12 the aftermath

Mankind is terrifying.

The extent that we go to protect something, whether it's ourselves or something we desire, is frightening.

I wonder sometimes, about why we consider ourselves to be the best species on earth. I mean, all we do is fight, and divide, and trick people. Sure, we have our better sides, love, passion, happiness, all that mushy stuff. But are we truly superior? If so what have we done to take that place? If we are all that, then why do we fight over who's better?

What is the saying "better"?

Just because we build civilizations, just because we create complex societies, doesn't mean that we don't tear the very same civilizations down. We pull it down inhumanely, making us no better than the animals we claim to surpass.

You might be thinking, why and how is this, in any way, relevant to my life?

Well isn't that what I should be saying after escaping from that stalker dude?

I'm not sure how to feel, especially when the adrenaline wiped the entire experience off my mind. All I remember last is that man running after me. I don't know-how, or why I got away. There is just this empty void, unable to recall anything that had happened after a particular point.

I sigh, my legs burning from all the running. My entire body aches, tired of everything. It was my best friend, Jess first. Then they went for my parents, kidnapping two grown adults in broad daylight. I reach home, my parents resuming life as if nothing ever happened. Father sits eating dinner, while Mother serves him, both of them stoic and expressionless.

I pity them. Not condescendingly of course. Just that, I don't think I'll ever be able to live such a performative life, without emotions, feelings, or love. A hollow shell of a marriage, along with terrible parenting skills and said "terrible daughter". [me] I wonder if they have any joyful memories, any time they thought "this was why I was born into this world".

And I'm terrified that I'll end up like them.

I sigh and decide it's best to tell them about the stalker, the one who almost killed me tonight.

"Father...", I clear my throat, "Mother.. I have something to tell both of you.", I say, anxiety twisting my stomach.

"Is it perhaps a sorry for today's sequence of events, Lena?", Mother says sarcastically.

My eyes widen, and so does hers, as she realizes that she shouldn't have said that, especially now that Father's watching. She was supposed to keep it a secret.

Father looks at us sternly, and asks, "What sequence of events?", his voice booms.

Mother shakes her head, and smiles calmly, "Nothing dear, just a petty fight we had.", she says, her initial alarm nowhere to be seen. I let out a huge huff of air, relieved, never realizing I was holding my breath. That was a close call.

"What did you want to say, Lena?", Father asks, still suspicious.

"I uh...Someone is stalking me.", I say awkwardly, not knowing how to phrase it.

Their eyes widen, worried by my words.

"What? What do you mean by that, Lena?", Mother says, her voice rising slightly, whether out of anger or concern, I'm not sure.

"Someone followed by that creepy old bridge. He began running behind me, but thank god he was slow. I outran him, and upon reaching a busy neighborhood, he stopped. I hurried home after that.", I say, not even pausing between the words.

"Oh.", was all Father could muster, his face contorting in confusion.

"Lena, I need you to quit everything. And by that, I mean going out after dark. Orchestra, work, everything. You are not going to school for a while. You'll be taking a break.", she says, frightened by the recent turn of events.

"Mother, I understand your concern, but stopping everything would mean that we're giving them what they want. They want us to feel cornered, and helpless. We can't let them have the satisfaction of winning.", I say, pleading, regretting that I had mentioned this at all.

"But we lost, Lena. We went through enough, and so did Jess. We can't let you go too.", she says, her voice cracking with emotion.

I feel bad for her, but my new persona, one that tries its best to stand my ground, shines through. "Sorry Mother, I know you're trying to do this for my best, but I cannot let this small stalker ruin my career. I am not going to give up the Fest, my librarian job, or school, all three are immensely important for both me and my college application. I cannot let them succeed. I will put up a good fight, I promise. And now that I've won the election, I can support myself with the financial aid.", I say, my face turning red from exertion and frustration, my voice pleading yet somehow bold.

