A/N: This is my take on Eli's perspective on the Eli/Fitz rivalry. This takes place after Vegas Night and after Fitz comes back, which will be hinted to. It's basically what I think Eli's past with bullies might have been like, because, to be honest, I feel that in order for Eli to hate them as much as he does, there had to be more to it than just Mike bullying him when he was nine. So this fic kind of explores how I think Eli might feel about bullies and how he feels about Fitz and more importantly, why he feels that way. It's mostly about his dark side. It kind of took a turn that I didn't mean for it to, and I ended up losing the direction that I was going for, but I don't know. Some of it might seem vague, or far-fetched or just plain weird, and I'm sorry about that. XD But, please keep in mind while reading this that Eli is a hard character to wright for me.
Just to explain something, because you're kind of supposed to assume this while reading it, this is after Fitz shows up on Clare's door step, and I don't know how he got there, but I honestly believe he's there for her help, not to hurt her, as so many people believe. So, this takes place after Fitz comes to Clare's house for comfort. You're also supposed to assume that Fitz and Eli pick up where they left off when it comes to their feud.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters besides Rufus and Lila.
Downward Spiral
There is a fine line between being the bully and being the victim.
Eli hates him.
Fitz is exactly the kind of guy Eli can't stand. The way he shoves people around just because he can, because he can use his size to his advantage, pisses him off. He's a coward. Someone who intimidates those who are smaller and weaker than he is. Eli's heard all of the bullshit excuses under the sun about why kids like him do it. Because they're insecure or their parents hit them.
It doesn't excuse his behavior. It doesn't excuse acting like an ape and wandering around like a menace, shoving kids down stairs and throwing them through glass doors and breaking their personal property and whatever else. He's the definition of a bully and Eli knows all about his kind. He's dealt with them most of his life.
He mocks Eli for his clothes and his car and his hair. Meanwhile, Fitz's clothes are the same generic brands every boy in their school owns. He doesn't have a car. He bums a ride off Bianca everyday like a loser, while her boring, beat-up, red vehicle blares some shitty, overrated, unoriginal rap song. Talk about someone with zero individuality. He's just some tool walking around like he owns the place with his stupid "crew" or whatever the hell he calls it.
He spends way too much time trying to build up a reputation. He cares too much about what other people think, even though he'd never admit it. He thinks he's some kind of outsider or rebel, thinks he's cool because he smokes joints with Owen in The Ravine. He conforms so easily to the image everybody expects him to fulfill.
Not to mention he's a moron. He's ignorant and absolutely terrified of anything that's even a little bit out of the ordinary. If someone's unconventional, he can't stand it. It bothers him. So much, that he feels the need to make them pay for simply being different.
He uses his fists for everything.
In short, Fitz is a typical bully. Type D, to be specific. D for douchebag. Type Cs are chumps, Type Bs are bastards, and As are assholes. Eli has come to classify bullies based off of the severity of their behavior, from D being the not so bad to the As being the most serious. Fitz thinks he's so tough, but the truth is, Eli's been bullied by worse. He's experienced run-ins with a few As in his time.
Eli snorts. But really, sub-genres aside, essentially, at their core, bullies are all the same. Eli's being generous to even give them the benefit of the doubt by treating them as if they're separate from each other, as if they're actually people.
There's nothing new or unique about Fitz. He's just like the rest of those lugheaded thugs that think they can do whatever they want just because they've got some muscle.
Eli will grudgingly admit that he possesses minimal respect for Fitz. Eli can understand that Fitz does his own thing, even if it's only to show people what a badass he thinks he is. Skips class when he wants, gets into trouble frequently. Yeah, he may care a little too much for his reputation, but at least he knocks someone out if they give him trouble for doing whatever the hell he wants. And Eli has always believed that above all else, people should have the right to do as they please and be as they please. And if someone's giving you flak and telling you what not to do, then you should shut them the hell up however you can and then do it just to spite them.
Regardless of this single, mutual understanding, Fitz won't know what hit him once Eli's done.
The last kid who picked on him before he transferred to Degrassi…his name was Rufus. Rufus was a Type B.
If Rufus was going to make Eli's life a living hell, then he would make damn sure that Rufus's would be no better, and that his suffering would be the equivalent to that found in the ninth circle.
