Chapter 30

"Are you guys sure?" Cameron asks for the hundredth time.

"Yes, I think we are as sure as we can ever get," E.J. answers for the both of us, but he knows I feel the same way.

The past two days we have been talking non-stop about our futures and where we would be going from here.

"But I'm going to fucking miss you two!" Cameron cries out. "How could Lady Lalaland continue without her two minions, cheering her up backstage. And in front of the stage off course."

Cameron stand back, leaning into Will a little bit when he says; "I'm going to fucking miss you guys. Is there really no way I can convince you to come with us?"

"You've found your prince," I say with a smile, making Will blush and put his arms around Cameron. "And I have found mine... But we still have a few dragons to slay together before we can have out happily ever after."

"Well then," Cameron says stepping forward and then grabbing me around the neck. "Good luck handsome. And keep my little E.J. safe, you hear?"

It's a whisper only I am supposed to hear.

"I will," I answer, hugging him back. "And send me a postcard when you reach Alaska."

"Will do," Cameron answers as he loosens himself from my neck and then goes to say goodbye to E.J. who immediately reaches out to Cameron for a hug.

"Seriously dude. You did well," Will says as he hugs me tight as well. "Now, keep in contact, and if you need a cowboy to come through with the cavalry, let me know. There's no dragon the four of us cannot face together."

"Thanks Will. And who knows, maybe I will need a cowboy in my life some day," I answer.

"Yee-ha!" Will shouts as he let's go of me and hugs E.J. as well, saying his goodbye.

It takes another five minutes of hugs and goodbye words before Will is in his car and Cameron is in his RV, ready to take the road. But as the drive away and become smaller and smaller down the dark road, I realise that goodbyes sometimes end up being over way too quickly.

"So... What do we do now?" I ask E.J.

"Now we get back to the motel and get ready for dinner. I don't want to miss it," E.J. answer, walking off, leaving me behind to follow him on his quest for answers.

***

"He's five minutes late already, are you sure he's actually coming?" I ask E.J.

Watching him watch the door the whole time has been driving me nuts for the past twenty minutes. I swear if this guy doesn't show up I will lose it completely. The last thing E.J. needs is someone to lift up his spirit and then allow it to come crashing down to the ground and shatter into pieces, because I have no idea how to pick up those pieces if that were to happen.

"He said he would be here," E.J. says, craning his neck to try and see out of the restaurant window, but to no avail. As instructed we chose a table at the very back, where we could have a bit more privacy.

"Well, can we at least get something to drink in the meantime?" I ask for the third time in a row even though I know what E.J.'s answer is going to be.

"Not yet. Let's just wait. It's not like he's an hour late. It's only been five minutes."

"Yeah, but I've been thirsty for the last twenty," I mumble under my breath, but if E.J. actually heard me he doesn't give me any acknowledgement that he did.

"There he is," E.J. says, his face suddenly sprouting a smile, his hand going up into the air and waving.

"Okay. No weird questions, okay?" E.J. says again.

"I know. Don't prompt him about anything, but as I have said, I barely know anything about the guy other than remembering a few news headlines back in the day..."

I don't get to complete my entire thought because E.J. pumps me in the side with his elbow, making me stand up from my seat to greet Elijah.

"Hi there," E.J. says. "I'm really glad that you're here."

"Ditto," Elijah says, but he looks to me like he would be any other place than here at this moment. In all honesty the guy looks pretty miserable to be alive.

We all take our seats and after a little bit of a silence Elijah puts up his hand in within a few minutes our drinks order has been taken and a waiter scurries away to get me my salvation.

"I've read your manuscript. Not just once. I probably read it about four times already. It's good," Elijah says, whipping his fringe out of his eyes, looking straight at E.J. who seems to be beaming. If ever I have felt like a third wheel, now would be the ultimate moment.

"Are you sure? I mean... I need a lot of work. I'm obviously not you... The way your words are composed. It seems so natural. Like it just flows from you like... I dunno... It just flows..." E.J. says, his hands both down on the table so that I can't even touch his hand to let him know that I am right beside him. I can't help the jealousy taking over.

Sure, I have done a quick Google of Elijah to find out who the guy actually is. Turns out that he is some kid who's parents committed a murder, and then he went mute. His father also ended up killing his first boyfriend, and is serving a life sentence in prison. But Elijah never let go off the loss and keeps on writing book after book about his first boyfriend dying. To top it all, he married a guy a few years ago who is like twelve years younger than him. Not that much older than E.J. and me. And that's the part that makes me feel a little jumpy. He's a guy that E.J. trusts for some reason, and he is older, and obviously into younger guys. The last thing E.J. need in his life is another man letting him down and hurting him.

"My words flow like blood from an open wound, pooling around me in a screaming red warning sign," Elijah answers. "Well, that's at least what a reviewer once wrote about one of my books."

