I am in the midst of running Elias through my most recent notes when he interrupts me. Everyone seems to do that.
"Helen, what's wrong?" I have not been doing the best lately. I feel so tired and small. I haven't been talking to anyone outside of the interaction with Jon. I can't. It's too much. Everything is too much all the time right now. My clothes don't sit the way I want them to, and the air is stifling. The walls are far too close together. The wood creaks more than it should, and the smell of the ink of my pens bothers me.
"Nothing's wrong." It is the easiest caught lie in the world, one that anyone could see through with a single glance. So why bother?
"No jokes," he pauses as if waiting for me to say something, "no attitude today." He shifts his weight forward, looking into me. "No questions?" With the first two, he gave me room to answer, but now he pushes. I do not know that I will hold up to his efforts very long.
"I just wasn't feeling it today," I shrug, hoping the probing ends there. I know it won't.
"You can tell me–" I wish it was that easy. You don't get it. You don't get me. Nobody has ever understood, and nobody ever will. I am not something easily known, and it is a blessing and a curse because I don't even know myself. It's humiliating. I know I am being irrational and ridiculous, and it was just, Jon making me feel inadequate probably wasn't even his intention. I just-I can't tell Elias I am overreacting to being called annoying.
"I said I'm fine!" I snap back at him, and his eyebrows shoot up. His whole countenance shifts, and then that gaze burns through me, fuck. I guess I don't really have a choice right now, huh? He pulls it out of me. He no longer allows me the luxury of telling him and being compelled, and it hurts, it stings. My breath sticks in my throat, and I can't breathe. I can feel the tears and the shame I felt then bubbling back up. God, I hate you.
He sighs and hooks a finger in my direction, gesturing for me to approach him. Stale air hovers between us while I try to force myself to breathe. He pulls me into one of those stiff hugs of his. "You are not annoying," he says.
Wish he hadn't pulled it out of me. I'm a bit embarrassed. Doubly so with the memory of it brought forward again. My voice remains stuck, but I do not think I would be able to put anything intelligible together at this point.
As I stand there, enveloped in Elias's embrace, a mixture of emotions swirls within me. His unexpected gesture of comfort catches me off guard, melting away some of the tension that had been building inside me. Yet, the embarrassment of being so easily seen through weighs heavily on me, and I can't bring myself to respond. Instead, I simply let myself lean into his embrace, allowing his words to wash over me, if only for a moment. But deep down, I know that this momentary respite won't erase the underlying insecurities that continue to plague me. I'm pathetic, the poorest excuse for whatever it is that I am there ever was. It's as if I've distilled all the worst aspects of my being into a twisted reflection that is my present self.
His grip on me tightens. When did he become this comfortable holding onto me?
"I'll talk to Jon." You're so embarrassing. Don't you dare. This is like the worst case second-hand embarrassment scenario for me. Do you want me to suffer more? You talking to Jon is akin to a parent meddling in childish bullying. It's humiliating, and it'll only give Jon another opportunity to pick me apart.
While I am still trapped in his arms, my arms folded into his chest, he continues on, "and delete that voicemail. You're not suited to such masochistic tendencies."
Ugh, you peeping tom. Not to say I am not aware or don't expect him to well, watch, but I hid that one from him. I went out of my way to obscure it, and he pulled it from me in a moment of weakness. My head does feel a bit light now actually. My knees buckle and I sink into him, the corners of my vision going dark. His grip on me readjusts, and I hear him sigh. As Elias steadies me, a rush of gratitude washes over me. Despite my reluctance to accept his help, I know deep down that I need it. His concern is somewhat sort of in some small corner something genuine, and I can't help but feel a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, he can help me navigate through this mess.
"Are you okay?"
"I'll be fine," I reply, yet the words feel hollow even to my own ears.
He is supporting me entirely at this point. Everything feels so heavy. "Stay with me today, I'll find some paperwork for you to do. Something light."
I could ask him what's wrong with me. I could scream and cry. I want to ball my fists up in his shirt and lose myself and everything that I am, but he would never. Elias Bouchard, Head of the Magnus Institute, and me, I'm nobody, nothing. I just don't really see or understand Elias, knowing what he is, as someone that would ever truly offer anyone comfort, especially someone like me.
