This is based off my cousin. Through the years, he had major problems with depression and suicide. He was planning on killing himself the day that he met his wife.
And she saved him.
He told me the whole story and here is a small portion of it. Their story is absolutely beautiful and I'm glad that I got to hear it. We are very close and I wanted to write this for he and his wife. I hope that I brought their story justice, which I probably didn't.
But, I tried my best.
Oh, Eli and Clare are not married in this.
Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi.
He woke up feeling physically drained, his limbs felt weak and useless, as if he hadn't used them in years. His neck was strained and his eyes felt tired and heavy, as if he'd been up all night. His stomach rumbled weakly and little shivers went down his bare flesh, which was odd because the weather called for shorts and sunscreen.
Just another day.
He sat up in bed, turned his head in one direction, listened for the crack, and then turned it to the other side. Once he was satisfied, he slowly got up and stretched, making him nearly fall back over on the bed. For a twenty year old, he certainly was not healthy or in shape. Most of the time he looked like a ghost, walking around with no routine, simply happy if he made it through the day.
He padded over to the window, tripping over Clare's many pairs of shoes as he did so, and pulled up the shades. He regretted it once the sunlight blinded him. But, the day was starting and he had to see the light sooner or later.
After splashing cold water on his pale face, he slowly made his way down the hall and into the bright and open kitchen. You could tell that Clare had painted it. The cabinets were a bright yellow and floral wallpaper adorned the walls. When Clare was gone for the day and he had off and the bitter feeling of depression was kicking in, like today, he would make his way into the bright kitchen and look at the bright colors and he'd think of her. The way the colors looked in the sunlight screamed 'Clare!'. Even the hardly visible handprint that he had accidently left behind while Clare was painting reminded him of her. (She had told him that the handprint made the paint job look more authentic.) And it certainly calmed him down quite a bit.
She always had the power to calm him down.
Even when she wasn't present.
He smiled and the strain in his neck seemed to loosen and the tension in his limbs was fading quite a bit. With a light ghost of a smile, he walked to the refridgerater and opened it up to get the orange juice. He had promised Cece that he would drink the orange juice, because that was her only request for when he moved out.
"Vitamin C! It's important!"
He shook his head in amusement as he thought of his crazy mother.
He reached out and grabbed the container of OJ and opened the top with little enthusiasm. But as soon as the top was open, he threw his head back and started drinking the liquid right from the box. That was pretty much the only rule that his parent had given him; don't drink from the box. And as stupid as it sounds, it gave him a great joy to drink it like that. For some reason, any bitter resentment towards his parents came out as he drank the OJ from the container.
Even Clare hated when he did it. He found that even more amusing.
"Did you ever hear of germs?" Clare asked, her lip curling as he drank the orange juice out of the box.
"Did you ever hear of germs?" Eli imitated, his voice went higher to reach Clare's pitch. "No Clare, I've been freakin' bubble boy my whole life."
His stomach started churning again and he quickly screwed the cap back on the OJ and shoved it in any empty space and slammed the refridgerater door shut.
Just as he was going to walk away and go back up the stairs to sleep, he noticed something on the refridgerator.
A while back, Clare had bought the magnetic letters that you place on fridge, or anything else that's magnetic. She was so happy to use them. She had so much fun putting different letters together and would often spend hours just writing a grocery list with them. He found it entertaining to watch her muddle through the alphabet. Usually, most of the messages that she wrote were ones of chores or ones of groceries that he needed to buy, but this one was different.
A good different.
Good morning, Elijah!
Do you know that you're beautiful?
No.
He didn't.
II.
Clare had come home to a cheerful Eli. He was heating up the pasta from last night and was slicing up the last of the loaf of bread that had lasted them four days. They weren't rich, but they weren't completely broke.
"What's this?" Clare asked, smiling as she put her bag and coat down. She silently wrapped her arms around Eli's waist and rested her forehead on his shoulder.
"I'm cooking you lunch!" He exclaimed and then paused. "Well, I'm actually just heating it up, but when you look at it...it's the same thing, right?" He asked, turning around and capturing her in a tight hug.
"Right." She breathed. The smell of him made her brain go a bit fuzzy and she snuggled deeper into his slight chest, finding comfort in the deep breaths that he took.