Eli got him good. He - well, let's just say that little Rufus, the big, tough guy he was, had to have mommy transfer his ass to another school. The mocking was too much for him to handle and no one would fess up to the nasty, humiliating pranks that had become the daily experience for him. They couldn't trace anything back to Eli, and to be honest, the school staff wasn't terribly fond of Rufus anyway, so not only did they not put a lot of effort into finding out who was terrorizing the school bully, but they also weren't too interested in putting in the trouble of calling some professionals down to discover the culprit and settle the whole problem once and for all. Eli had predicted this, of course.
Rufus had a pretty good idea who it was. He wasn't stupid enough to completely lack the ability to suspect, and he definitely suspected Eli. But he didn't want to confess to his mother and the school that karma was giving him a bite in the ass courtesy of the weird, skinny kid that was usually his punching bag. Word would get around the school and whatever was left of his reputation would be flushed down the tubes. Eli had also predicted this.
What Eli hadn't predicted, and never even knew about, was that Rufus's father didn't like him too much, so his dad could really care less about making a big deal out of the whole thing. He was the type of guy who told his son to suck it up and be a man, and he was someone who pushed his wife around, demanding certain things and forbidding her from doing others, the way a captain commands his ship. She wasn't even a part of the crew. She was the ship. If she had had it her way, she would have demanded that the school find the person responsible for hurting her son. But her husband ran the ship, and she submitted to him as always. Sucked for Rufus. Lucky for Eli. This ensured that no one would ever catch him, because no one gave enough of a damn to continue the investigation.
But Rufus still whined enough to convince his parents to let him transfer somewhere else, and Eli can remember the day that he saw Rufus for the last time, his mother rushing him out the door of "this terrible school", because her "poor", "defenseless" child had been the target of some bully.
The irony of the whole situation would've made Eli want to laugh, if it hadn't been for the complete ignorance of Rufus's mother making him completely nauseous.
Once again, typical bully. He could dish it out, but once it came time to choke down his own medicine, he bitched.
They never found out who did all that stuff to him. They never caught Eli. He was too sneaky and underhanded to be caught. His cunning manipulation is nothing to be scoffed at, that's for sure.
It's probably a little sick that he takes pride in it.
Rufus was asking for it without realizing that he was asking for anything at all. He was so used to people just getting out of his way. But not Eli. Eli taught that kid a lesson. Taught him what happens to bastards who make life hell for other people for sport. But he also showed him what happens to those poor "freaks" like Eli that get the snot beat out of them every day, gave him a pretty damn good idea of the repercussions of his cruelty, of what those kids become: the demented products of targeted animosity. It turns them into monsters.
Monsters only make more monsters.
Oh well. Getting beat up certainly made him stronger…Maybe he should thank guys like Rufus?
After all, who can the bullies blame for their worst enemies? Themselves. Because their worst enemies are the kids that they torment day in and day out. That's why, in general, bullies are so stupid. By dehumanizing them, bullies give their victims the most important weapon they need to make them the most worthy opponents they will ever have the misfortune to go up against, without even knowing it: resentment. Leave that resentment to stew in silence for a while, put a little pressure on the kid with fear to keep them down, add some humiliation for good measure, and eventually, the combined feeling explodes. Eli is a prime example of how screwed up people get when you strip them agonizingly of their dignity. They come back at you full force.
If he wanted, Eli could be the fucking poster boy for anti-bullying. Just look at what's happened to him. Eli's been damaged, and he sometimes likes to think of himself as a vigilante. Unrelenting. Ruthless.
Maybe this only proves that Clare's right about a cycle of violence. But it takes a jerk to take down a jerk. Eli could be that guy.
This is a classic struggle between brawn and brains. And Eli will win. This is the twenty-first century. Your dominance isn't asserted by swinging around clubs and grunting. It's all about who's the best cheater, manipulator, liar. Eli will win. He's got a smart mouth. A way with words.
Fitz calls him pretty boy. Eli smirks. As if he hasn't been called that since the third grade. How original.
Eli's voice is bitter. "I know what I look like, Fitzy Boy. I can see myself in the mirror."
xXx
"Pretty boy." Mike laughed, his voice nasally and taunting. His huge fist (the protruding knuckles always felt like spikes against the soft underside of Eli's jaw), slammed into Eli's nose for the third time that day, before he felt himself being pushed down the stairs.
Eli didn't say a word. A torrent of nasty insults was waiting to be unleashed on Eli's sharp tongue, perched on the tip of it, locked and loaded behind his lips, the way an arrow lies, pulled taught against the bow-string, waiting to be launched. Even at nine, when it came to sarcasm, Eli was never out of ammo. But he kept his mouth shut. Whatever snark he used would have gone right over Mike's head, and he would've just make fun of Eli for using big words. Call him a girl again.
