Elliot James disappeared on the third Sunday of last May. They looked everywhere, the cops. They gave up soon, declared him dead, probably.
I think that's what hurt them the most, his parents, 'probably'. They had to organise a funeral with an empty casket for their son, who was dead, probably. I attended it too, to show my support. They didn't kick me out despite their dislike towards me, they were too upset to care, probably.
I saw a couple of my classmates, they were upset too. The usual look of disgust was accompanied by flashes of pity when they looked my way. They liked him, Elliot, I mean. Everyone did, he was Elliot.
I did too. He was my very first friend. He sat by me in the library once and we spoke about books. We stayed friends since then. Until now, I guess.
He was perfect, they all thought. I knew better, but I still liked him. His parents wanted him to become a doctor, he was one step ahead. He'd medicated himself everyday. How'd he get it? Elliot was liked by everyone, it's wasn't that hard.
He was perfect, that's why they didn't get why he hung out with me so much, our classmates, even his parents. They didn't like me much, they'd told him to stay away from me. They'd said I looked like one of those boys on those gay shows, whatever that's supposed to mean.
They had been wrong. I liked Elliot, I really did. Thinking back now, I can even say I loved him, but as a friend, as a brother. I liked him, but not the way I liked her.
We had a lot in common, Elliot and I: books, ideas and unfortunately for me, a liking for her too.
Everyone liked Elliot, I guess she did too. She soon spent a lot of time with us. I hated it. I couldn't tell what I hated more, the fact that she was intruding on my time with Elliot or he was intruding on my time with her. I got used to it, eventually.
We were out in the woods one evening when we came across an injured rabbit. It looked like it was chewed up and on the brink of death. Elliot insisted we try to save it. It died soon, unsurprisingly. Elliot looked shaken. He told me he felt like he has it worse than the rabbit. Chewed up by his parents' standards and a cocaine addiction that had only worsened, he was afraid. He was afraid he would end up like the dead rabbit, that we buried under that tree.
I always thought I could understand Elliot better than anyone else, and I was right. He'd called me one night, his voice trembled. She was dead, I soon learnt. Overdosed on cocaine in a puddle of what seemed to be her own vomit, she was dead. I was in shock, but I could take it all in, the way her top seemed slightly torn, the button of her jeans popped. I even noticed the light bruises on her arms, like she'd tried to fight, but lacked the strength, or the coordination. At that very moment I couldn't tell what frightened me more, the fact that the only person I loved was dead or the only person to ever show me love killed her.
We worked in silence. We carried her out the back door into the woods that lied behind. He led the way and I followed, much like I had so many times since I first knew him. We dug a hole with the shovel I had carried, nice and deep so that no one could ever find her. Just as we got deep enough we saw the semi decomposed carcass of the rabbit we had once buried. He had been right all along, he did end up like the rabbit, dead.
I guess I did love him, I knew him too well not to. I saw the guilt in his dead eyes and I knew he wanted me to do it. Elliot did a lot for me through the course of the time I had known him. So I decided to return the favour. I fulfilled the fate he prophesied for himself.
Elliot James disappeared on the third Sunday of last May, probably. That's what they all believed. The truth isn't so, however.
Elliot had been dead for quite a while. I just dug him a grave.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------