I watch Father's eyes widen in surprise, turning to anger a moment later. The vein on his forehead throbs furiously, his scarlet face glaring at me. When he tries to open his mouth, I interrupt him by saying, "Yes Father, I stood and won the elections even when you told otherwise. I am sorry, but I am going to do things my way from now on.", I say, my chest heaving from nervousness.

Father's eyes widen, even more, his eyes almost popping out from his skull. However, he keeps his mouth shut, his lips forming a thin line. Well, this is strange. He silently gulps down a glass of wine, or whiskey, or whatever beverage that amber-colored this is. Mother and I watch, stricken with fear, wondering what's going to happen next. He puts the glass down and wipes his mouth with a flourish. He then looks at me, his watery eyes boring into mine.

He begins laughing. Or should I say, guffawing? His violent laughter shakes the dining table, I look at Mother, worry lining both our expressions. This is so out of character for him that even my stoic Mother looks taken aback. He stops, the table's jitters calming along with him.

"Well that was quite funny, Lena.", he says, smiling, the smile not reaching his eyes.

I blink at him, confused at what he means. I rewind the conversation, and that's when it strikes me. Father thinks that I won't and cannot have a stable career. That's the whole point of his laugh. He found it funny.

I shake my head, amused at myself for not figuring it out instantly.

Well to be completely honest, I'm not surprised. Disappointed maybe, but surprised? No.

"Father, I was serious, and will always be. I am going to work, earn my keep, and only then will I worry about marrying and all that adult stuff.", I say, my voice colder than a December night.

Father looks at me condescendingly, and says simply, "You're a woman, Lena."

I gape at him openmouthed, surprised that he has no shame in admitting that. I sigh, and look at Mother, praying that she would stand up for me, given that she's a woman herself.

To my surprise, she sides with him. I look at her, completely disgusted, yet slightly taken aback at what she says next.

"Lena, he's right. That's what God wants. He needs women to stay at home and take care of children, That's just how life is. Don't let all those terrible protestors into your mind. They spew all sorts of garbage, that lot.", she says, unapprovingly shaking her head.

"Mother, are you okay? Like actually?", I say, openly laughing at her. My statement and tone earn me stern looks, and before Mother could say anything, I storm out of the room. Adrenaline courses through my veins, anger encouraging it to do something that my critical side would strictly not advise.

I hurry up the stairs, running and stumbling, packing my clothes in a hurry. I will leave. It's that simple. I am eighteen, thank goodness. My birthday was early on in the year. Surely this wasn't the most rational of decisions. But it's what I need to go to LA. I need to go there. That's my only hope, and maybe even my dream.

I stuff in all my essentials, clothes, underwear, toothbrush, shoes, everything that I could lay my hands on, into my tine suitcase, one that I had from elementary school. I hurry downstairs, my heart thudding heavily against my ribcage, terrified by what they would say.

This is why I'm moving out.

I'm done feeling so terrified by everything I do in front of them. That's not a family, that's a prison. I might sound like I'm exaggerating things a little, trying to make a mountain out of a molehill. However, I am not going to be that person who isn't grateful for their parents' efforts.

I am truly thankful for them, and all their efforts in their past. I know it must have been terrible to bring up a whiny child like me. Sure, it's an appreciable thing, but so is living with constant criticism. I eat a certain amount, I get yelled at. I don't eat, I get yelled at, for that too.

I sure might seem like I'm being a terrible daughter, abandoning parents who have done so much for my good.

I'll repay them once I become financially stable.

Until then, it's written nowhere that I have to put up with their bull crap.

I storm downstairs, Father rushing towards me upon sighting me, his anger evident by his body language. He begins yelling something, his spit hitting my face and arms, yet I couldn't seem to process anything.

My mind is blank.

I walk in a daze, trying to unlock the door. The voices of my parents, muffled and inaudible, drowned out. I manage to unlock the door, and the crisp and cold air washes against my face. I smile, like I'm in a drunken stupor, and stumble down the porch, my suit dragging behind me.