"What's the matter Eeeeeli? Gonna cry again? Gonna try running away?"
Not this time, Eli thought. Not this time. Never again.
Eli looked different than the other boys. Acted different. His hair was longer. His clothes were darker. He wore rings on his fingers. His music wasn't the mainstream pop that the other kids liked. He was smaller and "prettier" than the rest of them, with his long lashes and full lips.
I'm not a girl.
From that point on, Eli made it a point to make an impressive, detached entrance. Distant smirk in place, shoulders back, strut in his step. No one would ever mistake him for anything but a boy ever again.
Eli always feels Adam's pain whenever Fitz refers to him as a girl. Eli can understand. It isn't easy being small and fragile-looking. Everybody gets the wrong idea. Everybody thinks you're weak, less of a challenge to take advantage of, an easy target. No one would have ever guessed the raw, intense fury hidden inside Eli's tiny body, the flurry of swirling turmoil, that hurricane of emotion that lurked behind that deceptively pretty, little face.
Eli started talking more in class. Raised his hand, proved he wasn't shy, wasn't afraid. Used words like "prodigal", "acuity", and "benevolence" when responding to people. He brought his headphones to school and blasted them loud.
He relished the strange looks of his classmates and the concerned glances of the teacher.
He'd be himself, if only to piss off Mike.
Being yourself – just being – is never easy.
xXx
Eli chuckles darkly. A short, brisk bark of superiority. Some people would say he's arrogant. Perhaps he is. But he's earned that arrogance.
Eli has learned that the greatest sense of pride is born only from being able to pull yourself out of the deepest pits of shame.
He wears the pride that he's worked so hard for like a medal, but really it's his shield. After all, if your ego is big enough, how could anything not bounce right off of it?
xXx
Eli started fighting back. Got a few good punches in a couple times. It didn't matter. Mike still kicked his ass after school. But that was okay, because at least Eli could say that he showed. Yeah, he'd be the one sporting bruises the next day, but as long as he took them calmly, didn't cry, acted like they didn't bother him, his ego remained in tact. At least he could say he took the punches like a man. At least he learned how to block them a little. At least he could still stand to look at his own reflection, prouder of seeing someone battered and smashed on the outside, rather than someone defeated and weak and cowering on the inside.
The other kids thought he was crazy. Why would you show up at the exact place and time the bully told you to? Why not avoid him or run away?
The answer was simple: so that you weren't the victim. So that, in this twisted, primal game, you didn't have to play the part of the prey.
I came because I wanted to. I chose to be here. I didn't suffer the shame of hiding, or let you have the satisfaction of hunting me down.
Mike was expecting him to run away, but Eli wasn't going to give Mike what he wanted. He wasn't going to submit anymore.
The cuts and gashes, while not deserved, were earned, and Eli could wear them with pride the next day. He could flaunt them in front of Mike's confused face whenever he saw him again. Mike didn't get why Eli would want to showcase his injuries. After all, they only proved that he lost, and badly at that. He didn't see it the way Eli did. Eli saw the bruises as victory. Mike beat him into a pulp, but it didn't change the fact that Eli was still there, still grinning, still walking tall, still all in black, still stubbornly insisting on being himself, like an annoying, plucky thorn in Mike's side that could never be tugged out.
In the end, Mike thought he won, because he beat the hell out of the weird, goth kid. But that just proved how much of a dumbass he was.
Eli had stopped walking away from his beatings with his tail between his legs, with his head down. He stopped retreating to lick his wounds. Eli forced himself to feel no shame, to keep his back straight and a grim grin on his face, no matter what. It didn't change anything if he had to limp his way home with his arm against his chest as the loser, with the grittiness of gravel in his eyes from where his face was pushed into the pavement. Just as long as he didn't lose sorely, didn't act as if the loss had any effect on him. It was just the same. Eyes forward, chin up, chest out.
Eli made a sight: the little third grader in all black gimping his way up the sidewalks, his lip swelling grotesquely and the skin around his eye a sickening blue-green, a black eye forming around the tender flesh slowly in discolored patches, marching onward with the determined, faltering steps of a miniature, wounded soldier.
Eli limped out of the playground, the alley, wherever, with that self-satisfied, permanent smirk on his face underneath all the dirt and blood and bruising, because he was the real winner. The shit was kicked out of him, but he wasn't broken.
Maybe no one else saw it that way, but as long as he knew it, he didn't care. He didn't care what anyone else thought.
