Watching Elijah Fall Page 9

  Chapter 9

  When I arrived early to class on Monday evening, I could tell instantly that something was wrong.

  Elijah was there, already starting to set up the darkroom chemicals for the evening, dressed flawlessly as always in a dark blue Henley and rust-colored jeans, but there was something about his movements that gave it away. When I approached, his red-rimmed eyes and the dark smudges that sat underneath them made my heart sink.

  “Something’s happened.” I fought the urge to touch him, reaching out and pulling back, to reassure him in some way, maybe even more to reassure myself that he was okay.

  “No Jacob. I’m fine.” He worked to avoid looking at me, and I had a sinking feeling for a moment that I had done something to upset him, though I couldn’t think of what it would have been, but he waved off my concern.

  “It’s nothing.” He took a breath. “I’ve got this in here, do you mind checking to make sure I didn’t forget to turn the dryers on in the other darkroom?” He was still not meeting my eyes, and I knew he wanted his privacy, so I slipped away, leaving my things on the enlarger I normally claimed every week.

  By the time class began, he had pulled himself together, seeming to all the world to be the happy, enthusiastic man he had always appeared to be. I supposed that only someone who had been watching Elijah Fall as closely as I had for all these weeks would have noticed any difference.

  The class, which normally seemed to fly by, ending way too soon, dragged on, the ninety minutes testing my patience. I just wanted everyone out so I could have a private moment with the man without the threat of an impending invasion by any one of fourteen other people. And though I worried that I had no real right to ask what was going on, at that moment I didn’t give a damn.

  Elizabeth shot me a look, the worry on her face evident, and I just shook my head. Her brow wrinkled, but she didn’t say anything.

  We covered little that was new, and Elijah broke out the sepia for everyone to play with, but I couldn’t get myself to do anything, just standing there staring at my enlarger like I had never seen one before. Eventually, I excused myself to spend the remainder of the class sitting on the steps of the Center, watching the occasional car that drove by.

  I was still sitting there when the class ended, and students came flooding out, many stopping to ask if I was okay. I told everyone that I had a headache and had needed some fresh air.

  When Elizabeth emerged, she dropped down at my side.

  “Are you two fighting?” Her question surprised me, but I understood the logic that had gotten her there.

  I just shook my head.

  She gave me a look I couldn’t read before patting my knee and telling me to check on him, that everyone else had gone.

  I didn’t move at first, just sitting and watching her as she left.

  I heard the closing of cabinets and the running of water before I was through the last turn of the corridor that led into the darkroom. He was busy washing and drying his hands, and I had a moment to study the man unnoticed. His slim-fitting, blue shirt was tucked into jeans that sat low on his narrow hips, the silver buckle of a thick leather belt catching the light. In that moment, running a tired hand up the shorter hair at the back of his neck, the longer front that was normally tamed, now starting to fall into his eyes, he was so aesthetically perfect, I had to fight the urge to turn right back around. How could I possibly hope to have any claim on this man?

  It was the distressed sound that slipped from his lips that stopped any thought of retreat. I watched as he closed his eyes, sliding to the floor to lean against the center island, knees up, pressing his forehead against the arms that he rested across his knees. Seeing him there, like that, I couldn’t stop myself from going to him.

  My sneakers squeaked on the floor in my hurry to reach him, skidding the last few inches as I dropped down to my knees in front of him.

  He looked up with a start, distress so obviously etched on his face.

  “I know you don’t want to talk about it. Just tell me you’re okay, that there isn’t anything I can do to help, and I’ll leave you the fuck alone.” I watched him, watching me, and saw him smile.

  “You have a rather foul mouth, Jacob.”

  “Sometimes,” I agreed.

  We were both silent for another few minutes, just looking at each other, before he spoke again. “Sometimes it’s painful to let go.”

  “I know.”

  He was silent again, those beautiful eyes studying me, and as crazy as it was, I found myself fighting not to say words that I was sure he wasn’t ready to hear, whether I felt ready to say them or not. But before I said anything, before I said any of the million words of devotion running through my mind, he leaned forward, and he kissed me. Not aggressively, but a soft kiss, an unsure kiss, a hand raising to touch my cheek, the warm fingers as gentle and uncertain as the kiss itself, and I melted into him.

  He deepened the kiss slightly then, my mouth opening in response, and I couldn’t stop the moan that slipped from me, the desire for him that had been building for weeks becoming an overwhelming need. Unthinking, I reached out to slip a hand into the silk of his hair, drawing us closer and another to touch the skin of his throat. It had been so long since I had felt warm skin beneath my fingers, and this was so much more because it was him.

  As we kissed, I could hear little more than the roar of my own pulse in my ears and the squeak of my shoes on the floor. I longed to taste the salt on his skin and smell the lemon that always lingered faintly there from his cologne, but there was only the overpowering acrid smell of chemicals that seemed to cling to every surface, in my nose, in my mouth and the air itself.

