Eli POV.
It was Sunday, a week after the concert. Me and my brothers were sitting around in the living room just waiting. None of us said anything as we just stayed still. It was noon, so usually, I'd be making lunch with Matteo, but not that day. On that day, my brothers were way too excited, and they brought me along with them.
"They came!" Gabriele screamed from behind his laptop.
All my brothers gathered around him and soon they started celebrating.
"What? What is it? Did I get nominated?" I asked trying to get someone to explain to me.
"You, my dear Eli, have been nominated for seven Grammys," Antonio said as he came over and squeezed my shoulders.
"Holy Shit!" I yelled getting up and snatching the laptop from Gabriele.
I was nominated for album of the year, song of the year, best new artist, best alternative music album, best rock song, best rock album, and best rock performance.
"What the fuck?!" I screamed as I started jumping around.
I blew up so quickly over the past year, that I never got to really experience it. I didn't do shows, since I was in Finland hiding, so that was truly the first time it hit me, how many people liked my music.
"How the fuck did this happen?!" I screamed not even trying to fight the enormous smile creeping up on my lips.
"Well you're amazing, so I guess that has something to do with it," Matteo said rolling his eyes.
Before I had the chance to snap back at him, my phone buzzed.
I dug it out of my phone and saw the screen lit up with the picture of Jess I took in the botanical gardens.
"I'm so proud of you!" they screamed the second I pressed the green button.
"Thanks," I said running my hand through my hair.
"I mean seriously, seven fucking Grammys! We're celebrating," Jess continued.
"Sure! I think my brothers wanna do something as well, since, they're already whispering about taking me out as a surprise," I said giving my brothers a pointed look.
They were huddled up whispering with grins on their faces. Lucky for me, I was pretty fucking good at recognizing voices and tones.
The second we hung up with Jess, I got another call, from Diego.
"Bitch, how long does it take for you to pick up?!" he yelled to which I just rolled my eyes.
"I was on the phone you little bitch," I said with a grin.
"Seriously congratulations, even tho I almost forgot why I was calling, since you took so long to answer," Diego whined.
"It that Diego?" Gabriele asked, jumping onto the couch next to me. I guess they were done with their planning.
"Gabriele says hi."
"Hi, Gabriele!" Diego called breaking my eardrums.
"You know, the reason people listen to your music is because of my covers," Diego teased, his smile evident from his voice.
"Might be, but I'm the one nominated so fuck you," I bit back.
"Don't let your ego get too inflated, or I'm gonna have to come back there and pop it for you," Diego said making a popping sound.
"So, we got tickets to see Hamilton on Broadway in a couple of hours," Alessandro announced as we ate our takeout.
"Holy shit! Who's on the cast?" I freaked out making my brothers smile.
"I don't know, look it up," Matteo shrugged with a grin spread across his face.
"We know, you want to celebrate with your friend, so we got her a ticket too," Alessandro continued.
"Fuck Nice!" I yelled getting my phone out to text Jess.
I didn't even realize it was them meeting my family before we were at the doors.
As soon, as I saw her, Jess ran up to me and basically jumped on me with the biggest hug ever seen.
"I don't even know what to say. Congratulations!" She laughed into our hug.
"Thank you," I answered in a sing-a-song voice.
I quickly introduced my brothers to Jess, and reassured her, that I didn't even remember their names most of the time, so there was no pressure, which got a few laughs from my brothers until they realized I wasn't kidding.
We took our seats, which were, once again, the best seats in the house, and soon the show started.
I can not express enough, how much I love Hamilton, and I absolutely adore Lin-Manuel Miranda. He's my absolute idol to the point, where I think I would faint if I ever met him.
The next day I had my third session with Camille. I thought I would warm up to her, but I really didn't which was a shame, since she seemed like a really great person. Something was just off, and I know it's normal to feel that way at first, but I didn't think it would work out.
"I think it's important for you to work through the death of your parents," Camille said, as we were thinking about what we should focus on.
"I don't," I bluntly said.
I didn't mean to be mean, I just didn't need grief counseling for something I didn't grief over.
"How so?" she asked picking up her clipboard.
I rolled my eyes at that. I hated when therapists did the clipboard thing.
"My parents were dead to me long before they died," I shrugged.
"Why is that?"
"They never were my parents. Not in any other sense, than blood, and I later found out my dad wasn't even my biological father."
"How was that? Finding out, your father wasn't who you thought he would be?"
"I don't know. I don't really care, since, like I already said, they were pretty much dead to me."
Camille quickly scribbled something down, as our conversation was going around in circles.
"I'll get back around to that, but you mentioned before, that you weren't even in the country when your parents died. Why was that?" she asked lowering her glasses a bit.
I took a deep breath, knowing I was supposed to open up. That's what she was paid for.
