UmmPati

A sociopath, that’s what they called him; but Elijah disagrees. By definition, a sociopath is someone who knows they are different and tries to fit in; Elijah doesn't do that. Elijah knows what he’s capable of, Elijah wants to do what he wants; if he has to wear a few masks to do that, who’s to say he’s wrong?

He raises both hands, holding them deftly under the water. He doesn’t wince, flinch, or cry. He lets a grin crawl up on his cracked lips.

Elijah has masks, closets upon dressers upon boxes full of masks. He can be whatever he wants to be. He doesn't wear them to fit in, he fits in to achieve the thrill of what comes after. Masks are useful, you pretend to be someone you're not, you plaster on a smile or produce weightless tears, or whisper sweet nothings ; Elijah pretends even when not being watched.

Elijah wants to be strong, he wants to be feared, he wants to be resilient. So he turns the water hotter and hotter.

Elijah wears masks, not to fit in, but for what comes after the mask is removed. The terror in their eyes, the tremble of their voice, the shake in their knees? That, is what Elijah lives for.

The thrill, the euphoria, that consumes him in times like those is unlike anything else. He wouldn't trade it for anything, not pleasure, not pain, not money, not power, not the world, not Celeste. 

The water turns cold against his knuckles; the polite sting causes his fingers to shake under the onslaught of water and his skin starts to crease, old scars appearing fresh. Tears would have sprung to his eyes, washed away unnoticed; but Elijah’s giggles scare them away. Watching, and inflicting, others in pain is what he dreams about at night.

They don't understand him, they never tried-

-is what he would say if he was a crybaby bitch. No, Elijah doesn’t care about that, not anymore. Even if it’s his own, pain rules his world, guides him through life, speaks for him, thinks for him, and moves for him.

The handle stops against his will, unable to be turned any hotter. Even though his knees shake, his hands tremble, his breath comes short, and his eyes flutter against his wishes, it’s not hot enough.

Celeste doesn’t love him, and he doesn’t love her; they aren’t capable of real love . They are sick and twisted and cruel and it brings him unbridled joy. 

Celeste knows a mask, not him; Yandere knows a mask, not him; Elijah knows a mask, not him. There is no ‘him’. Elijah can’t remember if there ever was a ‘him’.

Steam billows from the shower, infecting the mirror and fogging the windows, even though he feels cold water cascading down his body. Bruises are bold against red skin, and scabs peel and fall to the floor. He raises a hand to scratch at his chest, his fingers leave a harsh white trail behind. As he pulls his hand away, he sees dead, melting, mushy skin trapped beneath his bitten-down nails.

A stray soap bubble is sticking stubbornly to the back of his hand. He tries to brush it away, but his skin tears and liquid red blends with his skin.

Elijah sighs.

He’s grown bored again.

He leans onto the stream, the water hitting his scalp and back for the first time. He twists the handle, stopping the water with all but a moment’s notice. The humid air attaches to him, it makes his skin stiff and he stretches it as he steps out. The dirty towel rubs his waist raw but he pays it no mind he raises a shaking hand to wipe the mirror.

Blue, gold, and red stare back.

Elijah Symons is no one without a mask, but he definitely has his favourites. So, before he dresses himself, he covers his unknown face and smiles.

Gold yawned, “waiting for you.” Funneh walked around the couch to stand in front of her. The brunette sat up fully and fixed one of her sleeves that had rolled up in her sleep. “How are you? Thought you would be back earlier.”

“I'm fine!” Funneh chirped, clapping her hands in front of her, “Evan bought me Froyo!”

Gold glances to the left and Funneh follows her gaze. On the coffee table were two tubs of ice cream and spoons to go along with them, rings of condensation spread around the base of the cartons, infecting the grooves of the wooden table. Funneh winced, she hadn't thought Gold would wait up like this.

“Doesn't matter,” Gold shook her head, waving the ice cream away. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“Well, you remember how I told you Evan was playing for Ocean Metal? He totally flunked!” Funneh laughed, reaching her hands up to play with the end of her braid. “You shoulda seen him, he got a slushie spilled on him too! Then we went for Froyo, ate it on the sidewalk, got more, and came back here!”

Gold smiled, “well, that's good, I'm glad you had fun. But, uhm,” she hesitated and bit her lip, “what about Alec..?”

Funneh paused. A feeling of…. Actually, she didn't know what she was feeling. But it washed over her; she tried her best to shake it off. She plastered a smile on her lips. “Mhm, Alec got a phone call. I told you, right?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“No, it's fine!” Funneh waved a hand in dismissal, but couldn't help the lump that rose in her throat. “He said it was an emergency so it's fine.”