He shakes his head as if he can't believe that someone actually said that about him. Almost dismissing the very obvious compliment he had received.

"Yeah... Something like that," E.J. smiles.

"Listen kid. I'll cut right to the chase. Why would you want to publish your story?" Elijah asks.

"Well... Maybe I can help others going through the same thing? Maybe I can be someone who can tell others that it gets better. That it's all going to be okay in the end?" E.J. answers, pulling his hands from the table and wrapping them around himself in a hug, which makes me want to stop the meeting right here and now. I don't want E.J. to get hurt again.

"And? Does it get better? Was it all okay in the end for you? No nightmares anymore? No insecurities? Can you let someone touch you, be with you physically? Did writing your story heal you?" Elijah asks the one question after the other, never once giving E.J. a chance to answer.

"Uhm..." E.J. whispers just as the waiter appears as if he had been sent to save E.J., putting our glasses on the table and asking if we would like to order dinner.

"Nothing for me," Elijah answers and then looks at the two of us. "You two should eat though. I don't usually eat at nights. I get really weird nightmares that makes me want to vomit so I make sure there is nothing to worsen the problem."

We both nod before we order burgers and chips. When the waiter leaves us I want to call after him. Ask him to stay before E.J. has to answer all the hurtful questions that this seemingly famous author had asked him.

"So? Did writing your book heal you? Are you better?" Elijah asks again.

"No," E.J. answers, bowing his head, probably to hide the tears this monster is trying to extract from him.

"Why don't you just leave him alone. He didn't ask for you to come here and do this. Basically tell him that he's never gonna get better," I interrupt, but something in Elijah's eyes when his head turns to me makes me sit back. I have seen that look before. Not on E.J., but on myself. When I look in the mirror, every single time I look in the mirror. The hope that things can just end. That the pain can just stop, but also knowing it isn't going anywhere.

"I'm not doing this to hurt him. His manuscript is great. But he's doing it for the wrong reasons. And you think I am being brutal with the questions I am asking? E.J. here doesn't have a cross he can draw over his lips to stop speaking. When he closes up in an interview the whole world is gonna to be chattering about it. They will say he lied, that he is seeking attention... This is not a great world kiddo. This is not the type of place you want to be without knowing what you are walking into. I plummeted to being infamous thanks to a headline that read: Kid's dad kills his boyfriend. I already had those vultures on my doorstep, hoping to get a few exclusive words from me every time I left the house. My guardian did everything he could to keep me safe. He homeschooled me. He took me away on expensive overseas holidays to get away from journalists looking for yet another story. And I thought it would end if I took control. If I just wrote the words myself and put it out there. It was my way of telling them that my life was my own, and that there was no way that they would ever be able to write anything about me again. I wanted them to forget about what had happened. But guess what? They didn't forget. This isn't a matter of 'today's headlines will be yesterday's news by tomorrow', oh no. Every anniversary of Blake's death... Every time my father tries to appeal against his life sentence. They will be there... Over and over and over again they will be there. Looking for you. Hoping to see you cry. Hoping they can write another article proclaiming that you will probably kill yourself soon. E.J. has been lucky in only one way. What happened to him never went to trial. Aside from his stepfather commiting suicide and a few journalists guessing in the dark about what the true story could be, nobody knows. His stepfather took the story to his grave and kept the media out of it. So tell me again... if he puts this book out there, and he needs to relive it with every single interview, do you think he is ever going to get better?"

Elijah looks at me for a while. An awkward silence between us, but he nods before he continues.

"I opened up the door when I published my first book. I want you, E.J., to think carefully about this. Think about what you are doing. Listen to all the different sides of the story before you make a decision. Your book is good. In fact, it's great. But I promise you, the moment this book is at a publisher it will be out of your hands. They will not have your best interests at heart. The publishers will make sure that they market it in any way they can. They will bring up old newspaper clippings. There will be interviews with your family. With your stepfathers family. If this book becomes a bestseller, and I promise you that there is a great chance of that happening, because the world loves a great tragedy; your stepfather's face will be on every magazine. Every news stand. Every time there is an interview, his face will be next to yours. And I am not saying this to scare you away. God, this book could be great. It can save lives, of that there is no doubt, but you cannot save everyone else and lose yourself in the process. That cannot be allowed," Elijah says as if it is all something he had wanted to say for years but have never gotten the chance.

"Did they really do that to you?" E.J. asks, looking at Elijah again, tears in his eyes, his chin shivering.

