"What the hell, Tara?" Ange is not handling my freak-out well.
"You never talk about him," I cry. "Look at this place! There's not one photo of the three of us. You buried him and shut the door, completely removing him from your life!" The tears pour from my eyes and into my mouth. I'm spitting and my nose has begun to run. "But I don't have that luxury," I continue. "Every time I look in the mirror I see him! He is a part of me and I have to be reminded every day that I'll never have the real him again! You could honor his memory, commemorate the years we had as a family, but you'd rather pretend like nothing happened. Like he wasn't your brother too and it's disgusting." I collapse to my knees sobbing and entirely spent. I hadn't cried this hard since the night at the hospital when the doctors called it. They had to actually hold me down I was making such a fuss. None of them could understand that the moment his heart stopped I felt a hole. I had lost a piece of myself.
"I'm sorry," she kneels down next to me and rubs my shoulders. "I'm so sorry."
I wipe the snot on my sleeve and try to sniff the rest of it back in. In a split second of calm clarity, I realize that Elliot hadn't called. It was strange that he had told me where he was going so wouldn't he call and tell me he's alright? "I'm sorry," I tell Ange and scurry back into my room, not sure where I had left the mobile device. I find it buried beneath the scraps of paper I hadn't cleaned up from the portrait. There are only three people I call: Ange, Elliot, and Billy so it's not hard to get to his contact. The phone rings, but he never answers. I try again. Still no answer. Maybe he's just too high to get to his phone, I tell myself, hoping he isn't in serious trouble. Ange lingers in the doorway, concerned.
The phone rings after I put it down. "Yes?" I answer before it finishes the first buzz.
"Hello is this Tara Moss?" the voice says.
"Yes?" I squeak.
"Elliot Alderson is here at the hospital. You're listed as his emergency contact…"
"I'll be there in thirty minutes," I cut him off and hang up. "Sorry, Ange I have to go!" I grab my bag and run out of there, all the way to the nearest F train station. I collapse on the seat of the train, out of breath and sweaty. There is a pit growing inside of my stomach, eating away at my insides until it reaches my throat and threatens to spew out. I concentrate on keeping it in instead of on Elliot and whatever trouble he caused.
1010011010
He is lying in the gurney. His face cut on one side and pale. He is breathing easily, but it is alarming to see him unconscious like that. I had never seen him sleep because of his insomnia. I fall asleep before him and he's always up and about before I ever wake up. My breath catches in my throat and I recall what the nurses told me. That he would be alright, that it looks worse than it is. I pull the chair up beside his bed and sit down. He looks peaceful, for once. Elliot always seems to be struggling, forcing his way through life. That's how I feel and it saddens me that he also feels that pain, but here, you would never know the weight he carries. I reach into my bag and find that my little Moleskine sketch book is in there. I hadn't realized that I had begun carrying it around again. The pages are smooth beneath my fingers. I scrounge up a pen, and placing it on the page, begin to draw. First his eyes, than his nose, scratching away so intently I don't even notice right away when his eyes open.
"Elliot!" I cry and grab his hand. "Are you alright?"
He turns his head and looks at me, blinks a few times, but doesn't speak.
"They said you jumped," I whisper. I couldn't believe that he would abandon me like that. Not after finding comfort in each other after all this time.
"I was pushed," he assures me.
I narrow my eyes at him. "I thought you got out of whatever trouble you were in."
"I'm officially out now," he tries to smile. "Can we go?"
"They won't let you leave until you talk to a psychiatrist," I tell him.
"Call Krista," he groans.
I leave to find the nurse to give her Dr. Gordon's information. When I return to the room, Elliot has passed out again.
1010011010
"How's he doing?" Krista asks when she arrives.
I shrug. I hadn't taken my eyes off him since he had lost consciousness. I sit with my feet on the chair and my knees to my chin, scared to blink. His eyes flicker open and I breathe a sigh of relief.
"Are you alright?" I ask, able to hear my own desperation in my voice.
"I don't know," he answers. "What are you doing here?"
"We talked a few hours ago. You don't remember telling them to call Krista?" I try not to look upset as I say this, but I'm really fucking worried. "Well you can't leave until you talk to a psychiatrist, so I'll wait outside."
