*trigger warning: for those uncomfortable with mxb sex or the suggestion of rape, a summarized version of the chapter will be in my author’s note at the end. stay safe, lovelies

5 years earlier

My hand came down shakily on the wooden door--nervous, despite the fact that I really had no reason to be. It had always just been that way when I visited Elijah's house. As if the worn and weathered paneling along the walls or the overgrown daisies outside their doorsteps were cause to give me unease. My stomach tightened as I waited outside, clutching my messenger bag in clenched hands.

The seconds seemed drawn out as I waited for Elijah's soft footsteps. It was foolish of me to listen for her, though; she always treaded so lightly and carefully and quietly wherever she walked, it was as if she was already a memory. When heavy footfalls reached my ears instead, I immediately shrunk back, away from the door. I knew it wasn't Elijah before the door even swung open.

Elijah's father looked down on me with glassy, unfocused eyes. Other than the bright green of his irises, he and Elijah shared nothing in common. Whereas her expression was always filled with warmth and kindness, her dad greeted everyone with a gruff, iron exterior. He was attractive, for an older gentleman, and had sharp features that seemed threatening in the shadows of dusk. Even from where I stood, the stench of alcohol rolled off of him in waves.

"H-Hello Mr. Burton," I greeted, keeping my voice level and calm. I smiled in the most relaxed way I knew how, despite the tension in my shoulders. "Is Elijah home?"

"She's not," he replied, leaning in the doorway.

"Do you know when she'll be home?"

"No."

"Oh. We uh--we were supposed to hang out..." I cringed at the weakness in my voice.

Mr. Burton leveled me with a long, bored gaze. His eyes flicked up and down along my body, obviously judging the way I had chosen to dress myself. My hands tightened automatically around my bag, and his eyes rose to meet mine again.

I bit my lip. Mr. Burton hadn't replied and as we stood there staring quietly as each other, the awkwardness of the situation seemed to drawn in. After a brief silence, Mr. Burton gestured inside to his house. "Are you planning on loittering on my front stoop while you wait for her, kid? Or do you wanna come inside?"

"Um..." No, I wanted to scream. No, I don't want to come in with you. Why the hell would I want to be in the same room, alone, with an abusive father? My body tensed and braced to flee.

Mr. Burton, oblivious to my discomfort, seemed then to give me a sultry look. He blinked, and the expression melted from his face--but I had seen it, and I unwillingly shifted uncomfortably. He stepped aside, giving me the option of entering, but one look into his eyes and I scurried into the home as if he made the decision for me. His arm came up and rested on my lower back as he guided me inside.

"I've been meaning to talk to you, Thomas," Mr. Burton said. He pushed me in the direction of the couch and I sat, albeit reluctantly. It was hard to ignore the mess that was strewn along the apartment--something I knew was not Elijah's doing. Empty take-out containers and stale beer bottles littered every flat surface in the area, along with the putrid stench of old alcohol.

"About what?" I asked. Without replying, he disappeared into the kitchen and returned moments later with two beers in hand. I restrained myself from raising an eyebrow as he approached. He offered one of the cans to me and I accepted so as not to seem rude. It was only one beer, afterall.

He sat down across from me on a small, leather ottoman. His gaze was piercing, and I restrained the urge to squirm. Instead I busied myself by sipping quietly at the alcohol in my hand, avoiding his gaze. We sat in silence--since Mr. Burton seemed incapable of continuing the conversation-- and fuck it was awkward, but I had no idea what to say. What can I say to my best friend's abusive dad? Hey, you look nice today, you motherfucker? Elijah's dad made no move to ask me anything either, despite what he had suggested moments before.

I glanced at the clock. Ten minutes we sat in awkward silence and I could only hide my cringing behind the metallic taste of beer. I finished it sooner than expected, and when Mr. Burton noticed, he immediately rose from the couch to retrieve me another.

"No thanks, sir," I said, as he held the can out to me. "I--I'm driving Elijah and I to--to..."