"Yes E.J. They did. They did that and worse. Just before the second anniversary of Blake's death I turned eighteen. I went to Blake's grave. They were there. Two journalists hiding behind a headstone, snapping pictures of me. It was also just after my first book was published. They wanted a sob story, and they got it. My publishers fuelled it, because with every story in the papers, they got to sell another thousand books and make a profit. The next year I tried to go on Blake's birthday. The same thing happened. From there on I have been going on my birthday. The one special date I have left that I can share with him, and they don't know because who would spend their birthday in a cemetery? Right after I got married they ran a story about my husband. Pictures of him and Blake, side by side, being compared. And then there is Llaluna, Blake's mom who will tell some story about what a horrible person I am to any tabloid willing to give her a twenty. And that's the real world. There's nobody to look out for you. So if you are doing this to try and heal, I can honestly tell you it's the wrong way to go. If you want to publish this, you need to do it for all the right reasons," Elijah says, and almost unnoticeable he wipes a tear from his eye.

"Then why do you still do it? Why still write? If you stop, eventually they will forget. I'm sure they will," E.J. asks, and in a motion that shocks me and makes me go cold, E.J. reaches out of Elijah's hand on the table and take it in his. "If it's so hard why don't you just completely stop?"

"Because of you..." Elijah answers. "Can you remember the letter you attached to your manuscript the day you gave it to me?"

"Yes. Yes, I think so..." E.J. answers, both his hands now holding hands with Elijah across the table.

"You wrote in there that if it wasn't for my book and the one friend that you made while you were in the hospital you would have killed yourself. You told me that if I could write about this, and be okay, you could do that as well. And at the stage you met me, I was ready to stop writing. To step away from everything and just leave it behind me. And then that letter came, and I thought to myself I cannot be responsible for your life, but I may be able to prevent lives from being lost, even if I keep on hurting myself over and over again in doing so. That, and off course... What do I do next? What happens when I stop writing? How will I support myself? I don't have any idea of who I am, I just know I love to write. The problem is that no matter what I write in the future, even if I write a fantasy book next, it will always be tied back to my old work. There will always be a photo of Blake next to it. And somewhere I have just accepted that this is my life, and that I would feel guilty every time I read about a teen suicide, wondering about if I had written another book I might have been able to stop them from ending it all," Elijah says with a sigh as he sits back and pulls his hands from E.J.'s, taking up his glass of brown liquid and taking a gulp when I am pretty certain it is the type of drink you should be sipping.

"Isn't that enough reason for me to do it?" E.J. asks, pulling his hands back to hug himself. "Would it not be worth everything if it means that I can save a life?"

"Well kid... That's something only you can answer. So why don't you think about it for a while. There's no need to make a rushed decision. This is something that can change your whole life. It changed mine, that's for sure," Elijah answers as he takes another gulp of his drink, almost emptying the glass.

"Is that the only reason you wanted to see me tonight? To tell me all of this?" E.J. asks, and I can feel his anxiety, his want to know from this man who doesn't even know him that he stood out, that he is worth something. And everything in me is crying out to him that nobody should be given that power over you, to determine your own worth.

"You just remind me a lot about myself. And believe me, the last thing I would want is to silence you. God knows, I was silent for far too long. So long that they now call me Silent Elijah. You should not be silent, but I care enough for you to give you the facts of harsh reality. Don't make them do to you what they did to me. Be stronger than me. Better. Live your life the way you want to live it. Sure, in the beginning everything is fine. You almost enjoy all the popularity... But then at some point you realize that they aren't just taking what you are giving them. They try to drain every last bit of your soul," Elijah answers with a sigh as he drains his glass and puts it down on the table with a bang. "It doesn't get better kid. It becomes bearable. You learn to live with it. You learn how to go into denial when you need to, and how not to break down in front of others. You accumulate tools. You gather techniques to keep standing. You learn to laugh again. You learn to trust as much as you can. And you fall in love and feel more safe than what you have ever felt. But what happened to me... What happened to you... That can't be taken away. It can't just heal. There will always be a scar, and you can choose to be proud of that scar and see it as amazing that you got through it, or you can hide it away, hoping that if you cannot be faced with it, it cannot hurt you any longer."

Elijah pulls up his hoodie sleeves to reveal two tattoos, running vertically up his wrists in the direction of his upper arm.

"Take a close look at these," he says, pushing himself over the table so that we can see the wings better, only to see that they are covering something.

"Yeah. I did it the 'right' way. My intention wasn't to survive. And I need to live with these scars that represent the pain I have gone through. Not much unlike your friend over here," Elijah nods in my direction. "Only you can decide if that scar becomes something beautiful that lifts you up, or becomes the kryptonite that can crush you into pieces."

"I think I understand," E.J. answers, finally reaching out to take my hand.

"Now you listen to me, and you listen carefully, because this is the most important thing I will say here tonight, and if you take away anything from here, I would want it to be this," Elijah says, reaching a hand out to each of us, making us each take one of his hands. "I love you. I love you both. If nobody else does, and it feels like the world is against you, I still love you. The three of us are bonded together through the pain of the past, and that is a bond that nobody can break. Always remember: the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb."