

Most people have wondered at least once about what they'd say to an ex-lover if they ever got the chance to meet again. I'd been one of those people—I used to know exactly what I would say if I ever got to see James again.

But now, as I stood before him with pure shock running through my veins, I couldn't think of anything—not one single word.

I was paralyzed in my spot.

Riven broke the silence, pulling James into a bear hug. "Holy shit!" He said. "How the hell are you in Boston?"

"I can't believe you're here," Nate said, going in for a hug as well. "What are the chances?"

"It's nice to see you guys," James said back, showcasing the nicest set of teeth I'd probably ever seen. His dazzling smile had always been able to charm anyone who spoke to him.

"I'm glad you could come tonight," Lucille chirped in from the side. "I was starting to think you'd ditch."

"I'd never."

He spoke with a confidence that I could only be envious of, shaking Lucille's hand kindly. But it was his eyes that I couldn't look away from.

Nothing had changed in them over the years.

James still looked at people with a dull gaze... half-lidded and disinterested like everyone and everything bored him completely. They were empty. It was as if the very act of being alive was nothing more than a heavy chore to him—something draining he was forced to endure.

It had always been that way. Sure, he smiled when he spoke... but none of those smiles ever reached his eyes.

Deep, velvet brown. Irises so dark you'd think they were black, like fragments of cold obsidian that pierced blankly through everyone he laid his eyes on.

Soulless.

I thought I'd never see those eyes again.

While the four of them talked before me, I was suffocating in my own head, struggling to process that James was really there. It was all too surreal.

He looked... breathtaking.

Dressed in a woolen, grey coat that reached his knees, he had on branded black shoes, dark jeans, and a turtleneck that almost seemed tight on his torso. Silver rings banded around a few of his slim fingers, with an expensive watch adorning his wrist. His hair was cleanly styled as a few locks fanned down the sides of his forehead, ending just at the corners of his brows.

"I think you might've stunned him!" Lucille joked, prodding my shoulder to get my attention. I flinched slightly at the sensation.

James's gaze finally landed on my figure again.

All of them were there when James and I had been together in high school. They knew that the two of us had dated... been in love. They knew that out of everyone in the world, James and I had been closest with each other, and that we had a relationship like no other.

They probably thought this was an innocent encounter, a reunion of two people who'd once been each other's closest companions. They probably thought we'd gotten over our issues a long time ago.

But none of them knew how dark our breakup had been—how it had ruined me from the inside out.

James didn't speak for the first few moments, observing me from head to toe. I wanted to shrink away into a corner as those obsidian eyes pierced right through me, baring my raw soul readily before him.

There was a small pull at the corner of his pink lips, and for the first time in years... I saw something sparkle in them. A gleam James only ever got when he was looking at me.

I couldn't breathe, I couldn't talk, I couldn't move—it felt like I was being shattered all over again. Heat stung the whites of my eyes as my chin trembled and my nostrils flared, lower lip curved slightly over my bottom teeth.

James's presence alone was enough to have me pulled apart at the seams.

And, just like that, he decided to end the silence—and the tension.

"You kept your hair the same," he murmured.

...My hair? I thought to myself as I repeated the sentence several times over in the back of my mind.

That's all he can say?

Just as I was about to pass out from the lack of oxygen, my flight instinct finally managed to kick in.

Turning on the heels of my feet, I clenched my fists tightly in my jacket and began walking. I was desperate to get away—to put some kind of distance between us before I collapsed from the pressure and gave into the tears that had been threatening to spill.

James began, "Elliot, wait—"

But I didn't listen.

Pushing my way through the crowd, I let out a heavy exhale when I finally managed to get myself lost in the packed mob of people. Refusing to stop, I headed straight for the front doors, vision beginning to blur and legs shaking beneath me.

Angela's voice suddenly spoke beside me.

"Oh, Elliot! Hey!" She greeted, but I was too swept up in my own thoughts to notice her. Walking right past her, Angela gave me a look as I bolted out of the glass doors to the convention hall.

I knew I shouldn't have come. I knew I shouldn't have come.

My legs took the lead and guided me through the now-empty hallways.

Unfortunately, it wasn't long before I heard the clapping of shoes against the polished flooring. James had been following me.

"Elliot, please, just wait!" He asked as a lump formed in my throat.

Picking up speed, I headed into the last hall, aiming straight for the doors that would grant me freedom into the outside air.

I wanted to get away without speaking to him. I didn't want him to see the pain on my face—much less the bruises that still hadn't entirely healed.

But I was forced to stop in my tracks when he took hold of my hand, pulling me to a halt before him.

"You're really not going to talk to me?" He asked.

Eyes hidden behind the locks of hair that had fallen over my face, I bit the side of my cheek for a few moments as I tried to find the stability to say something.

Anything.

A trembling breath left my lips as I spoke.