I trailed off when he gave me a pointed glare. I shrunk, feeling small, like a kid almost. A scared kid. I had every reason to be afraid of this man. An image of a bruised and terrified Elijah flashed behind my eye, and I accepted the can immediately. I couldn't explain why I obeyed except for the fact that he had this look, a glare in his eye that had me keeling in front of him. After all, if he hurt his own kid, why would he hesitate in hurting me?

I reluctantly sipped at the beer, albeit slower than before. Mr. Burton sat beside me this time, which I found odd considering the couch I sat on wasn't very big to begin with. He reached for a remote and turned on a small, grimy television to fill the silence.

I glanced at the clock again, already feeling a bit lightheaded. I didn't drink often, so when I did I got tipsy fairly quickly. The room wasn't swirling yet, but I feared that if I drank anymore than two cans, I'd lose more control over myself than I wanted to.

But Mr. Burton didn't talk, and neither did I, and before I knew it I had finished my second can of beer. My thoughts were sluggish--slow, but thankfully still mine. I tried to hide the fact that I had finished but Mr. Burton must have had a sixth sense for that kind of thing, because he was up and handing me another in a matter of moments.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Burton, I--" I tried to decline, but he shook his head and sat down beside me. He placed a hand on my knee and shoved the beer into my hand, effectively cutting me off as he said--

"--Eli."

"What?"

"Call me Eli, Thomas. We've known each other long enough, I think."

His hand tightened on my knee then relaxed. I glanced down at it for a second before his words dawned on me and my gaze immediately rose to his again. My mind was whirling.

"Eli as in..."

"Elijah, yes. My dead wife named my daughter after me."

His words, blunt and harsh, proved to be the perfect distraction for him as I didn't even notice when his hand moved to rest a bit higher on my leg. I ignored the movement altogether as my sluggish thoughts fought to keep up with the pace of our conversation. I'd never known Mr. Burton was named Elijah too--and I had a feeling I wasn't supposed to know either. Elijah--my best friend--must not have liked talking about it, I suppose. Maybe she was embarrassed. Maybe she was disgusted.

"Oh," was all I could manage.

"Yeah," was all he answered, and his voice lowered and he seemed to be closer than I remembered him being last time because now the smell of his breath was pungent in my nose, inches away.

My heart was pumping too much blood suddenly and I could hear it roaring in my ears because when I glanced down I saw Mr. Burton--Eli's hand still moving up along my leg. Slow and tantalizing and my skin was crawling but-to my utter disgust-my body was craving. I cleared my throat and moved away because it wasn't right--it absolutely, certainly, completely wasn't right, and still I found my eyes flicking towards the door, just to make sure my best friend had not come through.

Eli Burton seemed unbothered by the situation. As if nothing had happened he leaned back into the couch, his shoulder just barely brushing mine. I was tense, too tense, and without thinking I opened the beer and chased the fear gripping my chest down with gulp after gulp of the bitter liquid. And when Mr. Burton offered me another, I didn't decline. I took it with shaking hands and threw it back just as quickly--now four beers deep and slowly losing control.

The effect of the alcohol was noticeable. With every sip I relaxed more and more until I was draped over the couch lazily, smiling dumbly. More than an hour had passed since I had entered the house and Mr. Burton kept staring at me even when I told him to stop, but he was drunk too and would smile back at me--and I'd forget about my complaints because I couldn't remember if I'd ever seen this man smile before. I was smashed so I would giggle and sing his name--Elijah, Elijah, Elijah--and he would correct me--it's Eli, baby--and I'd smile again and miss the huskiness of his tone because I had daddy issues and I liked the small term of endearment.

But five, six--fuck, eight?--beers had settled in my stomach, and I was bordering on blacking out completely. So when Mr. Burton, with a cheshire grin, offered me yet another, I declined.

It caught him off guard, I could tell even from my drunken haze. His smile vanished so I frowned too, and I sat up a little bit more, tensing once again.