1010011010
It's only another hour before they release Elliot and I go home with him. After getting off the subway, we stop in a convenience store where he picks out one of those sketchy five hour energy shots and cigarettes.
"That's your breakfast?" I raise my eyebrows. If the fall didn't kill him living off that shit certainly will. I pick out a Clif bar from the shelves under the counter. I gently tap his forehead with it. "You need food." I throw it in with the rest of his items and pull money from my pocket. Among the bills is a crumpled up twenty which I toss over to the cashier. It feels like twenty years before he gives me my change and we can head out.
Walking through the streets, I watch him as he eats the Clif bar, taking meticulous bites. He shoves the last three bites into his mouth in one go, crumples up the wrapper and throws it in the nearest waste bin.
"Have you finished moving in yet or did you not have anything left at Ange's?" He asks, downing the energy shot next.
"I brought over a pillow, a razor, and a box of tampons." I laugh a bit because of how much more unglamorous it is to live full time with someone and not just sleep with them. He must get it too because he smiles.
We run into his neighbor Shayla in the hallway of his building, looking a bit stressed out. "She used to be my emergency contact until I started spending all my time with you," he tells me under his breath.
"Hey, can I ask you something?" she stops him. "Did you have something to do with Vera getting busted? Shit, Elliot, you said you weren't gonna do anything."
Doesn't she know he's a liar? I think. My mind goes back to the night I slept in her living room. Good for Elliot for turning that guy in. It sucks if that's not what Shayla wanted, but he just made the world a better place.
"He's on murder charges," she tells us. "Did you know that his whole crew bounced? I don't know what I'm gonna do for money now. Just tell me, Elliot and don't lie: did you do something?"
"No," he insists. "Are-are you okay, from everything?"
"I'm fine," she sighs, and then looks towards Elliot's apartment. "What happened to your door?"
I follow her gaze to where he looks like it had been kicked in. Elliot goes first and I follow with Shayla right behind me. On the couch, that bitch Darlene is sitting and reading a magazine with a cigarette in her hand.
"You're not supposed to be here," Elliot tells her. "I changed the locks for a reason."
She holds up what she's been reading. "Jessica Alba says she wants to join ," she laughs. "Jesus, what happened to your face?"
"What the fuck is going on?" I ask.
"You need to leave," Elliot tells Darlene.
The girl looks over at me. "Babe, not to be mean, but we have a lot of serious shit to discuss so if you wouldn't mind-"
Elliot steps between us so she can't even look at me and I stand back closer to Shayla. I make a kind of what-the-fuck hand gesture and she just shrugs.
"Get out," he growls.
She snarls as she stands up and grabs her bag. "I suggest you get a grip," she says, slamming the door behind her.
"I gotta get to work," Elliot says and grabs his backpack.
"Work?" Shayla scoffs. "You can't go to work!"
I have never agreed with anyone more on anything. The kid needed rest. "Elliot, you could have died."
"I have to go!" he yells at us and pushes out of the apartment.
I sigh and squat down to pet Flipper. "He's impossible," I tell Shayla and kiss Flipper on the top of his head.
"What are you doing now?" she asks.
"Gotta take care of this bugger," I tell her. "Normally I work in the afternoon, but it's my day off."
She sits crossed legged on the floor next to me. "Let's get high."
1010011010
We spent the afternoon giggling on the couch. She's long gone now, but I'm still buzzed when Elliot gets back from work. He sits down next to me, but I don't pay him any mind. I don't even realize until later that he was thumbing through my sketchbook that I had left on the table. I do notice, though, that he's still wearing the black hoodie. Maybe he has a lot of different ones; I had never looked in his closet.
"My boss invited me to a dinner party at his house tonight. I thought you could come," he says.
"Why did you say yes?" I hated groups of people with their fake smiles and cliché anecdotes and pointless chatter. Their small talk polluted the air with ugly voices, useless noise.
"I need you," he continues. "I'm not good in social situations like that."
My jaw drops. "And you think I am?"
"You know how to talk to people, you just choose not to. I don't know how to and I need the support."
"Fine," I sigh. "For you, but I'm not dressing up."
1010011010
It's a short subway ride to Gideon's; he lives closer to the water. When we get there, Angela and Ollie are already standing outside.
"Tara! I didn't know you were coming?" Ange smiles through pursed lips.
