"GODDAMN," HE BREATHES. "Adri, stop. Stop eating."
His friend looks up at him with a mouthful of cinnamon-sugar waffles, crumbs lingering on the bottom of his chin as a comical grin barely touches his lips. Jonah scoffs and pushes him roughly on the bar stool before standing up as his aunt walks out of the kitchen with two aprons and notepads in hand.
Fuck.
The boy with golden hair shakes his head from side to side violently. "Aunt Sue, you know I love you, but—there's no way I'm putting that on." Adrian grimaces and retreats slightly from the dark fabric, and shaking his head profusely, Jonah observes his expression as he reaches out his own hand to take it from his aunt.
Sue rolls her eyes, makeup sparkling underneath the fluorescent diner lights. "I don't hear Jonah complaining, hmm?" A pause. "Oh, come on. It's not that bad."
"The only reason I took it is because last time you hit me so hard I got a bruise," Jonah mutters under his breath, posture relaxed and eyes warm. On instinct, he flinches a bit and lets out a smooth laugh as fond memories cascades over him like a tidal wave.
When he used to get bullied for how short he was in elementary and middle school, Sue would bring him strawberry cheesecake pancakes with a side breakfast potatoes to cheer him up. Keep your chin up, Jonah, she'd whisper. Don't listen to them, okay?
When he'd asked why, his aunt had only shushed him and presented him with more food throughout the next ten years, and when he finally hit six feet, Sue proclaimed that her strenuous job was finally done. His aunt was the epitome of a spitfire, perhaps, or just a woman that noticed every little detail. And the signature electric-blue eyeliner certainly didn't help.
Due to the fact that he was practically raised by two women, Jonah would like to say that he knows his way around the female gender. And so with the look that his aunt is shooting his best friend, he reaches out a hand to take it and throws it on top of a blond head.
"Just take it, man," the Korean boy laughs. "It's better if you don't argue with her."
"I—"
"You dumb fuck."
With that, Adrian finally puts it on and reaches behind himself to tie it behind his back, a twinkling gleam glistening in the depths of cerulean irises. It took a lot of convincing to get his friend up and out of their apartment (he's convinced that Adrian's suffering with girl problems—something he's not used to, and it's giving him so many goddamn mood switches), but he was determined to continue their tradition. Under his breath, he mutters something about busting Wren and Lukas's partying asses when they all meet up tomorrow for soccer practice.
The boys follow the woman into the kitchen and look at the steaming plates of food waiting to be served: dripping honey pecan waffles, fluffy vegetable omelettes, and crispy sweet potato fries.
But before Jonah can say anything, his aunt slaps his shoulder and grins devilishly.
"Don't even think about it."
***
Standing in front of the mirror, she grimaces at the vision in front of her and hooks her thumb through a raggedy hole near the kneecap of her gray sweatpants. Eloise's hair is unbrushed and lies in a messy knot on top of her head, stray curls tumbling down the middle of her back. She's wearing a shirt that she bought three months ago from the men's clearance rack for five dollars, and as the fabric dwarfs her body, she briefly wonders if she should even go to this party.
It's a rite of passage, she supposes. To get so fucking drunk that she can't even remember her name in the spur of the moment—to drink cheap liquor for a couple of hours and dance with people that she'll probably never meet again. Eloise has never been into making stupid decisions like that. But Jude asked her if she could come, and she'd said yes, so there wasn't much to it.
I'll stay for an hour or two, she thinks. It'll be fine. And maybe it'll be good: she needs a little break from reality. Needs to forget about her mother's anniversary coming up soon—needs to clear her head. Usually around this time of year, Eloise turns quiet and spends most of her leisure time in her room while Parker writes little notes and tucks them under her door, but she's proud of herself for doing better. She has people to lean on: her roommates, Jonah, and even Adrian (except when he turns bitchy).
She then realizes that Adrian is bitchy most of the time, but she's getting used to it.
And so around an hour later, Eloise puts on black jeans that are tight at the hips and pairs it with a delicate silk cami—she feels prettier than she has in a while. A brush of light rogue layers itself on her lips as it compliments the glittering highlighter on both cheekbones, and her eyelids are decorated with a soft glossy glaze. There are moments where she thinks people regard her as a piece of fine china where she'll shatter if handled without caution, but nights like these remind her that it takes much more than that for her to break.
At least she likes to think.
Lost in her thoughts, Eloise takes a last scan of her reflection and tilts her head to the side as Rory and Parker knock softly on her door frame, gazes a bit cautious. She doesn't blame them—not completely. Especially with this time of year, when all of her internal shit comes crashing down like catastrophic, nuclear bombs.