"Lena!!" Mother yells, her scream heard even through my brain fog.

I turn around and look at her, confused as to why she's screaming.

I'm the burden in the house, aren't I?

Shouldn't she be glad I'm moving out?

She is, isn't she? I'm sure she called me to gloat at how she's going to live her life happily, from now on.

I storm away from the house, feeling completely free.

I am free.

Totally and utterly free.

Good lord, I'm finally free.

The realization hits, breaking away from my drunken behavior. Ecstasy runs through my body, feeling the sudden urge to yell, to scream, not out of anger, but out of happiness.

I did it.

And they didn't even try to stop me. [they did, I just didn't realize it]

I run, the suit dragging across the tar road, making an ear-piercing noise, that would be unbearable under normal circumstances. But the emotional high from moving out, or as Mother would phrase it "running away", led me to not give a shit about a measly noise.

Stop thinking about that woman, I instruct myself.

A voice whispers, "You've just run away, and you already miss your dear mommy, don't you?", mocking me.

I look around angrily, confused at who is talking to me. No one is visible, the cold, night empty. I shake my head, convinced that it was my imagination.

"Poor wickle baby.", the voice says, again.

I realize that the voice is coming from inside my head. My blood runs cold. It's been, what, like two minutes since I moved out, and I'm already going crazy?

"You're not crazy.", the voice says, and I look around to find Jess.

Her voice had changed, somehow more nasal than usual.

"What're you doing here, Jess?", I say, trying to sound unbothered. [and failing terribly]

"This is my neighborhood too, you know?", she says, a sarcastic laugh lacing her words.

"Of course", I nod, my mood deflating like a popped balloon.

"So what's up with the bursting suitcase, Lena? Mother finally kicked you out, huh?", she says, mockingly.

I don't say anything, irked by how arrogant she sounds.

"Stop being such a baby, and spill the tea, Lena.", she says, going back to her usual Jess voice.

I look up, confused, and that's when it clicks. Not only was the entire relationship orchestrated, but even her voice was fake. I snort at the absurdity of it, and glare at her. Her steely eyes stare into mine, cold and grey.

"What do you want from me, Jess? Or is that even your real name?", I say, tired by her antics.

"Don't get your panties in a twist, baby. I need only one thing from you.", she says, smiling, her eyes glinting evilly.

"And what's that, Cruella de Vil?" I say, mocking her voice.

She lets out a huff of air in annoyance.

"I need the document.", she says simply.

"What document?" I ask, completely clueless by what she means.

"The document. You know, your grandfather's inheritance?", she says, in a tone that indicates that I should know this.

"My grandfather died at war. He hasn't left our family anything.", I say, confused.

"I don't know what you're saying, Lena. I need the mine's ownership papers. You have until next week. Or..", she says, imitating a guillotine. "See you later, baby.", she says, winking, blowing me a kiss.

She walks away, cat-like, her stature somehow taller than usual, her walk even more powerful.

I sigh, the information overwhelming to handle.

What mine?

What inheritance?

And why have I not been informed about all this?

Wait, yeah, I forgot that my life is a fabricated lie. Silly me.

Speaking of lies, how and why did Jess get bruised then? Wasn't she supposedly kidnapped and hit due to my actions? Was that fake too?

Of course, it was. Even her voice is fake.

I laugh uncontrollably, unable to stop myself from shaking. There's a whole ass mine that is supposedly mine, which I didn't even know existed until a few minutes back. I'm homeless, on the street with no cash, or food. It would be damaging to my ego if I went back home, especially after feeling so good about leaving forever.

Speaking of homes, where do I sleep tonight?

As if on cue the cold, chilly air blows stronger, my hair whipping wildly. I sigh, dragging the case slowly towards the abandoned grocery store. I find the store empty, the panes broken. Sharp glass pieces litter the ice-cold floor, the wind blowing in stronger than ever.