I shrug. "I only just found out too."
A fourth one appears, way more excited than the rest of us. Elliot informs me his name is Lloyd. He looks like a Lloyd.
"What up guys! Did you just get here?" he grins.
"Nice suit," Ollie comments and fixes the sleeves of his own shirt.
"What is up with you? You've been fidgeting all night," Ange points out to her boyfriend.
Ollie mutters something under his breath and tries the doorbell again, following it up immediately with a knock on the door.
A man in an orange sweater answers. "Hey guys, how long have you been standing out here? The doorbell is broken, I should have warned you. Come in! I'm Harry, by the way."
He ushers the five of us inside and we all get served wine. Snacks are set up on the kitchen island, but there aren't enough seats so Elliot stands behind my stool. I only know about half the room and I feel my chest start to heave. Concentrate, I have to tell myself. In. Out. My breathing slows and I look around the room again. Good, no one noticed, but I can't so easily hide the fear in my eyes. I can talk to people sure, people I've met several times in a place I've been several times and OH MY GOD. Breathe.
"Ollie, how long have you guys been together?" Harry asks.
"About two and a half years," he answers.
"-two years," Ange answers at the same time.
Five minutes in and it's already unbearably awkward, I'm about to excuse myself to go to the bathroom when Harry focuses his attention on us.
"Elliot, how long have you and Tara been together?"
"Well, uh," he shrugs. I think he wants me to help him out, but I don't know what to say. "A little while," he ends up mumbling.
Great. It's even more awkward. I reach back to grab his hand to comfort him as much as myself when Gideon comes to the rescue.
"Okay, enough grilling of the guests. Let's check on the real grill; Elliot, I could you your help," he says and steals away my date.
Harry ignores Gideon and returns to my interrogation without hesitation. "So these guys are computer programmers, but what do you do?"
"Currently I'm working at the library," I admit quietly, feeling suddenly inadequate.
"She's an artist!" Angela pipes in.
I have to remember to thank her. Harry looks at me, impressed and I could cry.
1010011010
We were served steak and it was delicious. After dinner, Elliot talks to Ange on the window sill, but I'm not panicking as much as I was earlier. "So can we see some of your art?" Lloyd asks.
"I haven't done anything in a while," I admit, trying not to retreat back into myself.
"We'd love to see anything," Gideon prompts.
I shrug and bring out my phone. I still have a photo album named art that I let them scroll through. The further back you go, the more realistic and picture perfect the paintings are. Only in the past year or so did I become an abstract artist, throwing color on the canvas, trying to get what was in my mind onto the canvas.
The TV clicks on and I look up, Elliot had just turned on the news. The blonde woman is telling us that new information in the hacking scandal has been released. There are emails naming Terry Colby as one of three E Corp executives that covered up the toxic waste scandal that caused employee deaths.
Elliot turns around, his new smile gone. He looks at us, looking at him and walks out.
"What's going on?" Ollie asks.
"That's how our mom and Elliot's dad, um. It's how we know each other. I have to go," she grabs her purse and reaches out to me.
"Wait! I'll go with you," Ollie says.
"No, I'd rather you didn't," Ange grabs at me.
I take her hand and we run after our friend, but we've lost him in the hustle and bustle of the overcrowded city. We go to the apartment, but he isn't there. I knock on Shayla's door: she hasn't seen him.
"I'm going to go home," Ange says. "Call me when he gets back."
I nod and let her leave. It's getting late so I take Flipper out. When I get back, Elliot still isn't home. I sit on the sofa and light up a joint. I hear a thud in my head, loud and ominous, every time a number on the clock changes. I pick up my phone and call Ange.
"Is he home?" she asks, voice hopefully.
I shake my head, but then remember that she can't see me. "No. I don't know where he is. Do you think we're really gonna get justice for mom?"
"I don't know," she sighs. "You don't remember her much, do you?"
"Not really," I admit. "I was only six, but I remember dad never being around."
"He had to support three kids on his own, Tara, he was working just as many jobs. Get some sleep; Elliot will come home," she tells me.
"Yeah, sure," I sigh and lay down wondering why I couldn't make myself feel better. I had a date with Elliot. I'm not living with my sister's judgmental stares, but I couldn't be happy the way Elliot was at that party.