He cradles my head into him, his hand applies pressure at the base of my skull, tucking me beneath his chin. The pressure of him against me is unfamiliar in every sense of the word, a mixture of coldness and warmth that both comforts and unsettles me. How odd!
"Stop doing that," he reprimands, his voice a soothing presence in the darkness of my thoughts. "You're not feeling well because you need to feed the watcher. Let me help."
His words penetrate the fog of my mind. Right. He's right. I'll feel alright if I just get some work done. I don't mind his company either. This is okay. I am okay.
The work he gives me is bland and easy to do. I can see him looking at me every now and then. Okay, I can feel it more than see it. I am trying to do my work I swear. The words draw me in and the hungering ache in me sinks as I go through the paperwork. It's a bit like focusing my attention through a microscope, each task a small step toward feeding the insatiable hunger of the eye within me.
Bits and pieces of this and that. Some organizing of paperwork. He had me read some things. I can tell I have got him a bit off track because I don't think he planned for any of this. I just wonder why go through all this trouble if there isn't something in it for you? Of course he's using me. He hasn't been as harsh to me though, and this, it has been oddly pleasant. It's almost nice to watch him squirm.
He had me read a letter from someone named Barnabas addressed to him, well Jonah specifically. Same thing, different name. Would a rose by any other smell as sweet or something like that.
My eyes are getting a bit tired. I am fighting heavy eyelids as they try to force themselves shut. This is ironic; it's like needing a nap after eating a good meal. I do feel satisfied in some way. I press the heel of my hand against my eye, a yawn escaping me. My eyes flutter shut for a moment. Five seconds.
His voice is quiet and his touch is light on my shoulder, but I still startle awake. "Let's get you home."
Everything is a blur, and then I am nodding off in his car while he reaches over me to buckle me in. I am floating there in that spot between sleep and waking where I am aware of him but incapable of raising a finger, or buckling myself as it turns out. He has been so close the last few hours, but the memory of me pressed into him is something that rises up into me as I sink into oblivion. He was only trying to get me back to normal, but I wish I could have this more. I quite like his company I think.
"We're here. Helen?" He sighs, unbuckling himself and then me, I hear the clunk of his door shutting. My door opens and a flush of cool air sends a rush of goosebumps over me, rousing me slightly from my drowsy state. Elias's presence looms over me, his gaze searching for something in the depths of my half-closed eyes.
"There you are," he murmurs, his fingers deftly finding the chain around my neck, the weight of the key to my flat dangling from it. He jostles me, guiding the key off of me, the sound of rustling fabric and the clink of my necklace sending a jab of awareness through me.
Before I can fully register what's happening, Elias's hands are at my back and knees, lifting me effortlessly into his arms. The sensation of being carried is both foreign and comforting, the steady rhythm of Elias's footsteps lulling me further into oblivion.
As Elias carries me through the door, I drift in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware of the familiar surroundings of my apartment. With careful steps, he navigates through the space, his touch gentle as he lowers me into my bed.
I feel the weight of his presence beside me as he leans down, his fingers deftly untying the laces of my shoes and slipping them off my feet. The sensation is oddly intimate, yet I'm too drowsy to protest or fully comprehend what's happening.
"Rest now, Helen," Elias murmurs softly, his voice a soothing presence in the dimly lit room. "You need it."
I mumble a word of acknowledgment, less than coherent as I sink into the comfort of my bed. As Elias pulls the covers over me, I feel a sense of warmth enveloping me, a fleeting moment of security amidst the chaos of my thoughts.
"Sleep well," he whispers, his words a gentle caress against the edges of my consciousness before I succumb to the embrace of sleep.
My dreams are filled with eyes. Everywhere I turn, I'm met with the piercing gaze of countless eyes, each one watching me with an intensity that sends shivers down my spine. Among them, Elias stands tall, and the Elias in my dreams is as cold and hard to grasp as the real one, watching with something I can't identify in those eyes. I feel small and insignificant, scrutinized under a microscope down to the cells of my being, every flaw on display. Despite the coldness in his gaze, there's a hint of something else, something I can't quite grasp.
As the dream unfolds, I find myself drawn deeper into Elias's gaze, unable to tear my eyes away. And though I'm filled with a sense of apprehension, there's also a strange allure to the enigmatic figure before me.