"God, I wish I had those hips," Parker complains, gesturing to her own lithe body. "I'm built like a twelve-year old boy."
The girl next to her scoffs and rolls her eyes. "Speak for yourself." Rory whines. "I can barely fit into a fucking training bra. Brats in sixth grade have more than I do, so don't even start."
As her composure starts to break, Eloise lets her friends lead her out the door and argue with her as to why she should ditch the usual sneakers for kitten heels (in the end, they eventually gave up). And she even lets them blast sappy love songs on the ride there while they call Chase, who's already enjoying herself at the party, to remind her to always keep an eye on her drinks.
With the windows down, she lets a hand linger outside to catch a whisper of the honey-rose breeze. The city is electrified with youthful energy—neon lights flash on popular bars, restaurants are being filled up with last minute reservations, and even the trendy street food trucks draw their territory on busy roads. She can smell the highlighting vibrancy in the air as the horizon dips low enough for Los Angeles to be bathed softly in soft indigoes and angel-like glows.
To her left, Eloise suddenly feels Rory leaning her head to rest on her shoulder, the ends of her braids tickling the juncture of her elbow. "El," she asks. "How did you even find out about this party?"
The Korean girl fiddles with a cheap ring settled on her middle finger. "You know Jude, right?"
They nod. "We have psychology together, and I guess he just invited me to be nice. Maybe it's because I don't sit with anyone so he doesn't think I have any friends."
Parker taps her manicured nails on the steering wheel and lets out a golden laugh. "Are you sure he's not just hitting on you?"
At that, Eloise frowns just a bit as she recalls their last encounter. How he'd walked her to her car and how he'd been unusually persistent—no, she thinks. He's just really fucking friendly.
"He knows I have a boyfriend," she admits cautiously, tone even. "I told him about Jonah, too, so there's nothing to worry about." At least she hopes. She hasn't spent too much time with Jude to know his real personality, but she didn't get any alarmingly concerning vibes when he'd first introduced himself. Deep inside, Eloise crosses her fingers that her impressions are right and there won't have to be any awkward discussions later tonight.
Rory grins and claps her hands together at the mention of the senior. "You don't tell us anything," she mutters, punching her friend's knee. "How's it going?"
And if she could, Eloise would say that Jonah Kim's body is the sweet solitude that she relies on whenever she needs relief from stress. She would say that he takes his time kissing her slowly, hotly, soft fingertips always seeming to hook in her waistband or tap twice underneath the bottom of her chin. She would tell them about the way he looks at her—like there's all the stars in the sky, but she's his sun—and how he always wears headbands now because he knows all too well how much they make her weak in the knees.
Or maybe she would talk about how his morning voice sends shivers down her spine when he sleepily calls her to tell her good morning, like today when he asked her to stay smart and safe when she went out. Because Jonah is her own secret epiphany, and some things should just be kept between themselves.
"He's perfect—too perfect," Eloise mumbles with her gaze out of the window. "But we're good." The car pulls into an empty parking space and the girls take in the house that borders a fraternity: at the loud bass, the smell of beer, the ear-shattering volume.
Parker takes a breath. "To be honest," she says softly, "I really didn't think you'd keep him around for that long. That you'd eventually let him go." A pause, and the blonde turns around to squeeze her hand.
"But I think he's something that you didn't realize you needed."
And Eloise knows why, she realizes, as they get out of the vehicle and walk towards the front door. She's always had a nasty habit of pushing people away when she was scared of something real potential—so in that case, Eloise Park is no better than an immature child who irrationally fears the dark. Only that the darkness is herself, and she's constantly drawing back and forth between the seven deadly sins of her murky shadows.
Rory begins to open the door slowly, dark sky like a midnight canvas overhead her strawberry hair, moonlight lingering on the dips and curves of their bodies. "Okay," Rory proclaims, turning around to face them. "At parties like this, it's impossible to not to get split up, but keep your phones on." She takes a breath, and an impish smile that she's become accustomed to graces her lips. "I love you bitches."
"Watch out for strangers," Parker adds with a soft smile before bursting out into an uncontained giggle.
Eloise shifts her weight from side to side as the nape of her neck starts to tingle with an odd sensation. "It's not our first rodeo," she almost laughs. "I'll go find Chase, so you guys have fun."
She doesn't tell them that the major reason why she's actually here in the first place is to watch over her friend, who has an unhealthy habit of drunkenly dancing the night away as she throws everything out the window. Chase has been fighting with her parents recently—and her past—and it's something that Eloise desperately relates to. Trying to run into tomorrow, but unsure when it'll come.