"I saw the message that you left me." He murmered, his voice slightly muffled as he put his lips to the top of her head.
Clare smiled and wrapped her hands around his wrists. "I meant every word that I said." She said quietly, gazing into his eyes lovingly, making sure that he knew that she was in fact, telling the truth.
"It's hard to believe it sometimes." He said, just as quietly. His heart seemed to grow heavier as he thought of the reasons why he had to be told that he was beautiful.
"Not for me." Clare said, her voice strong. She held on tighter to his wrists.
And he just stared at her. He stared at her blue eyes and her laugh lines. He looked at the stray piece of hair that fell over her eye. He stared at her little button nose and her pink lips. He stared at her, wondering how something that perfect could be alive.
"Not for me." She whispered so softly that he could barely hear it. And she gave him a smile and let go of his wrists and stepped out of his embrace. She then made her way over to the oven to check on the pasta.
She left him pondering the idea of him being beautiful. The theory seemed completely untrue and false, he couldn't believe it.
But he couldn't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, she was telling the truth.
III.
The sun had soon turned into rain soon after Clare left to go back to work and Eli pulled up a chair next to the window, so he could watch the water droplets fall out of the sky and plop on the ground.
He used to love rain.
He remembered being little and jumping outside at the sight of rain. He even had the yellow raincoat and bright red boots. He remembered that he used to make mudpies and throw them at passing cars, finding it hilarious when the cars pulled over and yelled at him. He remembered running around with his arms out, so he looked like an airplane, and sprinting to place-to-place. And then, when he felt tired and his breathing was getting shallow, he would sprawl down in the middle of the ground, arms spread out, and he would lay there, letting the rain scatter across his face, with a content expression on his face.
Now, he hated rain.
Eli now hated how wet it was and how it was cold on your skin. He hated how thunder and lightning always followed the rain. He hated how you could barely see anything when it was pouring. He hated how he hated rain. That hate proved to him how much he had grown up. It showed him that the little boy that was once present in his body, was now long gone, probably out there running in the rain while Eli continued to hate things.
Nowadays, he hated a lot of things.
He hated how he hated things.
And now, he felt himself slump, and he knew that it was time to take a rest. It almost felt as if the rain was beating down on him, taking every ounce of strength that he had left, away. He rested his head into his hands and closed his burning eyes. The darkness that surrounded him when his eyes were closed soothed him, making him relax slightly.
He felt the blackness of sleep wash over him, and hoped that he'd feel better when he woke up.
IV.
She had just come home and quickly looked at the counter to see if the orange juice was on it.
Nope.
Her already heavy heart dropped, sending a cold sensation to run through her body. She hung her bag on the wooden kitchen table chair and put her soft coat in the closet where all the shoes sat. She hated these days. The days when he had stayed inside all day, not bothering to move from his spot in the bed. Eli would have orange juice in the morning, in the afternoon, and in the evening. When he didn't have it in the afternoon, and didn't leave it out, you knew that it was a bad day.
Clare sighed and ran her fingers through her damp hair and right when she was about to go into the pantry to find the Campbell's soup can, she heard Eli's footsteps. The pitter-patter coming from his feet made her heart jump slightly.
Maybe it was a good day.
Eli walked into the kitchen, looked at Clare, grunted, and walked past her. The hopes of him having a good day went out the window.
"How was your day?" She asked carefully, looking at his backside.
No answer.
"What did you do?" Her voice started to sport a fake cheeriness to it.
No answer.
"Did you-"
"Dammit, Clare!" Eli said, frustration saturated his already gruff voice. He walked to the cabinet and pulled out a glass. He then slowly made his way to the sink to fill the glass with water."Why do you even ask that when you know?" He paused and took a long gulp from the cup and then set it down to be washed.
"What do you want me to say, huh? Tell me. Do you want me to lie and say that everything is alright? Is that what you want?"
"I just want to know the truth." Clare muttered, her body freezing at his cold words. Right now, it felt like she had frostbite.
"Well, the truth is fucked up." Eli murmered and ran his fingers through his hair. "Just like me."
