Psychopath. (bwwm) ✓

27. drug dealers and physical contact

From: Princess Oli
leave me alone.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream and cry and bury myself in my own sadness as I pulled my knees up to my chest, breath coming out as I struggled to hold onto anything. I was so mad at myself, tossing my phone away from me in any direction just wanting it to be gone.

And I heard everything stop, a body lifting from the couch to later be discovered as Jan's as he picked up my phone. In a second, he was beside me again, gripping my shoulder, "Go make sure he's okay."

I knew I had to, shakily standing and wiping at my dampened eyes, sliding my phone into my pocket, I grabbed for the keys. I needed to fix this; moping around without him was getting ridiculous especially when I was the one who ruined everything. Sliding Jackson's football hoodie on, I left.

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I didn't know why I thought this would work and as I stood there on his porch a chilly wind brushing by me in December. I don't know why the fuck I thought he'd want to talk to me and why I found myself trying to get him back when he blatantly told me to leave him alone. But my body and my mind were on two different speeds, my index finger going to push in the doorbell.

And then I was panicking as, a second later, I heard footsteps. My heart was pounding, my chest constricting, I was so fucking scared. I didn't want it to be Oliver, I don't think I could handle it if he opened the door and slammed it in my face.

My prayers were answered when the younger Remmer slid the door open, distressed jeans were hanging off his hips, a plain Pearl Jam t-shirt thrown on and I could hear Nirvana sounding from somewhere inside the house. I looked up to his face and instantly wished I hadn't. His lip was busted, something that wasn't there the last time I'd seen him and one of his baby-blue eyes were bloodshot, the area around a mixture of healed and bruised.

"Emerson?" I'd stopped to look at his full face, he looked insecure, looking down as if he didn't want me to see the damage done to his face. I watched as he tried to hide his bruised knuckles as he pulled that hand closer to the doorframe so I couldn't see. He looked younger in those moments, his hair falling to some-what cover a little of his face at the angle he was standing.

I wanted to hug him, he seemed as if he needed something, "Hey, Elliot. Have you- have you seen Oliver?"

"Why?" he asked, voice empty of emotion as if he'd been practicing the response for his entire life. He rocked on his heels as I heard the song behind him coming to an end. His eyes left the floor but never focused on me, flicking around to the park across the street and I watched as he moved his non-bruised hand to push away his curls. It reminded me of Oliver, the tucked in stance, the bruises, the way he pushed his hair away from his face.

Breathing in sharply, I thought of the worst possible scenarios. "I need to talk to him... have you seen him?"

Still, Elliot didn't seem to care as he shook his head, "Last I heard he was hanging with Logan down by the tattoo shop but I haven't talked to him."

"And where is that?" I'd questioned, newfound courage surfacing in me and I found myself preparing to go get him, my hand tightened around my keys. Please don't be doing anything illegal, please don't be doing anything illegal.

But the boy in front of me was stubborn, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes although he still didn't look at me. I could tell he was loosing his patience, losing his interest in the conversation as he sighed, "Why should I tell you anything that has to do with my brother?"