Cataclysm

Disclaimer: Disclaimed.

Chapter Three

Eli's dramatic exit led him no further than the nearest corner store, where he threw down nine dollars for cigarettes and a can of Coke. He smiled half-heartedly at the store clerk, shoving the carton of smokes into his pocket and draining the soda before he was even a block away. He tossed the emptied can into the nearest trash bin he saw, then took in a 180 degree view of the streets around him. He stepped down from the curb he'd been perched on and into the cracked road, reluctantly dragging his feet towards the limestone building he had come from.

Instead of going inside, Eli lit up a cigarette and let his body be supported by the wall surrounding the deserted entrance. He took a long drag, welcoming the smoky warmth which replaced the bitter cold that had been prickling at his throat. He focused on the tufts of vapor that slipped from his lips, trying to detect the difference between what was smoke and what was just his frozen breath. He stood there, thinking deeply, until his cigarette was little more than a pile of ashes at his feet and even then, he was quick to light another.

He pushed himself off of the wall, moving to sit atop the nearby steps. He wouldn't want to go up to the apartment until Imogen was asleep, but it was starting to snow and he knew she'd be waiting up to engage him in a dramatic fight anyway. He wished he hadn't yelled at her that way; the immaturity of the situation had begun with him. As much as Imogen loved to be enveloped by the thrilling melodrama of conflict, she made a point of being liked by all those around her and Eli knew that for her to treat Clare so coldly was the result of his own influence.

Eli tossed his second cigarette butt onto the cement, watching flakes of snow disappear in its warmth. Tired of smoking, but unwilling to retreat indoors just yet, Eli fell gently against the cold, concrete landing behind him. He was grateful for the early sunsets of winter, because being alone with his thoughts was much easier in only the light of the moon and the glowing, orange tip of a cigarette. Snow melted into his eyelashes, and an onslaught of memories a decade old suddenly surged through his brain.

He heard the door open behind his head, and was glad for the distraction until Clare came into view, feet at his shoulder and regarding him oddly. Eli felt abruptly ashamed of himself, for a culmination of actions he'd been considering the past few minutes, and he sat up, making way for Clare to step around him. When she didn't, he glanced over his shoulder and found that she was still just staring.

"Either you're following me, or I'm following you, because this is just ridiculous." Her statement was laced with exasperation, and Eli wanted to laugh but held back. The omission of animosity in her voice was so alien by that point, he wasn't quite sure how to react. Fearing that attempting a response would only remind her to hate him, he opted to busy his hands lighting another cigarette. As he replaced the lighter in his pocket, Clare set herself next to him, the smell of floral perfume emanating from beneath her jacket, and he was suddenly frozen.

"You used to hate the smell of those," she said quietly, gesturing to the white stick in his hand. Channeling everything he'd learned about acting from Imogen, he gathered himself long enough to mask his trepidation behind phony composure.

"Still do," he shrugged. He decided not to mention that Imogen hated it even more, and though he'd quit 8 months ago, he was childishly hoping he could make her angry. Clare nodded. They sat in silence, the snow now falling with increased density.

"Why are you talking to me?" Eli's voice cut through the long-awaited serenity before he could stop himself.

"Don't get too excited; I wanted to clear my head, and screaming at you would just be counterproductive." Eli frowned, but did not respond. "It doesn't change anything," she added thoughtfully.

"Why'd you quit Seraphim?" Again, Eli had failed to fully process his question before it was out there, hanging awkwardly between them. "I'm sorry, that's none of my business." Much to his thorough bewilderment, Clare looked at him.

"Because I'm selfish." Eli was finally able to restrain his words, and simply raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "I started over. I quit my job, I broke off my engagement, I stopped answering my phone. I wouldn't even speak to my own family; I cut myself off from the world. Anything Julia was apart of, I wanted nothing to do with." Eli was uncomfortable with the degree of vulnerability he was observing in Clare's watery blue eyes, and he shifted carefully a few inches away from her. "I wanted to live somewhere that Julia had never existed. It's pathetic. It just hurt so much, seeing her everywhere, hearing that scream, every time I closed my eyes–" Clare cut off suddenly, her voice lost in a sob. Eli's hands began to shake from more than exposure to the cold weather, and he talked himself out of placing one on her shoulder. "I barely had a bruise," she choked out, face in her hands. "I was in the car, Eli. I had to call her mother, and explain that Julia was dead, but I got to walk away unscathed. Do you have any idea how difficult that was?"

"It's not your fault, Clare." Eli finally reached out, gently laying his hand on Clare's knee, and searching for her tearful eyes.

She tensed. It was as though his touch had reminded her who he was, where they were, what she was telling him, because anger hastily clouded her brain and she wiped her tears away with clear contention.

"I know it's not my goddamned fault, Eli," she snapped. "I have to go." With that, Clare rose to her feet and reentered the building, and Eli had nothing to do but dwell in the familiar denigration left in her wake.

Ten minutes saw Eli losing feeling in his limbs, and he brushed the lingering snow off of his dampened jeans before following Clare's path inside.

"And where were you?" Eli looked up as he entered the apartment, seeing Imogen perched angrily on the sofa.

"I walked to the store, and then sat out front. Back off, Imogen, I was barely gone 40 minutes." Imogen narrowed her eyes, and stood up. She walked briskly past him, narrowly avoiding his shoulder. "You're sleeping on the couch. And go take a shower, you smell like cigarettes and Clare Edwards' perfume." Eli pulled the collar of his shirt towards his nose and inhaled deeply.

So he did.

Imogen lay in their room alone that night, thinking that it was the perfect moment for a heartbreaking classical piece to pair with slow, escaped tears in the pitch black seclusion of an empty bed for two. Sometimes, turning her life into a play was the only way to distract herself from addressing reality.

Eli and Imogen argued incessantly. Imogen wanted nothing but attention, and Eli didn't always provide it. Eli was brooding when Imogen wanted to have fun, and when Imogen wanted him to be serious, he was anything but. Imogen and Eli had a large amount of dysfunction, sometimes it felt like they were on different pages; they knew what lines to cross, and they did. Eli and Imogen shouldn't have worked, but they thrived on their fighting. Imogen loved the passion that exuded from their fights, embracing the raw energy of frenzied emotions, and it thrilled her that said passion was never in short supply. Not until Eli saw Clare Edwards' face again.

For weeks, right up until that morning, Eli had been waiting on Imogen hand and foot. Everything Imogen wanted, he gave her. He would offer his service every five minutes, and she was beginning to wonder why. Suddenly having her desperate need for constant relevance indulged by the person she least expected, she only wished he would leave her alone. She knew he wouldn't.

She knew that since the second Clare showed up, Eli had been out of character. She didn't know the story behind their hatred, because she had never heard of Clare before. She had tried to enjoy the attention. Tried to act is though it was natural, and he was finally treating her right. Instead, she wanted to strangle him. "I'm just in love with you," he would claim at her annoyance. That was it. She'd heard that before, just prior to being handed handed a story she didn't want to hear.

"I love you," had meant, "I'm sorry I cheated."

"I love you," had meant, "I set your bird free."

"I love you," had meant, "I just don't ever want to get married."

Imogen spent so much time inside her own head, that she wasn't even sure at first if the tears she felt searing her eyes were real. She thought for a moment, analyzing the emotions she felt.

So they were.

Eli stared at the unfamiliar ceiling above his head. Imogen hadn't let him come home for two days. He wasn't sure how he felt. One minute, it was thoughtful, the next minute, pure rage. He could go from guilt, to sorrow, to anger, to relief in a matter of seconds. Mostly, he felt numb. A numb pain throughout his body, and his mind.

"I should go talk to her." Imogen ignored him. "It's only been a couple of days, she'll come around, right? She just needs time?" She exhaled sadly.

"It's possible... But Eli–"

"Possible, or probable? There's a difference."

"Eli, she's had ten years of time." Eli looked at her, considering her words.

"No, you just don't understand," he insisted, dismissing her words and turning away to mumble to himself some more. Eli had apologized for his behaviour the night that he walked out on her, and in an effort to meet him halfway she was doing her best to be sensitive. She just didn't know how much more of this she could take.