The battle wasn't about who got their ass handed to them and who didn't. It was about something deeper than that. Somewhere far down inside himself, even Mike knew it. It was the reason he picked on Eli in the first place. It was about fear. It was about who was afraid of who, and Mike was afraid of Eli's eccentricity. The only reason Mike beat on Eli was because he was afraid of people who weren't like everyone else, and because he could do it, because Eli was smaller and Mike didn't know how to hurt people his own size. But Eli wasn't afraid to be himself and he sure as hell wasn't afraid of Mike anymore. Eli knew he had to keep Mike scared, because it was the only way to fight back. After all, bullies are cowards at heart. The only way to keep Mike scared was for Eli to be himself. After a time, Eli realized that intimidating bullies by showing daunting, unwavering resolve, only makes them more violent, like animals who react aggressively when they've been cornered and don't know what else to do. But Eli couldn't back down, even if he wanted to, because by that time, he was already too set in his habits to change.
He put his smart mouth to good use. Put it into overdrive. Taunted Mike. Provoked him. Mike would get angry and keep hurting him.
But Eli proved he wasn't scared. To himself. That's all that mattered.
How dare that little freak have the guts to talk back? How dare the girly boy with the funny clothes keep yelling insults at the top of his lungs, persistently, without running out of breath, his eyes burning fiercely?
Why is he still trying, even with Mike's fist in his mouth? How the hell – punch – can he get that – kick – stupid, smug, little smile – smack – off the punk's face?
How is it still there? Why doesn't it ever go away? What gives Eli the right to keep grinning like that while Mike hurts him, even when he's under the looming shadow of Mike's much larger figure and his knuckles draw steadily closer to Eli's already busted, smirking lips?
Why doesn't he cry anymore, like the others?
xXx
Eli learned to embrace his prettiness. Mike had a girlfriend. Cute little thing. Blue eyes. Her name was Lila. She didn't like it when Mike hurt Eli. Eli liked her and he already had her sympathy.
After Mike beat him up, Eli would come into school the next day, all bravado, chin up, sitting himself next to Lila aloofly, while he watched her out of the corner of his eye, careful to keep his expression indifferent.
She would coo and make strange, girly noises and fuss over him, and then Eli would turn to her with big, sorrowful, green eyes to further garner her pity, keeping the rest of his face cool. Eli wasn't stupid. Eyes spoke volumes. They were all he needed to take advantage of her maternal instincts.
All the while Mike would watch.
And that's when Eli realized: girls like pretty boys.
Sure, guys like Mike were big, but the bigger they were, the more malicious and frightening. Girls could only have so much fun with them. Eli could keep her entertained forever.
And when Eli realized Mike was observing him and Lila, he made sure to make his flirting even more conspicuous.
Call him a masochist. Call him a glutton for punishment. Maybe they were both true. But really, Eli had just had his first sweet taste of vengeance. It was addicting. It got him high. There was nothing like watching Mike's face turn funny shades of red while Eli worked his little girlfriend over, stealing her right under his nose.
Eli used the extent of his nine-year-old wit on her. And then Eli would mouth off when Mike came to beat him up in front of her and he would take the punishment without complaint to show off.
Eventually, Lila was Eli's first girlfriend. He made her laugh with sarcasm and silly faces. She kissed his cheek softly when he got cuts on them from Mike's beat downs, and he would turn away so she wouldn't see his blush.
Somehow, Mike convinced her to take him back. Eli remembers how he caught them kissing. He remembers how his heart broke for the first time, though certainly not the last.
Julia was once a bully's girlfriend too. Rufus's. Eli would be the first to admit that he used to have an odd taste in girls.
xXx
Eli doesn't know what happened to Lila. All he knows is that she was a traitor and a sneaky little backstabber, and that she probably still is. He hopes that she learned her lesson about dating bullies.
Who's he kidding? People never change. Not really. She'll always be a liar who likes to date abusive assholes, just like Fitz was probably always a bully. He was probably some other poor sap's Mike in the third grade.
It doesn't matter that that rumor about his dad beating him is true. Eli doesn't care. It's no excuse.
Fitz is a complete dick. If he wants pity, he won't be getting it from Eli. Monsters don't get pity.
Eli doesn't give pity. Monsters don't give pity. No mercy.
Sob stories don't work on Eli. Never have. Never will. We all have problems. Deal with it. Eli has enough sob stories to fill a novel. Maybe Fitz does too. But it takes a lot to earn Eli's sympathy, and Fitz has been doing the exact opposite since Eli first met him.
Cry me a river, Fitzy.