So as they enter and the familiar pattern of intense, fast-paced bass resonates throughout the hollow structure of her bones, Eloise takes a silent moment to absorb everything around her and calm her palpitating heart. Parties like these are like their own type of individual vodka: each one is high on a chaotic frenzy but with a certain flavor. It's comical, really, as she takes in the scene in front of her—at the boys that are either too young or too old to be drinking like a college student, at the girls that sway on their feet after one-too many shots, at the gyrating bodies pressed against dark, tucked away corners of the room. LED lights flash actively with various neon colors and stain her clothes with the presence of grimy false euphoria as she looks at the bar to her right.
With it being nearly midnight, Eloise has trouble making out people's faces, and she realizes that there's no way she would be able to find Chase or Jude in a place like this. Rubbing the skin on her temples to relieve some of the pressure, Eloise grabs a bottle of water for herself and carefully maneuvers her body to an abandoned ping pong table as she takes her phone into her hand.
Hey, she texts Jonah. I'm here.
His reply comes a few minutes later, and Eloise remembers that he's helping Sue out at her diner for the busy evening. Her heart warms a bit and the cold exterior goes down.
Safe?
Eloise lets a small smile tip the corners of her mouth upwards, but before she can type on the screen of her phone, a cold liquid sloshes onto the front of her thin shirt. Shocked and a little mortified, she turns around to face an unstable Jude Pearson.
He's drunk, she thinks. Fucking wasted.
The boy's green eyes are glazed over and the scent of marijuana lingers on the pulse point underneath his jaw, and in that single moment, Eloise freezes. Snippets from her past come rushing back and fetter her to the ground, but she shakes it off as her senses remove the vertigo dripping down her sides.
"Jude," she nearly shouts, knowing he won't remember this the next day. "I didn't think you were the party type like this," Eloise admits.
He frowns and stumbles backwards before her hand snaps out and grabs his wrist, successfully preventing him from knocking someone over. Jude's gaze focuses on the wet stain that sticks to her skin and he mumbles something under his breath that's too quiet for her to make out. Because this music is blaring in her ears, and it's too—too fucking loud to think, to process her thoughts.
"Sorry," he slurs, shakily pointing to the essence of beer froth. "Didn't—didn't mean to."
A slight flare of irritation tickles her, but Eloise knows this is what she was getting herself into when she said yes. And in the end, it's always a really shitty idea. Because she's only human and wishes that she could just fit in, but instead she's a rose in the hands of those who have absolutely no intention of keeping her.
Eloise takes a step back. "Right," she says with an iron tone. "Thanks for the invite, Jude."
The boy in front of her tries to blink, but something about the movement stops her from walking away. It's soaked in alcohol, yes, but underneath his exterior there's an unsettling crack. It's then that Eloise notices the trembling of his fingertips at his sides and the pale sweat glistening on his forehead; a heavy sensation weighs down on her back, and she realizes that Jude Pearson isn't just drunk.
He's drugged.
She frowns and hands him the bottle of water still settled in her right hand. "You shouldn't do that," she articles clearly so he can understand. "Drink and smoke, you know."
Jude mumbles again under his breath and shakes his head from side to side, jarring his balance as he sways once more. "—not smoking," he strings together.
At that, Eloise's body turns cold. "What happened?"
"I said no," the boy says unsteadily, irises dull and pupils dilated. "Said no, and he—didn't listen."
Worry lines her features, and her mind immediately rushes back to Chase. Taking out her phone, Eloise speed dials Parker and holds it up to her ear with one hand while the other twists itself in Jude's shirt.
"Parker," she rushes. "Do you know where Chase is?"
Across the line, she can hear her friend's fast breathing. "I found her upstairs," the blonde panics. "She was locked in the bathroom by herself, so we found Lukas and Wren to knock it down."
Hot fury lines Eloise's veins, and fire races down frenzied spurts of adrenaline. "Drugs?"
"Think so," Parker admits, voice wobbly. "I drank a bit, so I can't drive, but she's so pale and she's not responding and I—I don't know what to do. Rory and the boys are here with me."
Shit. "Stay there," she emphasizes, stress and anxiety like an empty void. "Stay there, okay? I'll call someone."
"Yeah. Yeah, okay." The call ends, and Eloise feels so many emotions right now that it's too hard to comprehend anything real that's actually happening. Like she's just a catastrophic hurricane with an eye that's impossible to calm, or a deep abyss of memories she'd much rather forget than remember.