"I ran away when I was fourteen and didn't come back until I heard, that my parents were dead," I explained as shortly as I could.
"Why did you come back?" Camille asked.
I was shocked. That was the first time someone asked me the right questions.
"I have a little brother, that I left when I ran away. When my parents died, I didn't have a reason to stay away anymore," I explained fiddling with my snake ring.
After a few more sessions, I ended up trying to find another therapist. There was nothing wrong with Camille per se, but it just didn't work.
"How about this one, Mark Brown. He's specialized in children and teens, he's written a book about conversion therapy and been a part of making it illegal. He's openly gay, and has worked with a lot of trauma patients," Lorenzo said turning his laptop towards me.
"I don't know... I guess it couldn't hurt to try," I said, which resulted in my brothers letting out a relieved sigh and a few yawns.
"No one's forcing you to be here," I pointed out with a lifted eyebrow.
"Fuck off, and let us be here for you," Antonio said as he walked into the kitchen to get something to drink.
When I started going to therapy, I started having nightmares again. Most of the time, they were memories of the best and worst days of my life. Camille said it was because my brain was starting to unpack those things, but I think it was my brain punishing me for opening up.
Whatever it was, every night, when I fell asleep on that little beach in front of my window, I was sure, that I wasn't going to sleep well, no matter how many people wished me to.
I was sitting on the floor of my bathroom. There was an empty bottle laying next to me next to an emptied bottle of some pills I got from my usual guy. I didn't even know what they were. I had a burning cigarette in my hand and a knife in the other. I had tried everything to silence out the voices. I drank 'till I threw up all over the streets, I smoked until my lungs burned so much, I doubled over in pain. I popped pills, snorted, and fixed so much shit, I should be dead already, but the voices didn't go away.
I wasn't sure, what they were saying, but I knew, they wanted me to do it. They wanted me to kill myself, to end my suffering once and for all, and I wasn't going to fight it anymore.
Ever since I got to Finland, I realized, what life could've been like. I saw the families with their children in the parks, laughing. I read and listened to stories about supporting families and every time I talked with someone, they complained about their family. They complained about their mother calling them too much or too little. They complained about not having enough money to go on a vacation. They complained about the most simple things, that I would've killed for.
I realized, just how shitty my life was. I was a fourteen-year-old kid, living alone in a shitty studio apartment in Finland, working three and a half jobs, just to survive. I realized, just how shitty my life had always been. I realized, that no matter what I'd do, I'd never be good enough for my parents, I realized, that they never did love me. Why should they?
I felt a single tear leave my eye as I sat there, leaning against the tiled wall. My wrists were bleeding more, than usual, but I wasn't going to stop it. My blood trickled down the floor into the drain, staining the light green tiles that awful color.
it was just then, that I realized, how beautiful it truly was, as my blood left behind little traces like a detailed map. That color, which I used to hate so much, became my comfort, and the only way for me to stay alive. That color ran through my veins, which looked blue under my skin, but now it was bleeding through a gash on my wrist down my fingers.
I lazily lifted my hand and watched as the blood trickled down my arm to my elbow and curved towards my armpit. With slow movements, I started drawing on the tiles with the blood, that ran from my fingers. I wasn't sure, what I drew, but as I looked at it, with my vision blurring around the corners, I made out my signature. It read Elia Korhonen, with wavy letters, that dripped slowly towards the drain. That was the name, I took for myself.
I said goodbye to Serena Jones, the second I got to Finland. I guess it was really poetic, that I ended up in Finland. The final land. That's where the last crusade went. I found myself thinking about all the people killed in those trips. All the people that they wanted to turn to their faith and religion. All the people they were ready to destroy in their path, thinking that was what their god would've wanted. I remembered all those sad faces, that I saw at camp, where they destroyed us, thinking, that was what God wanted them to do.
I felt myself tipping over, but I hardly noticed until, I fell onto the empty bottles, and they pressed against my side. I made myself comfortable around them, making peace with the fact, that that was going to be my last rest.
Right before it all went dark, I felt a smile creep up to my lips as the last tears rolled into my mouth. I tasted their salty aftertaste and was reminded of Carlos' cooking, and all the times me, and Diego pretended to like it, but silently exchanged glances, that eventually made us double down in laughter.
It was like my parents couldn't even let me die with good memories on my mind, as right before I blacked out I saw their faces, and saw their mouths moving, but for the first time in a while, I didn't hear them. The voices were gone.
In my last breaths, I remember how a song popped into my head, and I started mumbling:
"Isä olen täällä maailman toisella puolen."
I took a deep breath as that sentence drained me of all my energy.
"Äiti älä pelkää kyllä pidän itsestä huolen."
I felt a grin on my face. I won.
"Ja laulan: pappadaduda pa duda dapa."
The moment those last notes left my mouth, I felt myself slipping into the mindless oblivion, I had craved all my life.