Point is, Fitz is disgusting. This has nothing to do with fear. Eli is not afraid of Fitz. As if. Bullies don't scare him any more. They've gotten bigger, smarter. But so has he. If it's war, then he'll be on the front line.
He will never feel that way again. Ever. He will never lie on the ground, curled in a ball, while some stupid asshole kicks him in the stomach and beats him over the head until he stares off into space blankly, numb, ever again.
The way he did after Fitz threatened him with that knife. The way he pleaded while Fitz threatened him with that knife. It will never happen again. He'll remember himself next time. It was only a brief relapse. Remember: show no fear. Never plead. Never again.
When he confronts Fitz from now on, it will continue to be as an equal. Eli will look him square in the eyes. Victims hide. Victims run. Equals challenge and fight blow for blow.
Eli subdues the voice inside of him that insists making himself Fitz's equal makes them the same.
xXx
Eli doesn't run away from bullies. He let's his mouth do all the running. He keeps his quick words measured and cool until the excitement of the exchange starts to get to him.
"You're all talk, Goldsworthy. As if you could actually back up your big mouth with any action."
"Please, Fitzy. You're all fists. You can barely talk. The only speaking you're capable of is grunting like a caveman."
"Did you tell everyone yet about how you nearly shit your pants when I pulled that knife on you?"
"Did you tell everyone how you nearly wet yourself when I got you arrested? 'Cause I could fill them all in. Unlike you, I don't give a damn what anyone else thinks."
Eli's smart mouth is his only weapon really. The size of it, the confidence his words exude makes up for his lack of physical strength. The boldness in his voice makes the disparity in height between him and Fitz seem entirely miniscule.
"Aaaawww. What's the matter, Emo Boy? Gonna cry? You nearly did when I cornered you at the dance. You think you're so brave."
Eli opens his mouth to drop the killer of all insults. He's all ready to do it. He's so close to making a snide comment about Fitz's dad beating him, asking him sarcastically if it's true in front of his friends and then confirming the reality of it. Fitz is already pissed enough that the information got out, and he would be humiliated if everyone knew that the rumor was actually true, that he spent his nights having his spirit broken by his own father and that he sometimes comes to Clare's house in tears. Hard-ass Mark Fitzgerald was supposed to be the bully, not the bullied.
Clare would be angry that Eli told everyone something that she shared with him in confidence, but she'd get over it.
Eli's mouth closes again and he begins to loathe himself. Because he can't bring himself to do it. And as much as he'd like to believe he's cruel enough, and as much as he'd like to make himself believe that he's only refraining from ruining Fitz's reputation because he doesn't want to lose Clare, he knows the reality. He just can't bring himself to do that to someone. Even Fitz. Maybe because he knows what it's like to be the victim. Maybe because Eli understands what it's like to burst into tears because someone makes you feel small and weak and you can't fight back because they're so much larger than you, so you just hang tight and wish you're a giant so that you could step on them with one foot and hear them scream and –
But for whatever reason, he can't make himself cross that line. Toe it maybe. But never cross it. Angering someone, scaring someone, injuring someone is one thing, but completely destroying their pride? Fitz has done it to him before, so it's not unfair game, but… Eli just can't.
Eli isn't that heartless, even though he wishes so hard that he was.
So he decides he'll have to settle for a lamer provocation. Whatever. Knowing Fitz's temper, it'll still have the desired effect.
"I would say 'when apes speak' as opposed to the rather cliché 'when pigs fly'," Eli's practically snarling now, but his words are determinedly controlled. Even though his lips move faster and faster, form mocking words, chucking them at Fitz nonchalantly with expert condescension, his mind is still in charge and he hasn't gotten ahead of himself. Yet. Don't let him get to you. "but you're living proof that that's already happened."
And that's when the fist hits his face.
Eli grins and bears it.
He internally rolls his eyes. So predictable. Like baiting a big, dumb pitbull. It's almost boring. Except not.
Eli even fakes him out a little bit in the beginning, when Fitz is just messing him around, toying with him. Just to show Fitz that he better start taking the fight seriously. Just to show Fitz who's really in control here and that he's the one being played with. He let's Fitz wrestle him around a minute, allows Fitz to keep him in a chokehold, until Eli decides he's had enough and brings his fist up backwards, so very fast, with a nasty, deliciously nauseating crack into Fitz's nose. Fitz lets go immediately, letting loose a stream of curses as he flails for a second, trying to keep his balance.
Eli hopes that something on his face is broken.