His words and motions made Clare yearn to hug him and comfort him. But as she was stepping forward to do that, he brushed past her making Clare drop the can of soup, and padded down the hall and into his room, leaving Clare to pick up her dinner.
.
.
.
Clare made dinner for herself and even set a bowl out for Eli, just in case. She sat down and stared at the empty seat beside her and she picked up her spoon to eat, not bothering to say the prayers that she hadn't said in three years. She dipped her spoon into her soup and brought it up to her mouth. The soup burned her tongue but seemed cold at the same time.
She finished up her soup, wiped the unshed tears from her eyes, and stood up. Clare slowly took the dishes to the sink and left them, not in a cleaning mood.
Clare was slightly scared of going inside their room. She was afraid of what she would see. Would he be sleeping? She hoped not. That would mean that he would be too weak and tired to do anything. Would he be looking at the wall with a blank expression on his face? She really hoped not. That would mean that she couldn't get through to him. Would he be looking angrily around? She hoped so. She'd rather him feel something, than nothing at all.
After stalling, she walked slowly to their room, taking her time, and she slowly pushed open the bedroom door. Her heart sank a little when she saw him sprawled out on his stomach, sleeping. His body moved up and down slowly and his muscles twitched slightly. Clare watched him and then stepped out of the room to use the bathroom.
As she brushed her teeth, she looked at herself in the mirror. Her skin was pale and doughy, unhealthy. Her eyes had lost their spark in a matter of a day, and she felt tired, even though work wasn't hard that day. She glanced away from her reflextion for a moment and spit out the tooth paste and rinsed, and then turned her focus back to the mirror.
Clare felt the tears that she had tried so hard to hide, spill out and travel down her cheeks. She gripped onto the edge of the sink and bowed her head, trying to stop the flow of the tears. She felt weak and disgusting. She felt her stomach boil unpleasantly. Clare wanted to be strong. She wanted to be strong for Eli, but sometimes she felt herself crack and couldn't control it. Sometimes she felt herself break and she wanted someone to pick up the lost pieces of her.
But no one ever came.
When she got out of the bathroom, after wiping the tears off of her cheeks, she stepped back into the room and stripped off her clothes, leaving her only in her undergarment. She walked lightly to her side of the bed, slipped underneath the cover, and she found it difficult to get comfortable.
It was hard to get comfortable when the person next to you gave you no room.
V.
He woke up early in the morning and sat in bed, not knowing what to do. His head hurt slightly and his eyes were slightly burning, but other than that, he felt fine. Eli felt something rustle next to him and he turned to his side to see Clare move her head in a small motion.
He watched her slight movements, which wouldn't have been noticeable to anybody else but him. He watched he lips part and unpart, as if she was going to speak. He watched her move slightly, causing the blankets to slide down and reveal her body. He saw the softness in her stomach and chest, and he wanted to touch her, to see if she was real.
Eli reached out slowly touched the top of her arm and traced different shapes onto her skin. He placed a kiss on her shoulder and moved away slightly to watch her a little bit more.
Now, Eli wasn't sure why he snapped at her most of the time. He didn't know why he always made her feel like crap. And as I said, he didn't know, but he had a bit of an idea. There was something about the way she looked at him that made him angry. Her glances were always full of love and concern and worry, and he hated that. He hated that he was always worried about him. He hated how he could barely get out of bed, leaving her to be the one making the money. He hated that he never helped her out with her problems. He hated how it was always about him. It was always about his needs and wants and never about her.
He despised it.
.
.
.
He walked down the hall and into the kitchen about an hour later. He was thirsty and he just needed a change of air. Eli stopped in the middle of the kitchen doorway and stretched, waiting for the crack of his body, but surprisingly, he heard no crack.
Eli walked to the fridge and pulled out the full container of orange juice and did his routine, with a small smirk on his devilish lips. He was about to leave when he saw the magnetic note that Clare had left him on the fridge from that morning. He smiled and pulled the letters and decided to leave a little note of his own.
I love you.
He had left her a message with words that he didn't say enough to her.
But he meant those words with every fiber of his beautiful body.
That honestly took me a month to write. It was very personal but I wrote it! :)
I hope you enjoyed. Review?
Oh, this song is dedicated to the song "I don't waste your time" By Fistful Of Mercy. It helped me so much.