"What could you say to me in the next five seconds... that could possibly make up for the last five years?"

James hesitated.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he stammered. "I ju—"

I flicked my head curtly, pulling myself from his grasp as I cut off his speech. It felt like the very touch of his fingers on my skin had burned me.

"Not good enough."

Turning away, I finally managed to reach the doors and pushed them wide open—letting James know how it felt to watch me leave instead, for a change.

I'd always wondered what would be worse—meeting James one more time, or never getting the chance to see him again. I guess I'd finally found my answer.

I wanted to curl myself over and throw up onto the sidewalk, feeling nothing but an overwhelming pressure in my head. It was too much. It was all too much. I couldn't take it—just the sight of him forced back all my memories at once. The same memories I'd spent years trying to keep buried away.

I shouldn't have come.

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Everything after that was a blur.

I stumbled onto the first bus I could find and didn't find the strength to get off until I'd reached the end of the line. Stuck at an empty station by the city, I'd wandered around for a bit as I waited for the only bus that led back to the apartment.

I'd curled myself up in a seat by the back, hiding my face in the crook of my arm as heat singed my eyes. I was trembling—my body wouldn't sit still.

It was as if I were reliving my old memories all over again. They all came rushing back at once, reminding me of just how much I'd loved James and just how much his leaving had torn me apart. It wasn't fair. 

He'd looked entirely unbothered—he'd looked well. I couldn't believe it was real. If what Riven had told me back at Crave was true, then James had really been in Los Angeles this entire time.

So why did he come back?

I'd stumbled out of the last bus after waving weakly to the driver. Reaching the apartment building and heading slowly up the stairs, I gripped tightly onto the handrail, with my feet dragging roughly as I walked.

I unlocked the door after fussing with the keys. My body was working on autopilot as I shut it behind me and took off my shoes, too busy stuck in my own head to check for Noah.

His voice spoke up from the kitchen. "You're back early."

I didn't reply, watching blankly as Fuckass emerged from around the corner of the couch. Following behind me, it nudged at my ankles as I took off my jacket and rubbed my red eyes.

Pieces of my short-term memory felt foggy as I found myself in the bathroom, locking the door behind me. Fuckass weaved its way between my legs and followed me inside, only to hop onto the edge of the bathtub and watch me with big eyes.

I let the water flow from the faucet, having spaced out for a few moments before I sunk my hands under and splashed the liquid onto my face. It was ice-cold. Soothing. Enough to calm the upset heat that had been burning my cheeks, at least.

My hand kept away the strands of hair that had been falling over my face.

'You kept your hair the same.'

James's voice echoed through my head as my gaze traced over the pale caramel wreaths of my hair.

His words alone made my stomach churn.

I couldn't believe he'd gotten to witness it—the fact that I'd kept the same stupid haircut he'd given me all those years ago. I'd always maintained it. Kept it the same length, in the same style. For all these years. And now he knew.

Maybe my hair staying the same was some way of keeping him in my thoughts after he left... a piece of whatever we'd once shared. Something to remember him by.

My body moved first to grab the scissors from the bottom drawer.

Enough. I've had enough, I thought to myself, as James's words repeated relentlessly at the back of my mind. I pulled away the tie that had been holding the strands back.

Pinching a random lock of hair at the front of my head, I leaned closer to the mirror and bit the edge of my lip as the scissors lined with where I wanted to cut. But I found myself recalling a buried memory just before I could snip it off.

It was one of the first times I'd ever talked to James, back in junior year. I'd been sleeping in chemistry class after having pulled an all-nighter the day before. When I awoke, several pieces of gum had been stuck in my shoulder-length hair by the popular kids that had been sitting behind me.

And despite the fact that the two of us were total strangers at the time, James had been the only person willing to help me.

In the graffitied boys locker room of a small high school in Boston, two troubled kids formed a cosmically unlikely bond that made both our lives just... slightly more bearable.

"Are you okay?" James asked me.

I didn't answer, stressfully yanking on a section of dark-brown hair that looked to be the most affected. Pink gum locked many different strands together, hardening faster than I could pick them away.

He pointed out, "it's not going to come out like that."

My answer was bitter.

"I didn't ask for your help."

I tried to pull apart two locks that had been stuck together, but the gum had already solidified. It would take ages to pull it all out at this rate, time I didn't have. How could I go anywhere looking like this?

"Would you rather walk around all day with gum in your hair?" He asked.

Who the hell is this guy? I thought, wondering why anyone would bother coming to help me. Perhaps he thought it was some kind of joke—was he just trying to mock me?

I kept my gaze on the mirror and answered him flatly. "Why the hell do you care?"

A sharp exhale left his lips.

"Look, you can stand here all day and it's not going to come out," He explained. "I've got scissors. Your best bet is cutting it off."