And meanwhile, Eli laughs obnoxiously, borderline maniacally, taunting Fitz. Provoking him. Egging him on, like a bull rider might incense a bucking bronco. He knows Fitz is dangerous, he knows this is a bad idea, and that only someone completely reckless and idiotic, or more likely in his case – psychotic - would tempt a violent delinquent to completely lose all inhibitions.
But Eli's worse than a delinquent. Just take a look in his locker. In his bedroom. Just take a look into his screwed up brain. There's a lot of stuff that shouldn't be in any of those places, things and thoughts that Eli really shouldn't have because they're illegal or just plan wrong. That Ipecac…he was hiding it in his room somewhere, under piles of junk, and he's got more trouble up his sleeve where that came from.
Fitz looks angry when he faces Eli this time, his expression warped in rage and gore, the blood poring from his nose freely, the amusement gone from his eyes. The indescribable emotion replacing it guarantees sure doom. But Eli couldn't be having more fun. It's all Eli can do to keep the haughty smirk off his face, because it's hilarious, and damn do those stupid, childish, little freckles on Fitz's cheeks make him look ridiculous or what? Yeah, he knows his ass is about to be soundly handed to him, but it doesn't mean he can't have a little fun before he lets the bully really fuck him up.
For a brief second, something completely malicious passes itself across Eli's features. Something demonic. His chin turns downwards, his eyes half-lidded, but directed upwards at Fitz in a look of pure loathing, a dark glower that says nothing if not I want to make you hurt. Lips twist into something that looks like half a smirk and half a snarl.
Come on, Fitzy. Teach me a lesson. Eli licks his lips, sucking a little blood off of his bottom one in a casual manner.
Fighting back has become such a routine for Eli. He knows why he started, but not why he continues to do it, why he keeps pushing his luck. It's not just about standing up to the enemy anymore or not giving in. It's become about winning, about harming. He doesn't remember when that happened. He just knows that when someone messes with him, it feels so good, too good, when he messes back.
Neither of them realize that if Eli refuses to be the victim, then Fitz can't be the bully. The whole thing is pointless. A bully isn't a bully without someone to be the victim. Fitz still likes to think he's the victimizer, even though that's impossible now, since Eli's done with being someone's doormat. Eli likes to think that he's not the victim, but that Fitz still deserves whatever he gets, because he's still the bully. But he can't have both. He can't not be the victim and still have a bully. That's not how it works.
This is just a big game. This whole bully-victim thing. Years of practice have made them masters. Fitz and Eli both play their respective roles expertly. It takes guts. It takes a strong kid to do the beating, and an even stronger one to take it. It takes strength to play this malignant game for as long as they can, or until it reaches its unfortunate, possibly fatal conclusion, this downward spiral.
They struggle not to fall into the spiral, that dizzying vertigo of chaotic confusion and identity, into the roles that are starting to feel more natural now. They're trying to resist becoming what they can feel that they've both been for a long time. They're trying not to let their lines blur, but it's inevitable. Neither of them is the bully. Neither of them is the victim.
They're both.
There was a time, long ago, when all Eli wanted was peace. He just wanted to be left the hell alone. But that's gone.
He just wants to scare Fitz. He just wants to really piss him off.
xXx
Fitz does win.
But Eli sure as hell doesn't make it easy for him and he sure as hell doesn't lose quietly. Fitz can beat Eli until he's blue, but never until he's silent.
Eli only has two choices. He can either lie down, let Fitz step all over him and be his victim, his inferior. Or, he can stand tall, hold his own, and be Fitz's rival, his equal, while convincing himself that he's really superior.
Eli was asking for it. He knows. But if he didn't ask for it, he would have gotten it anyway eventually. There's no way Fitz would have ever left him alone. It's in Fitz's nature to hurt, just like it's in Eli's nature to be hurt. And isn't it better to ask for it and get it on your own terms, than it is to get it when you didn't want it and when the enemy decided he wanted to give it to you?
As stated, Fitz would have never left him alone. It was only a matter of time. The only thing to be determined was the manner, place, and time of day.
Eli and Fitz have to play this game. They were destined to, from the moment they set foot in this school. They were destined to meet, to fight, to unconditionally hate each other. They can try to ignore it, try to war with their compulsions instead of each other, but they just can't help it. It's their fate to act out this age-old battle, fought by ruined kids just like them for centuries, and even before that, since the beginning of human life. Sucked into each other's gravity, an unavoidable, insisting, insatiable pull that neither can ignore. They feel like they have no control, so they fabricate it, as they spin and spin around in each other's orbit in this spiral.
They pretend because it makes them feel strong.