“It's not fine if you’re upset, Funneh.” Gold reached out a hand, grabbing Funneh’s clammy ones in hers.

Funneh sniffed, forced her smile brighter but turned her head away nonetheless. “Well, he said he was sorry?” Gold kept quiet, rubbing soothing circles into the back of Funneh’s hand. The silence overwhelmed her, she had to keep talking.

“It's no big deal, yeah? This kind of thing happens all the time! I'm sure he’ll make it up to-!” Funneh’s voice broke off into a sob. Immediately, she brought her free hand to cover her face. Tears started to stream down her cheeks and fell to soak her newly bought hoodie.

Gold stood up immediately, placing a gentle hand on her friend's cheeks as she hiccuped and sobbed, her shoulders shaking. “Oh, Funneh..”

“Why am I cryin-g-G-g?! This is so stu-u-u-upid!” Funneh choked out. She felt so pathetic. She told herself that it was barely a date, and it wasn't like he never showed up; they had fun until he had a family emergency. An emergency! Was she so entitled to think she was more important?

“No, honey, no,” Gold wrapped her arms around her, Funneh buried her face into her best friend's shoulder. The plush pink pajamas were soft and warm. “He left,” Funneh sobbed harder. “You have a right to feel upset.”

“But-!” Funneh tried to raise her hands to wipe her face, to hide from her friend. Gold didn't let her, grabbing her hands in a firm but comforting hold. Funneh looked up, and through her tears, she saw Gold’s face. Perfect, as it usually was, flawless, but burdened. She looked so sad, so hurt.

But why would Gold be sad? Was it because of her? Was she making Gold sad?

Funneh felt her knees shake and Gold gently lowered them to the rough carpet. Funneh’s exposed knees rubbed against the carpet, they burned as she shifted her posture to lean against the couch, still facing Gold.

“I-I’m sorry!” Funneh lowered her head, too afraid to look her in the eyes. It seemed like she always ruined everything. She didn't want Gold to leave too.

“‘Sorry’? Why are you sorry?”

“I'm making you sad!”

Gold hummed, squinting her eyes and tilting her head in sympathy, though Funneh didn't see it. “Funneh, Funneh, Funneh, no.” When she failed to raise Funneh’s head, Gold sighed. Funneh hiccuped, it was getting hard to breathe through her sobs. She felt Gold rest her forehead against hers. Brown and blue hair tangled together. “I'm not sad because of you, I'm sad for you.”

Funneh’s brows furrowed. What did she mean? 

She finally looked up, only to be greeted by Gold’s smile. “What happened sucks, and I’m so so so incredibly sorry this happened to you, Funneh. It was a jerk move and he needs to apologize.” Gold paused, waiting for a response. When Funneh nodded, shakily and unsure. 

“You’re tired,”  Funneh couldn't help but laugh, a wet chuckle escaping her lips, slipping past the slowly dying sobs. “How about we go get you cleaned up and head to bed? Clear your head and talk more in the morning?”

“Mhm..” Funneh mumbled, wiping her face frantically with her sleeves. She winced, she would need to wash the hoodie already. She felt a feather-light weight she had become accustomed to being lifted from her head, Gold laying her flower crown on the couch cushions beside them. “I’m sorry-”

“Funneh,” Gold interrupted gently, raising herself to her knees. “There's absolutely nothing to apologize for, especially not for crying. Your hurt, it's okay.”

“Okay…” Funneh repeated as Gold pulled her to her feet and lead her to the stairs. She didn't brush her teeth or do her normal skin care, but she did wipe down her face, wiping away the tear tracks burned into her cheeks, the black of her mascara a reminder of their existence. Behind her, Gold stood, undoing the hairstyle she had created but hours ago; gently pulling out bobby pins and rubber bands. 

By the time they left the bathroom, Funneh felt sluggish and tired and still sad but more numb and the tension of tears was  building again and-

“Can you stay with me?” she asked meekly as a lone tear streamed silently down her raw cheek. She fiddled with her sleeve, she would probably sleep in it. 

She wondered if Alec had taken his off yet.

Gold smiled at her, connecting their hands together once more. “Of course. But, can we stay in your room? I doubt we’ll both fit in mine.” 

Funneh chuckled, opening her bedroom door. Stepping inside, they neglected to turn on the lights, only slipping under the covers together. 

“Goodnight, Funneh.”

“G’night, Gold.”

“....thanks..”