I glared at him, then at the pair of red scissors in his hand. I clearly didn't look at all convinced.

"No way. I'm not doing that."

I didn't want his help—I didn't know him well enough to trust that he was doing this with innocent intentions. But I also didn't want to leave looking like this. God knew I would never hear the end of it. Especially not from my parents.

James gave me a look. When I didn't budge, he scoffed to himself, somewhat annoyed.

"Alright, fine. Suit yourself."

I paused. Oh, god.

Though, just as he was about to walk out, I forced myself to give in and spoke up quietly behind him.

"...Wait."

Turning back around, he listened attentively as I decided, "Fine... but only what's stuck together. No more than that."

"Okay."

Gesturing for me to sit on the small bench by the side wall, James walked over to home. Taking a seat, I watched nervously as he stepped into my personal space.

"I cut my own hair all the time," he spoke assuringly. "You can trust me."

And just like that... James had cut my hair for me. With a steady hand and calm patience, he'd managed to get the gum out and clean up the once perpetually messy mop of brown hair that had always been covering my face.

He was gentle and reassuring—something I hadn't received from another person for a long time. And he knew what he'd been doing, considering how nice it managed to turn out afterward.

And that wasn't the only time.

Any time my hair had grown out after that, James always offered to cut it for me again. It was something I'd grown used to, and after he left all those years ago, getting it cut on my own from then on just felt alien and uncomfortable.

I turned my attention to my reflection.

My hair had been let free, falling in loose waves just to the bottom half of my neck. It leaned slightly on the dryer side from all the times it had been dyed and bleached, now a light, pale-brown color. It wasn't often that I had it out, preferring to keep it tied back so that the stray strands couldn't bother me.

I put the scissors back to my hair again, but this time, I couldn't help but observe the fact that my hands were trembling. It was too much. Seeing James again. The memories. The scissors shaking in my grasp.

I've made it this long without him, I told myself, chin trembling as hot breath left my nose. I don't need him anymore.

But I couldn't bring myself to cut it.

No.

Jerking away from the mirror, I thoughtlessly tossed the scissors to the tiled flooring and listened to the clamoring sound that filled the small bathroom. Fuckass jumped in surprise.

"Fuck!" I finally cried out to myself, hitting the door with my back as I took a grip on my hair in frustration.

I've cut it plenty of times before, I thought to myself, so what the hell is the problem?

Sliding to the floor, I pulled my knees to my chest.

Just as I was about to give in to tears, Fuckass nudged my torso with its nose and wiggled its way into my lap. I rested my shaky hands in its soft fur, exhaling a long and unsteady breath.

This is pathetic. You're so pathetic, Elliot.

A knock against the other side of the door drew me from my thoughts. It was Noah, probably concerned about the banging that had echoed through the apartment.

"Everything okay in there?" He asked, though there was a notable hesitation in his voice.

No.

"Yes. F-Fine," I answered briefly, just loudly enough for him to hear.

But I wasn't fine. My hands had clenched together, and I had to force breath into my lungs despite the lump in my throat. There was a heavy weight on my chest. It felt like I'd been kicked in the stomach.

Seeing James again had torn open a wound I'd been trying to heal for years. It hurt more than any cut or bruise on my body—more than any blow I'd ever had inflicted on my skin. It was mental, and it was worse than Hell. 

I just wanted to be alone. Being alone meant being safe. Being alone meant everything was quiet. When I'd had enough of everything, it was always better to lock myself away. To feel my emotions somewhere that was away from the critical sights of others.

"Well, uh... can you open the door?" I heard Noah speak again. He was still standing there. "I need my meds."

I bit the side of my cheek. Sniffling for a moment as I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, I let Fuckass move off my lap before slowly getting to my feet. When I opened the door, I found Noah leaning against the wall, his tired gaze coming to rest on me. He was still dressed in his motorcycle clothing.

"Sorry," I mumbled, stepping out of the way. It felt like that was all I did. Just get in the way... take up space.

Noah stopped me before I could leave—his gentle hand found the side of my cheek.

"You were crying?" He asked me, having noticed my irritated eyes and flushed skin.

"No."

I wiped my skin with my sleeve and stepped away from him, but Noah didn't leave it alone.

"Elliot, you don't have to—"

"I wasn't crying," I emphasized, shoving my hands in my pockets. "Why would you care, anyway? We're not friends. You don't know me, I don't know you—the two of us made that perfectly clear earlier today. So just... leave me alone."

That's right, Elliot. Just push him away. Push everyone away.

At first, no reply left Noah's lips.

Then he finally moved out of my way and, almost in disbelief, let out a soft scoff. There was a pull at the edge of his chiseled lips as he grazed his tongue over his teeth.

"You're right," he spoke simply, as whatever shine in his eyes died out. "We don't know each other at all."

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Woohoo >:)