Tempting the beast gives Eli all the control. He'd rather be the instigator than simply the receiver.
So he shrugs off the loss, as always. It's not like he was expecting anything different. Besides, he still has his revenge to look forward to. He just has to come up with something first.
The battle is lost, but the war is not over. It never will be.
xXx
When Eli overhears Fitz and some other guys discussing playing poker after school in The Ravine, Eli wants in, even though a place like that isn't really Eli's style, and Fitz accepts the challenge because he'll take any chance he can to show up his rival.
The fact that Fitz even feels threatened by him enough to want to prove, in front of his buddies, that he's the better poker player, makes the smug stretch of Eli's lips a little wider on his face, puts a little more swagger in his gait. Of course, Fitz makes it seem as though he's unconcerned, as if beating Eli is guaranteed, but Eli can see the uncertainty in his eyes, and when Eli raises his eyebrows sardonically, the nervousness in Fitz's expression grows.
Fitz's poker face could use a little work.
Eli wins of course. He wipes the floor with all of their ugly, gobsmacked faces. His poker face is no joke, and Fitz sucks at the game. Eli gladly takes the three hundred bucks he's earned and makes his way out. Three hundred dollars isn't much, but it wasn't about the money anyway, and really, what was he expecting from a bunch of broke low-lifes like these?
Before he leaves, Fitz changes his mind. He wants his cash back.
Sore loser. Emphasis on the 'loser'.
"Oh, you want this cash?"
Eli pretends to think for a second and then promptly unbuckles his belt, unfastens his skinny jeans with an impressive amount of speed, and without any hesitation whatsoever, he plunges his fist, wadded cash in hand, down the front of his boxers.
There is a long, horrified silence as Eli rubs the money around the front of his crotch unabashedly, making strange, exaggeratedly silly faces, enjoying this far too much. His hand makes a weird, highly inappropriate, moving bulge in his pants, as if a small animal found its way into his jeans.
Eli smiles to himself when he briefly considers what Clare's face would look like if she were here to see this.
He pulls out his hand, and not bothering to fix his pants, he holds out the crumpled money to Fitz, a shit-eating grin on his mouth as he trembles with heat and excitement at the look of complete loathing that appears on Fitz's face, promising Eli pain in the near future.
"Here you go. I had an itch. Sorry about that." Eli says simply, his voice so convincingly apologetic that if someone who didn't know better were hearing him, they would think he meant it.
Of course Fitz doesn't want the money back.
He just pounds Eli's face into the ground and accuses him of cheating.
Did he cheat? Of course. But it's not like Fitz actually possesses the intelligence to know that. And anyway, Eli has no idea what the jerk's complaining about. It's not as if he would have won anyway. Really, Eli did him a favor. Put him out of his misery. Eli only cheated so that Fitz would lose faster and he could make off with Fitz's money sooner, like pressing fast forward on a TV remote. He was simply expediting the inevitable. He has better things to do than waste his time hanging around with a bunch of brainless Neanderthals who can't play poker to save their lives.
xXx
When Fitz follows him to his hearse the next day after school, still demanding his money back and reaching inside to get at Eli's shirt collar, Eli makes sure to slam Morty's door – as hard as he can, mind you – on Fitz's hand. He hears a crack, and this pleases him, and Fitz is in too much shock to do anything, so he does it again.
CRACK.
At this point, Fitz is screaming bloody murder, his eyes wide. And what is that shining so brightly in them? Pain? Yes. Of course. But there's something else too. Is that – yes, fear. Not that half-assed nervousness in his eyes that he saw in The Ravine. Full-blown fear. Eli sighs shakily in contentment, like he's been waiting for this moment his whole life, and he feels a chilling pleasure fill his heart.
Clare is watching with her mouth open. Everyone in the school parking lot is, but no one steps in to help.
Fitz fights back of course. But it's difficult, because his quickly purpling wrist kills and when he tries to pull the door open with his one free appendage, cursing Eli, damning him, Eli pulls it back, and fuck, the little prick is stronger than Fitz expected.
Eli chuckles, his voice cracking weakly as he sits there, in his car, laughing more and more hysterically. But Eli's thoughts are placid, eyes cold and stony, even as he begins to notice that they're drawing a crowd.
Fitz is still struggling with him, but Eli's not giving him any leeway. His heart is pounding with excitement and his breathing is fast because using his limited strength on someone so much larger than him is taking its toll on his body.
Eli knows it must be the adrenaline giving him this strange, nigh supernatural strength, but to him, it just feels like he's finally snapped, and all the anger and humiliation and hurt is burning, boiling up into nothing, his body using all the accumulated resentment he has clung onto over the all these years as fuel, running on his feelings of pure hatred.
