Release.
Eli tries to deal with finding Cameron's body. Rating for language, drug use and disturbing sexual elements. One-shot. AU-ish.
Reviews are very much appreciated.
It would always be like this.
It would always be like this, and despite how hard he'd been trying to turn everything around, Eli concluded that it was all in vain.
At first he couldn't tell what he was looking at. He was focused on Claire; specifically, her mouth. He loved her mouth, her delicate lips. There was something off in his peripheral vision. In the greenhouse. The instinct to scream overtook him just to subside a split second later, when Claire turned to look. He grabbed her and stammered about calling for help when all he could think of was red, it was so fucking red and there shouldn't be chunks in it and why is it wearing Cam's jacket. But then Claire turned to look again, and he couldn't allow her to see, so he screamed at her. In her absence, he stumbled toward the doorway. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and made his hands shake. The tremors ghosted up his arms, radiated through his core to his knees, which threatened to give out.
It took all day for him to arrive at the thought that his life would always eventually take a downward plunge. It had been less than twenty-four hours, less than twelve hours, and Eli was already unable to close his eyes without seeing Cam. It was worse when he kept his eyes open. Kids he didn't even know watched him through the halls. He caught their eyes and saw them look away. He heard them whispering about him.
He had to use the restroom four times to compose himself.
Every night for the next week, he dreamed about Cam's body. Sometimes it happened exactly as it had in real life, with Claire, and his erratic heart. Sometimes it was a different location, and sometimes there wasn't a location at all, just a black void. But there was always himself, alone with Cam's lifeless body. There were always splatters of blood. They soaked through Cam's jacket and shirt, pooled in his lap, stained the greenhouse glass and the ground. Even though Eli relived it every night, he could never react differently. He always felt his heart speed up and pump his own blood too quickly. His teeth chattered with the force of it, roaring in his ears, and his tears always felt too cold.
On the first and second night after, he woke up shaking and crying.
On the third night, he didn't cry.
The fourth night, he woke with an erection.
In a way, it was more upsetting than seeing Cam's body at all. It was disturbing. And it kept happening, night after night. He woke up hard, sometimes throbbing. On the sixth night, he tended to it, and after he came, he shamefully chalked it up to not having orgasmed since before the incident. His body was only reacting to his neglect. It was okay.
It didn't seem as okay when he woke the seventh night after another nightmare with a tent in the sheets.
It was even less okay when he reached below the blankets and stroked himself again. Thoughts of Claire kept him sated until flashes of Cams's body mixed into his fantasy, and it made him come.
The next morning, he felt slightly better. People didn't talk as much, and he felt like he blended into the crowd again. He was able to brush off his friends' faux pas, and even reluctantly took on Fiona's film project. Watching through the footage and seeing Cam in it was jarring. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as he watched him swing Maya around on film.
And so he removed Cam's footage.
He reasoned that it would be better. Right. It would be better because it would be less painful.
But it wasn't better. Dallas was pissed. When Fiona leveled him with her puppy-dog gaze and asked him to add Cam's footage back in, there was absolutely no way he could contest it. He gave a resigned nod and dreaded the work to come. It was hard enough fast-forwarding through Cam and simply removing him; now he had to go back through and put it back in. Rewatch it all.
But, the party...
Mo, Jake and he carefully crafted a plan to go with just the boys. The girlfriends were completely unaware - well, at least Claire was. Mo shared practically everything with his girlfriend.
When they arrived to the party, it was very unlike what Eli had expected. Tons of people were throwing paint, or painting each other. Music throbbed over the gentle static of conversation and laughter. Eli smiled, really smiled, for the first time in the week since. But his foot grazed something - there was a little bang sound. He was having a weird flashback - there was blood on the floor, inching toward his feet. Oh, God. Fuck. His mind raced, and after he took a second to breathe, he realized it was only paint. He'd knocked over a bucket of paint. That's all.
Whew.
And then there was that girl - Talia, right? - offering him drugs. What exactly MDMA was, he wasn't sure, but his knee-jerk reaction was to scoff at her. When she turned around, he glanced at the red paint again and swallowed against the anxiety threatening to eat him alive. He was supposed to enjoy himself, this was his chance to just fucking forget. He needed this. Surely Claire could understand.
She would. She would.
"Wait," he called after her. Talia turned and, with a Cheshire grin, sauntered back over to him and invited him to open his mouth and lift his tongue.
She had him follow her around - she wanted to be his 'sitter'. He waited impatiently beside her as she painted walls and chatted with people he didn't know. Time seemed to take forever, a feeling punctuated by his constant time-checking. "It's not working. I don't feel anything yet," Eli admitted. He attempted to come off bored. In reality, his stomach twisted into knots. If this didn't work, he wouldn't have a good time. What if it was a dud? Everything suddenly seemed dependent on this one little taste.
Talia brought her attention back to him and teasingly stroked his arm. It brought on a heady reaction, as if her fingers alone caused the trip to begin. Her touch lingered and spread even though he was walking away from her, buzzing with euphoria. All of his being thrummed in time with the music. Waves crashed through him, each more pleasurable than the last. "Oh my God," he sighed to himself. Even speaking felt good.
Talia grabbed him and pushed him against the wall. He moaned appreciatively as she stripped his shirt off and painted his body. He clung to Talia for hours, allowing her to take the lead. He felt helpless in the best of ways. He didn't remember Talia being so radiantly beautiful before. He mentally debated over whether she was an angel, sent specifically to help him.
Before long, she was painting bright stripes of red over his chest, and although the panic was buried in the back of his brain, it was there. He babbled to her about finding Cam. She seemed interested; sympathetic, even.
"His head was in pieces. It was so red, and unreal, and now I'm haunted. Possessed. Is it 'possessed'? I have trouble sleeping at night. Except, um, except when I jack off. Because, it sort of makes me hard. Isn't that kind of... I mean, isn't it crazy? I'm bipolar, too. Yeah. Just a big ol' bag of fucked up, Talia."
"We are all fucked up, Eli. You're brave." She stroked his cheekbone and looked into his eyes. Eli wondered dimly if she could see into his soul. "I want to help you."
One second, he was spilling his disturbing problems to her; the next, she was leading him into an empty room. She shoved her hand greedily down his jeans, grabbing at him. He hadn't even realized he was hard. He let his pants sink down his legs and crumple at his ankles. His knees shook.
"Feel nice? Does this help, Eli?"
Eli made a low, growling sound in his chest. He closed his eyes as she slipped her palm over the head of his cock, already slicked over with pre-cum. He saw Cam in his mind, clearer than ever. Blood. The ripe and dark smell of death. He was bucking his hips, seeking as much contact as he could. He was pulling her to the ground.
And then she was straddling him. She took his length in one smooth motion. Her cunt was wet, and tight, and unbelievably hot. As she rode him, he thought of Cam again. Who cared. When there was this much pleasure to be had, when this could help him deal with it, could it be so bad?
He was coming close. Like Cam had. He could see them both, approaching the edge of something beyond normal comprehension. Cam, with a gun, in the greenhouse; and himself, now, inside of Talia, MDMA coursing like electricity through him. He could see Cam lean against the wall, placing the gun between his lips.
"Talia... I-"
As he imagined Cam pulling the trigger, he felt his cock explode, and he understood the importance of release.