  And still, the kiss was perfect.

  He pulled back then, resting his forehead on mine, our noses bumping. “I forgot to ask if you minded,” he whispered, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “I think,” I confessed, a finger playing with the hair at the back of his neck, “I think that I’ve wanted to kiss you since the first class when I looked at your photographs.” I was unable to stop the smile on my lips. “I know that sounds crazy, but I felt like I could see your heart, and as gorgeous as you are Elijah, it’s still the most beautiful thing about you.”

  He smiled then, a smile that lit his eyes, tugging me so that I sat, a knee on either side of his thighs, his arms wrapping around me to pull me close. “I think maybe I wanted to kiss you since the day a picture in my portfolio nearly made you cry,” he said in a whisper, his lips moving against mine as he spoke.

  We both laughed quietly together, there on the hard linoleum, only the buzz of the overhead lighting to accompany the sound. And in that moment, with the feeling of his arms around me and the texture of his hair beneath my fingers, I couldn’t remember ever being happier.

  Epilogue

  “You're going to make us late.”

  I groaned and rolled over onto my back to see Elijah, standing above me in boxer briefs, just starting to get dressed.

  “I can’t do this. It’s too much pressure,” I groused, though looking at the man made it impossible to hold back a smile.

  “You can,” he said, smiling back at me as he slipped on his shirt, starting to button it.

  The sunlight muted slightly by the sheer draperies, poured into the room, making the skin at Elijah's throat glow a golden brown. I loved the contrast of his warm complexion, to my paleness. Much as I loved his quiet patience to my restless nature. Unable to stop myself, I reached over in an attempt to steal a hand, grab a leg, something to pull the man closer. But he stepped out of my grasp and laughed.

  “You know we can’t be late.” His words said one thing, but the curve of his lips told me that I at least had a shot.

  I pushed myself up against the headboard, the cream sheets that pooled at my waist finally luring Elijah over to straddle my lap. He smelled of shampoo and lavender soap, and just the feel of his hands on my chest was enough to make me forget what we had been talking about.

&n
bsp; “You’ll wrinkle your shirt,” I chided him as I began the process of undoing the buttons that he had just closed. “We don’t want that.”

  Elijah started to object, but my lips on his neck quieted any protest.

  I pushed him over onto the mattress, climbing on top of him and taking his mouth, the man always feeling so perfect under me. I raised up again to look into those beautiful eyes a moment before bending to kiss him again. I felt his fingers tangling into my hair, hair that had now grown out into an unruly mess of brown waves. He had only just wrapped his legs around my waist, using his thighs to pull me tighter against him when there was a quiet knock at the door. I could feel Elijah smile against my lips.

  “That would be room service,” he told me, laughing at my groan.

  He let his legs fall, and I gave him one last kiss before hopping up to grab the jeans I had left on a chair the night before. Slipping them on, I walked out to the sitting room to open the door to the hallway. A young man in a pressed, white shirt pushed in a trolley holding several covered dishes, smiling brightly at the two of us when Elijah emerged from the bedroom, now nearly dressed. I gave him my best why are you not naked look over the kid’s shoulder, and he just laughed.

  After accepting his tip, the attendant wished us a good day, and left us to our breakfast of fruit, eggs and toast.

  “They didn’t have veggie bacon,” Elijah said as he sat next to me on the love seat, “but I’ll just have to do my best to endure.” I just laughed. I had never been much of a carnivore, but in the last year, with Elijah’s fantastic cooking, I had pretty much dropped meat completely. That is, except for the occasional White Castle, the fact of which made poor Elijah turn green.

  He watched me as I picked at my food. “Are you really that nervous?” he asked, studying me.

  I sighed. "Yes. I wish we could switch places. This is so important, and I know you would do such a wonderful job."

  “I’ll tell you what,” Elijah said with a smile as he stood up to add fruit to his plate, “next time around, I’ll be the photographer, and you can be the best man.”

  I couldn't help but smile at the thought of Elijah in his dark tux, standing at the front of the small church by Evan's side as he made his vows to Robert. Looking at Evan, it was hard to imagine anyone happier, except me. Definitely me.

  When he returned to take a seat next to me again, I grabbed his waist to pull him down on my lap instead, nearly upsetting his plate of breakfast, and kissed him.

  “I think,” I said, pulling away and running my thumb over his lower lip before looking into his eyes, “next time we should agree to both be grooms.”

  Elijah gave me that half smile, the one that drove me crazy with wanting him, before he spoke.

  “I think perhaps you’re right.”

  Author Bio:

  Amy grew up in the Midwest. She spent far too much of her time in clubs— gay and straight alike— and far too little time in her photography classes. That is until, she met a boy with cute hair and great taste in footwear. Now they live together with a number of small, rather noisy children and a dachshund named after her favorite horror actor of all time. She runs a number of sadly neglected blogs, and even though she has a lovely job that requires her to pick up a camera every now and again, she would still rather be reading.

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