"Jude," she nearly shouts. A small tilt of his chin lets her know that he's barely conscious, and Eloise is trembling with foreign feelings from head to toe. "Do you know who did this?"
He doesn't answer for a few minutes, and it's long enough for Eloise to think that he's so fucking out of it that he can't even answer. The music blares in both of her eardrums, loud and obnoxious layered over lively conversations. But as Eloise presses the green button on her phone, Jude murmurs something that makes her vision ice over.
"Bradshaw."
***
Jonah's burned himself about three and a half times now: once when a splatter of oil landed on his neck (when he looks at it closely, it resembles a hickey), twice when he spilled hot syrup over his palm, and a third time when Adrian almost made the entire damn kitchen blow up with overly large gas flames.
It's nearly one in the morning when the nagging in his head finally draws him out of a trance as he puts the apron down to close the restaurant. Eloise still hasn't texted him back, and from her past tendencies, he's worried.
God, he's really fucking worried. And even though he wasn't too keen on her going—still isn't, honestly—it helped ease his nerves when she told him that she wouldn't be alone. Because Jonah Kim is many things, but he's not a controlling boyfriend.
Flashes of Jayden Bradshaw and pictures of his hands settled on his girl's waist leave a sour taste in his mouth. She's fine, he repeats. Probably having fun dancing.
His phone rings, and when he sees the caller ID, Jonah breathes a secret sigh of relief as he scans over the familiar name. In the corner of his eye, his aunt rolls her eyes but sends a grin his way—pick it up.
"Talk to me, Goose," he says before wincing. The music at the party sends a line of white pain down the straightness of his spine, and if he concentrates hard enough, he can hear the dark rapidness of her breath.
Jonah grips the phone a little tighter, eyebrows gradually drawing together as the seconds tick by. "Baby," he says, voice low, "are you alright?"
Across the diner, his aunt tilts her head and Adrian stands straight up, body stiff and tense as his eyes ask the questions that Jonah's dying to know the answers to. He takes his phone and switches the mode to speaker.
Still on the line, Eloise's voice trembles but the call breaks up due to a bad signal. "I'm with Jude—Bradford—drugged Chase."
He hears enough. Jonah closes his eyes and tenses his jaw as a dangerous expression crosses his face. "I'm coming," he tells his girlfriend. "Stay put, okay? I'll find you."
Always.
Looking at the blond boy helping his aunt clean up, he nods slightly: a confirmation that their favorite girls are in trouble, and if they didn't get their asses up now, this story wouldn't end well. Adrian grabs his jacket, kisses Sue on the cheek, and tosses the car keys to Jonah, who catches them easily with one hand. Jonah arches a single eyebrow before he's met with an explanation.
"If I drive, we'll fucking die."
And so while they hit the gas pedal and speed over to the address that Eloise sent him a minute ago, his heart is having a breakdown inside of his chest: it feels like the sky is falling, like it's crashing, and he knows that she's fine—she's okay, but it's just one more scar to add to her collection.
God, and if someone touched her—
His hands tighten on the steering wheel as the car makes a sharp right, pulling into the driveway. The house is sleek and modern on the outside; classy, even, and the stench of hard liquor clouds the air with alcoholic moisture. Jonah looks at his best friend and notices the disheveled golden curls that fall over his forehead because he couldn't stop touching it on the way there, and he knows all too well how it feels.
Tapping Adrian on the shoulder, he nods. "Call the cops when you find Chase," he breathes. "Wren and Lukas can testify if they need it."
They part directions when they enter the house, and Jonah is hit with a familiar scene: buckets of beer, drunk dancing, and underage girls. It smells like stale sweat and cheap cologne as his eyes scan the crowd for a set of wild curls and a silver smile while Adrian rushes upstairs, taking them two at a time—
He sees her. Eloise hunches over Jude Pearson and supports his limp body; she has a hand wrapped around his wrist, and with the other presses a sort of makeshift cloth on his forehead. Jonah Kim isn't the jealous type. He's not one for petty arguing and territorial remarks, but right now, as Jude's arms are practically thrown around Eloise's waist, violet frustration ripples through hot blood.
Practically running towards the girl who holds his heart with a silver string, Jonah bends to his knees and takes in her reflection. Lips chapped, sweat coating her collarbones, eyes wide, and damn it all, he's weak in the knees. Pressing his lips to her temple, he lets her melt into his warmth as he observes the unsteady fucker in front of them.
She grabs his hand behind her back and rubs her thumb along his palm, and it's then that he notices that she's bleeding on her other forearm.