Oh lord, this is worse than sleeping on the sidewalk.

Of course, my luck gets worse.

It begins pouring, thunder accompanying it. The rain patters down the metal roof, the huge droplets drenching me completely. The roof clatters, almost as if it's going to give way soon. That's when I realize, that not only is it a thunderstorm, but also a hailstorm. Huge glass-like stones fall from the sky, the cold air blowing harder than ever. Some of the hailstones fall inside the store, mixing with the broken glass pieces.

A thunderstorm AND a hailstorm in the middle of the night, when I'm alone and cold? Yup, I attract all sorts of miracles.

Speaking of miracles, I see someone walk by the store.

Instinctively, I hunch down, blending in with the shadows. Paranoia sets in, as I begin wondering if it's the same man from the bridge.

I look up to find no one, the rainy night, not doing me any justice. I sigh, wondering if I'm hallucinating again. The figure walks straight in, through the broken window panes.

I think, rather quite irrationally, whether this is going to be my first ghost sitting?

I mean, I'd take a ghost over that terrifying man with my eyes blindfolded.

"Hello?", I say, my voice shaking out of my own accord.

I get no reply, the man now setting up some lantern-like thing at the other corner. I edge slowly towards him, careful not to make any noise. His back, hunched towards the lantern-like contraption, is facing away from me. He continues fiddling with it, while I try to get as near as possible.

"Are you a ghost, perhaps?", I say, my voice trembling.

My outstretched fingers, now a few centimeters from his body, trembles as I move them towards the ghost-like figure. Before I could touch him, he begins vibrating, as if shaking from..laughter? Is he laughing?

He's laughing at me?

Fuck, this is embarrassing.

"I..um.", I say, coughing to clear my throat. "What are you trying to do?", I say, as casually as possible.

His laughter gets louder, and that's when I realize that his laugh is familiar. Like really familiar. My eyes widen, as I realize, that this laugh belongs to none other than Elijah Valentine, himself.

"Elijah, what the hell are you doing here?", I ask, shocked.

His laughter subsides, and he turns around, the lantern's [or whatever that scorpion-like contraption was] light casting a yellow glow on his face. The rain had drenched his hair, droplets dripping from his hair strands. I have to admit, he looks pretty attractive. Chiseled, jaw, piercing eyes, dimples, he's got the lot.

"Took you long enough to realize, Whitaker.", he says, his eyes still warm. [whether from emotion, or the lighting, we'll never know]

"Good lord, you frightened me!", I exclaim, genuinely shocked to find him here.

"Yeah, I figured it out when you called me a ghost, Whitaker.", he says, his amusement evident through his words.

He clears his throat roughly and opens his mouth as if to say something when I realize that his face is inches away from mine. My mind blanks, the second time tonight, as I gaze at his lips, the urge to... No Lena, behave. My face gets hot, and I smack myself for thinking such things. Jeez, the whole stalker thing must've muddled my mind. His stupid little contraption, seeming like a small heater, is unnecessary at this point.

"Earth to Whitaker.", he says, waving his hands in front of my face.

I realize that he had said something during the moments I spaced out. "Sorry what?", I ask.

"I asked why you're here.", he says.

"I moved out. Or technically, ran away since I don't have a place to go.", I explain. "What about you, rich boy?" I ask. "Did you run away too?" I ask jokingly.

"Actually, yeah. Well, not today, but I did run away a month back. Been sleeping here since then.", he says, shrugging his shoulders.

"But, that day-", I say before he cuts me off and says, "I don't want to talk about it."

Okay, so this is going to be awkward. "Oh, okay.", I say, not knowing what to say. Seconds, or what feels like hours, pass by, when he suddenly says, "Heater."

I jump, and I mumble, "What?", confused by what he meant.

"Earlier you asked what I'm trying to do. I'm trying to make a heater. Well, not make, but repair it. My grandmother taught me how to make these.", he says, gesturing to the contraption, smiling softly.