He watches with mild, vaguely creeped-out interest as Fitz's hand wiggles its fingers and squirms around on the inside of the hearse, stuck in between the edge of the door and the jamb, like a pale, giant, slightly speckled spider, scrambling its limbs, caught in its own web. His hand is slowly turning red because his circulation is blocked off at the wrist, trapping the blood in his hand, preventing it from flowing to the rest of his arm.
Eli is simultaneously amused and nauseated when he imagines it exploding from too much backed up blood. As unnerved as he is by his own thoughts, he can't help but laugh harder.
His laughter is starting to hurt now, sounding more and more like choking and gasping. He can hardly breathe and his face is hot. His lungs hurt. His sides too. He feels like he's going to hurl, but he keeps both his fists on the door, gripping onto it obstinately, the muscles in his arms seizing up and locking painfully in place, like someone holding onto the edge of a cliff, afraid to let go for fear of the fall.
Fitz is still pulling on the other side, but his hollers of agony only make Eli feel happier and he wonders if, when he admitted teasingly to Clare that he was a sadist, he was really joking.
Eli wonders when Fitz will start to beg. He hopes it's soon. His arms are starting to get tired from trying to keep the door closed on his hand. He only feels slightly guilty when he looks Fitz in the eyes again and sees the terror born from the pain (Eli can imagine how Fitz is feeling - like the pain will go on forever, eternal agony, because right now, its end is not in sight, and when the end is not in sight, it seems like the suffering can go on infinitely), and realizes that this is probably what his rival's face looks like while under the looming shadow of his father's much larger figure, his knuckles drawing steadily closer - Eli switches his gaze onto his dashboard instead. In this moment, looking at Fitz's face feels too much like looking into a mirror. Seeing your reflection in your enemy's eyes is enough to take the fun out of anything.
He takes a peek at Clare's face again through Morty's windshield. Cute little thing. Blue eyes. She looks disappointed, afraid, disgusted.
In this moment of complete and utter passion, of sick pleasure so strong it makes him ill, her face is the only thing that makes him stop. She's enough to make him let go.
xXx
Fitz's wrist is declared broken by the school nurse and Clare disapproves of Eli's behavior, but she just doesn't get it.
Eli will get Mi – Fitz. He'll get Fitz. He won't know what hit him. Fitz will get what's coming to him, what's been coming to him all along. His whole life. When Fitz wins this fight, it will only give Eli an even better excuse for getting him back later.
But make no mistake. Eli is not afraid of Fitz. This is not self-defense. It's not even some misguided attempt to be noble. It's pure retribution. Maybe a way to impress Clare a little. But it's not like this is the only way that Eli thinks he can protect himself. It's not as if this is the only way he thinks he can keep his friends safe. It's not as if Eli's terror is what gives him courage. Eli doesn't even need courage. Courage is for those who fear. It's not like he-
"The only way to avoid a bully is to keep him scared."
Okay, maybe he's a little paranoid that he'll end up the victim again. No one's invincible. If there's anything Eli's learned, it's that there are only two kinds of people in this world: the victims and the victimizers. If you're not one, then you are most certainly the other. You can't make yourself vulnerable. You have to keep fighting and leave no bases uncovered and no openings for your opponent to get in through. You can't let someone step all over you and continue screwing you over. You have to make your message clear: don't mess with me. You have to terrorize the enemy before he can terrorize you.
But he is not afraid of that brute.
It's the brute inside himself that makes him quake. Whether it's with excitement or fear, he's not too sure.
And even underneath that, it's the trembling, terrified nine-year-old hidden somewhere deep down, supposedly long gone, that he's really scared of.
People never really change. Once the victim, always the victim. Once a bully, always a bully.
Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Does it really matter?
Bullies create victims and victims create bullies.
The two are more similar than they seem. From the moment you become the victim, it's your fate to become a bully. From the moment you become the bully, it's your fate to become a victim. And then, even when you think you're only one, deep down you're still the other.
You can't tell who's who anymore. It doesn't even matter. At this point, you're both the same.
The whole thing is just a sad, downward spiral with no escape. It's pathetic and ignominious, but that's the way of life.
The way the world turns round is not because of love. It's not even because of money, for those of us more cynical out there. It's something even worse. It's the momentum of people chasing each other in circles around the earth with murder in their eyes that makes the planet turn. It's the violence and the fear and the war and the hate that keeps the world in motion.