He pulls away. "Ellie," Jonah nearly whispers. "Why in the hell are you bleeding?"
"Cut myself on a broken beer bottle on the way to the bathroom," she answers, eyes cast downwards as she presses even further into her favorite spot on his chest. "It's not too bad."
A lie. Jonah grimaces at the dried blood that stains her wrist and the open, flared cut ruining smooth skin. And it's then, right there, that he decides that he never wants to see her hurt again. The cops and medics are here now as they shut this shitty party down, and Jonah watches as one of them helps Jude up on his feed and leads him outside. People file out like sardines, and as the house empties, they can finally breathe again.
Eloise tilts her head. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, "that I didn't answer your text. Everything was so hectic."
Her boyfriend is trembling with anger, but it's not because of her. Never could be. Instead, he's laser-focused on Jayden Bradshaw as he appears in handcuffs at the base of the staircase, and he feels her stare underneath him as it slides to the corner of his jaw to honey irises. There's so much he wishes he can say, so much he wishes he can do right now, but a warning look from an older cop has him keeping his mouth shut.
He leads Eloise outside and gets a text from Adrian saying that the cops are questioning Wren and Lukas at the station and that he'll take Parker and Chase home in their car. Eloise sits on the hood of Jonah's silver Honda, voice silent and gaze far away, and he can feel his chest ache all over again.
It's silent when he pops the trunk open and takes out his first aid kit and kneels before her to tie her tangled shoelaces. She releases an unsteady breath when he finally stands up again and takes off his oversized black hoodie. He helps her put it on, fingertips gently padding over the skin of her shoulders and curve of her neck. Pushing up the sleeve of her injured arm, Jonah begins to clean the wound and wrap it in bandages, and he stills as her head leans against his shoulder.
Her voice is a beam of moonlight under a starlit sky. "You're angry," Eloise says quietly.
Jonah closes his eyes before finishing wrapping her arm for the last time, and he drops her wrist gently to her lap before taking a step back. "I'm angry at this—situation," he admits. "At what you could've been through."
She looks at him now, and the raw beauty in her features makes him lost in the swirling translations of emotions dancing in her eyes. "I'm fine," she admits. "I'm fine."
"But you're not fucking fine," he points out, and his tone is unjustly harsh. He knows this: knows that he's acting out, but all the scenarios that he pictured when he drove over here prick at his mind like glistening needles. "You're bleeding, and Chase is passed out from a date rape drug. It's not fine."
Her eyes turn to livid fire, and distantly, Jonah wonders if they're fighting right now. "I'm not a delicate doll, you know," Eloise answers with a sharp breath. "I'm not going to break if someone pushes me too hard."
Jonah slides a hand in his front pocket. "God, I know—I know that, El."
"Do you?" He watches as she slides off the car and crosses her arms. "Because everyone treats me like if they make one wrong move, I'll shatter, and I hate it. I hate that I'm not reliable enough for people—that I'm just this girl with daddy issues."
He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a ragged breath, teeth sinking into his full bottom lips as his girlfriend looks back at the flat, eyes nearly glassy. "Stop," he proceeds cautiously, subtle irritation lining his words. "Stop saying that."
"Then what do you want me to say, Jonah?" Eloise spreads out her hands in front of her, desperation lining her voice, and he shakes his head.
Shit, he thinks. "I want you to stop blaming yourself for this. You did nothing wrong," Jonah confesses, volume rising just a bit. "It's not your fault, so please don't make it seem like it is."
Eloise looks at him, and tears build up just enough for it to barely spill over her waterline, but she looks away at the last minute. Underneath the black sleeves of his hoodie, he knows that her fists are balled up and the tops of her nails are biting into the skin of her palms.
He looks at the sky.
"I want you to stop apologizing when all you do is give."
***
They drive back to her apartment in silence with nothing but the wind in their hair to remind them that they're still there. Jonah's heart aches when he sees her chin tilted towards the window, and he knows that something's happening where he can't see—where he can't help her unless she lets him in.
Because Eloise Park is the strongest positive and negative connotation in the English language, and he's terrified that the smoke from her cigarette breaks will turn into an entire goddamn wildfire.
***
author's note: with this pandemic coupled with insane amounts of stress and writer's block, this chapter was a pain to write. i'm sorry for taking so long to update this one, but i think i'm back and motivated. updates will most likely be random and spaced out, but if you're reading this, thank you for sticking with me. until next time! you're magic.
please hit the star and vote or comment if you liked this chapter! what did you think of this one?
wishing you all nothing but the best. stay safe!