"Oh, that's awesome.", I say, surprised at how heartfelt his words sounded.

"Yeah, she was a great woman. She took care of the company for a few years. A tough woman, really.", he says admiringly.

"Was?", I ask uncertainly.

"Yeah, she died a few years back due to Alzheimer's. She never forgot me, that woman.", he says, smiling softly, his eyes welling up with tears.

I look at him, surprised. I never knew he had it in him, to love someone that deeply. Sure, he seems like a happy-go-lucky jerk, but maybe he does have a deeper side to him.

"Oh look at me getting all emotional. Sorry. You didn't have to witness that.", he says, wiping at his face with his drenched sleeves.

[let me preface this by saying: I don't know what possessed me to do this okay?]

Upon seeing his wet sleeves drag across his face, instinctively I reach for his face, my fingers gently wiping his face. His eyes look up at mine, momentarily shock turning into something else. I pull my hands away, assuming that he felt uncomfortable.

He grabs my hand suddenly, his warm palms enclosing my cold ones.

"Want some coffee?", he asks, despite it being the middle of the night.

I nod my head, wanting something to warm myself. He doesn't let my hand go, his other hand reaching for the tea bags. He sets a kettle of water onto the heater, using it as a stove.

"Is it hot enough to boil water?", I ask.

"Of course, it is. During war times, they used to use it as both.", he says, smiling, those darned dimples making an appearance.

"Oh.", I say, nodding slowly. He is talented with his hands.

"I know.", he says, and winks.

Did I just say that out loud-? And what was that wink for? Wait I did NOT mean it like that.

"I did not-", I start saying, when he presses his finger against my open mouth, and says, "I know." My heart begins thudding, heat rushing to my face. His eyes gaze into mine, warm and open, unlike those steely glares he gave me at the library. I gulp, and gaze at his lips, my heart fluttering.

Suddenly, I hear a car screech outside, the rain still pouring heavily. Elijah's eyes turn dark, returning to his cold glare. He grabs my hand and pulls me towards the corner, while swiftly turning off the heater-like contraption. My body remains pressed against his, the shadows engulfing us. His breath falls warm across my neck, both of us trying to remain calm.

We hear the loud click of the car door opening, alarm flooding our body. They were looking for us. Wait, no, they were looking for me. But how did Elija-

The driver walks up to the door, and calls out, "They should be here."

"They"? Meaning more than one? That means Elijah too?

A bald man carrying an umbrella walks up to the first man and says, "Will, why would they be here? It's a cold and wet night. Any sensible person would go to a hotel to spend the night. And what even guarantees that they're together?", he says.

Well, logically he's right, but we're two children who cannot risk their parents tracing them. We won't do something that's going to get us into potential trouble.

"Shut up, Hemmingway. The girl's case is right here. Even if they aren't here right now, she was here at some point", the driver, or Will, says. "And looking at the case, that's her entire wardrobe. She'll come back to get these back, given that she's a broke little bitch.", he says, snapping the case open.

My jaw hangs wide open, as he lets my entire case get drenched, his umbrella covering only his body. The audacity of that man! And I am not a "broke little bitch." Okay, well, maybe I am a little broke. And a little bit of a bitch. But so what? He still has no right to call me that.

"Not bad, Will, I initially took you for a fool. But you still haven't answered my question, where's the boy?", the bald dude says.

"The boy lives here, Hemmingway, and given the rain, he will be here for sure.", Will says.

"I doubt it, Will, no one would stay here willingly, especially on a cold rainy night.", he says skeptically.

"There's only one way to figure that out.", Will says, and there's a lull in the conversation.

"They're heading inside.", I whisper into Elijah's ear.

"I know. I have a plan.", he says, his hand tightening around my waist.

They walk in through the broken window, one by one, while Elijah hurriedly whispers his plan to me.

Don't worry, we are not going down without a fight.