The Older Man

Ten

Clara walked down the desolate street feeling like she was on fire. The walk did not soothe her at all. If anything it only agitated her further. Why was Elijah at work drunk? And why hadn't he called throughout the day? And who the hell does he think his is? To just do as he pleases without letting her know anything. He wasn't a single bachelor anymore. He had a woman. Someone who cared about his safety and well-being. Someone who was waiting all day for him to come home. He had someone waiting for him at home. He wasn't alone anymore. This behavior was not okay.

Clara entered the dark building. A security officer tried to stop her. To which she glanced at him and offered him a couple words: "I'm here to pick up my drunk boyfriend. Relax."

He went to follow after her but it was as if he could smell her simmering anger. Or maybe it was because she was still in her pajamas and Elijah's gigantic puffer.

She rode the elevator. She took the time to take a deep breath. To relax her mind. She couldn't just scream at a poor drunk fool like Elijah. She would save her yelling for a hungover Elijah. That way her point would be heard. Besides, she just wanted to go home. That's all she wanted to do. She wanted to curl up in bed with her daddy and feel comforted again.

By the time the doors chimed open she felt much calmer. She knew what she was going to do and how she was going to get it done. And ultimately, she still wanted him to be safe. And at least he was very intoxicated here. He could be at a bar in the middle of the city.

She entered his office. Her mouth opened ready to speak a million curses, but she found Elijah at his desk, pouting.

"What on earth are you doing?"

His ear perked up at her voice and he whipped his head up. Meeting her angered face sent sparks of warmth down his spine. He couldn't resist his smile. "Hi baby. How'd you get here?"

She couldn't help her sigh of relief. He was alright. He was just a drunk moron. "We talked on the phone. I'm here to take you home."

He stood up, though it was more of a "let me throw my body up" kind of stand. His hand slapped down on the dark mahogany wood. And while Clara recoiled at the noise, Elijah seemed deaf to the sound. His opposite hand was nursing a photograph. She never got a good look at it.

"I'm so glad you're here. Whenever you're not around I get all sad," he pouted. His shoulders melted down and his head drooped to match the movement. It was all very jerky and unlike him. Sober Elijah was smooth and coordinated. It seems drunk Elijah sough to cancel out all his moments of grace.

"I'm glad I'm here too," she couldn't help but melt. He was too handsome and too soft. He looked like he was ten years younger. It was too much. She couldn't fight with him now!

He wobbled over to her (not without running into two objects) and threw his arms around her body. She found herself off the ground. Her legs were swinging as he hugged her tight. She was placed down. Of course, she was extremely dizzy.

"You are so fat," Clara groaned. Elijah was laughing like a fool. While Clara was sweating heavily, Elijah mused that he felt slightly chilly and that he needed to drink a little more to warm up.

"Are we close to home?"

Clara glared at the glossy eyed fatty and continued to drag him along. She refused to answer his question. It would only wind her further. She noted that she needed to exercise a little more. This activity alone was an ass kicker.

Clara propped him against the rail and fiddled with the keys. When the door was opened, Elijah took the initiative and flung his body inside. Clara watched Elijah clumsily toss his shoes off. She noted that he was so close to putting them on the rack. He threw his coat on the rack and turned to Clara. His eyes twinkling, he asked her what she was doing.

"I'm watching you," she replied with her arms folded. Elijah giggled at her hunkering form. In his jacket she looked like a chubby little penguin. Even upset, he noted, she looked cute.

"You are so pretty. You know that? Like— jus' looking at you makes me feel all warm and fuzzy," he confessed absently. Her cheeks warmed and she turned away. With their shoes and jackets back on the rack, she began the long journey to his bedroom.

"You are so pretty. Prettiest girl 'ever."

She ignored his commentary. The task at hand was far too daunting.

"I think I'm falling in love with you," he mumbled, staring up at the little woman currently wiping his face clean.

She paused. Her heart clenched. Her body was stiff, but her mind was melting into a puddle. "What?" It was a gasp. Barely tangible, but he heard her.

"You heard me. I think I'm falling in love," he sang his voice octaves higher than she imagined his burly body was capable of.

"Elijah... you're drunk. You don't mean that," she whispered. She was completely dumbstruck. Unable to absorb the truth. The reality of their relationship. It wasn't a silly crush that could help keep her occupied. There were feelings—real ones at that. Elijah was falling just like she was. They were both invested. This was not some unrequited romance. Not some dream. It was real.

Reality terrified her. Because it meant that what could be created and nurtured could also be lost. And what if one day she made the wrong choice? What if she messed up? What if he messed up? What would happen?

"I mean it. You're it for me," his voice was soft like pools of chocolate. His cheeks were red like ripe strawberries. All for her consumption and care.

"I—I," she was stumbling. She wondered if she was now the drunk one out of the two. He stopped her with a gentle caress of her small palms. He kissed each one and locked his eyes on her pink cheeks and glassy eyes.

"You don't need to respond. You don't need to say it back. You don't need to cry either. I've been meaning to say it for a while. And I want to tell you how serious I am about this. About us. Just—Just don't run just yet, okay? I just want this moment to last... with you all mad at me and me stupid and in love."

She glanced at his opened shirt. Admired the soft curve of his muscle and layer of dark brown hair. Then she moved to his lips. Soft and supple curves. Red and wet from his tongue—a nervous habit of his. Then his nose. The nose that he got teased for in junior high. A nose that was one too big but now perfect for his face. The slight crook in it from his old days as a stupid frat guy. Then they traveled to his eyes. Glistening amber pools. The glassy drunk stare was lost to transparent hope and want. He wanted nothing more than her. Just Clara. Not Clara Jean or Clara Mae. He just wanted her.

"Okay. I can do that."

He gave her a blinding grin and clutched her close to his chest.

"Don't think you're avoiding a scolding about your earlier actions."

"Oh I would never pass up an opportunity to get yelled at by you."