"Maybe I don't understand, because you won't tell me anything, Eli!" He gave an infuriating look of surprise hearing her yell. "First you can't even be in a room together, then you're picking fights with me about her, and now you're borderline obsessed with seeing her. What is going on, Eli? Who is this woman?" Eli hung his head, running a tired hand over his face.

"It's not like that, Imogen." She breathed deeply, and stepped towards him, adapting a softer approach.

"Then tell me what it's like. Eli, I love you, but you must know what you're putting me through here. When you refuse to let me in like this, I... I assume the worst. Please, tell me I'm wrong. Just tell me what happened ten years ago." She smiled at him gently, reaching for his hand. Eli's heart ached and he refused to meet her eyes.

"I can't..." His voice was a strained whisper. Hurt, Imogen dropped his hand.

"Then you have to leave."

"You can't live on my couch forever." Two days ago, when Imogen had reached her breaking point, Eli had packed a bag and shown up on Adam's doorstep. They had been friends for years–almost ten–and Eli didn't exactly make a habit of reaching out to many people.

Eli didn't bother looking in his direction. He said nothing. "You guys have to talk," Adam spoke again. He was clearly trying to be sensitive, but he sounded exasperated. Eli thought of Imogen, and rolled over, pushing his face into a pillow.

"She won't listen to me," came his muffled response. Adam slumped into a chair across from his dejected friend, trying vehemently to piece together the situation based on the minimal details Eli had provided. For a published author, Adam thought, he was a pretty pathetic story-teller.

"Why not?" Eli sighed.

"Because I have no idea what to say."

"Well, I'm kicking you out. I haven't been able to bring a lady over all weekend." Eli excavated his nose from the plush cushion and glared at his friend.

"So, everything's normal, then?" Adam laughed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

"Look, man, you love her. You moved in together, and as fun as I'm sure it is to play house, you've made a serious commitment to this girl and that means sticking with her through the stressful shit, too. I'm pretty smart, so trust me when I tell you: she may have told you to go, but she didn't want you to leave."

Sitting in the cold, he was still numb. The building was right there. He could walk in whenever he wanted. His keys were in his hands, a fact Adam had been annoyed to learn. Eli wouldn't use them without permission. He finally stood, progressing towards the building's main lobby. It was a start.

"Hello?" Eli smiled into the cellphone that was pressed against his ear.

"Imogen..." There was a pause.

"What is it, Eli?"

"I'm ready to come home." Another, longer pause worried Eli, but he smiled when she mumbled a sound of resignation, and hung up the phone.

It was an awkward afternoon, sitting on opposite sides of the couch and eyes not leaving the images on the TV. That night, they lay in bed next to each other for the first time in a week. It was the closest thing to contact Imogen had allowed. She was facing the wall, and he was facing her back. He knew his return had implied a promise of an explanation, he just wasn't sure where to start.

"I never buy you red flowers." Imogen rolled over half way, craning her neck to see over her shoulder.

"What?"

"I never buy you red flowers," he repeated. She rolled onto her back, staring upwards. She was silent for a moment.

"No, they've been anything but." She glanced at him curiously out of the corner of her eye.

"It's because red flowers are my favourite."

"Oh..." She tried unsuccessfully to mask the hurt his words brought, remaining optimistic that his point would rectify that implication.

"I never knew why they were my favourite."

"W-"

"They were her favourite, too.."

"Who? What are you talking about?"

"...Julia." Imogen didn't know who Julia was. She thought for a minute, he had been speaking about Clare, and was glad to be wrong.

"Who's..." Imogen stopped, a memory suddenly popping up in her mind. "Is she the girl who died?" Eli nodded stiffly, and Imogen whimpered. "Eli, that's so sweet..."

"Clare was her best friend." Imogen's breath caught in her throat. She had been so stupid, and horrible, and insensitive. She thought Eli was trying to block her out, that he and Clare had... something she couldn't even bring herself to think about. She thought she was losing him. She still didn't quite understand, and clearly there was far more to the story, but she couldn't deny the elated relief she felt that at least she had something.

"Elijah, I'm so sorry," she told him. She rolled over completely, resting her face in his neck. Eli froze, unsure what to do. He didn't even know why he had told her about the red flowers.

"I love you," she mumbled. Eli faltered before wrapping his arms around her tightly, and letting his tears fall into her hair.

"I love you, too."