"Take a fucking beer, Thomas," Mr. Burton growled. I blinked but didn't move because I didn't recognize this as the same man I had just shared a few drinks with. He took the initiative by pushing it towards me roughly and with unsteady hands, so I wasn't exactly surprised as some of the alcohol sloshed up and out of the can. It spilled down the front of my jumper and I immediately stood up, not realizing how close it would put me in proximity to Eli.

My head immediately began spinning and I almost fell, if not for Eli's hands clamping firmly on my waist. I looked up, and he looked down, and before I could process it, he was kissing me.

I immediately pushed him away, sputtering and blushing furiously. No, no, no, that didn't just happen. My mind was spinning and I was seeing stars and Eli was towering over me with a leering smile that made my heart race. I couldn't decipher if my knees were shaking because of the kiss or because of how damn scared I suddenly was.

"Um--I can't--" I stumbled back and tripped. "I--"

My throat constricted and suddenly I wanted to cry, and the tears came quick but I blinked them away even faster. Needing the distraction I turned my back to Eli, peeling off my jumper to show only the thin white t-shirt beneath. It too was wet with alcohol.

Eli's hands were suddenly on my hip bones and I could feel his warm, towering form behind me. I felt like I was going to vomit and still my lips were tingling and I was still shaking and my head was still pounding. All I could do was watch as his hand moved slowly forward, across my stomach and to my chest. It stopped on the wet patch of alcohol and he leaned down to mutter, "Sorry about that, Thomas."

I didn't know if he was talking about the kiss or the alcohol stain, but I wasn't really focused on that anymore. My attention was focused down, where his hand was right over my chest, and I had the feeling that if he reached through my shirt he could pull out my racing heart. I stood, trembling, unable to find a reply. Everything I wanted to say was mashed together inside my brain, preventing any rational thoughts from escaping to my mouth.

Before I could react, his hands were at the bottom of my t-shirt, ripping it off in a brief flash of a second. "There," Eli said. "I like you much better without all those layers between us anyway."

And now I felt something clench at my vocal chords because even if I wanted to say something, I couldn't. His hands spun me around and I wanted to cry out, scream for help, but my mouth was locked closed. He locked me in his arms and I felt smaller than I ever had before; I couldn't meet his eyes, though I could feel it piercing into the back of my neck; I wanted to run, but my legs were frozen in place.

So I stood, shirtless, in Eli's arms, trembling like a leaf. It was only when he leaned down to whisper, "What I've been dying to tell you, Thomas..." that I found I could even breathe. He trailed off and let his left hand skim up my side. Despite myself, I shuddered.

"You've become quite an alluring young man."

His lips brushed my ear. He continued, "How dare you? Walk into my house all these years, looking like you do..."

I gulped as he sucked my earlobe into his mouth, "...looking so...innocent..."

My hands moved finally, but it wasn't to push him away. Instead, they rested on his thick biceps. "..delectable..."

My head tilted just the fraction of an inch, and Eli's lips attached to my pulse. He sucked and I gasped, hating myself.

"...sexy."

At this I sucked in a harsh breath. He smirked as he pulled away, then pushed me backwards until I landed on the couch.

And then I was pinned beneath him, my thin wrists clamped firmly in his much larger palms. In one slow, lazy movement, Mr. Burton grinded firmly down on me. I choked on a moan despite the conflict warring inside of me.

"You want me, kid," Eli whispered in my ear. His breath made me want to gag, but his words burned furious spells across my skin. "Your body wants me."

I was gasping for air, trying to reign in control. But I was drunk, and eighteen, and horny, and all I could think about was the fact that technically, this was all perfectly legal. Did I want this though? It was so hard to focus on anything else when Eli's hands had shifted from my wrists to my abdomen, and were now feeling their way across my chest. His fingers brushed my nipples, and I threw my head back with a runaway moan.

"I need to hear you say it," Mr. Burton muttered in a low, husky voice.

His lips settled at the base of my neck. Kissing feather-light, nibbling at the pasty skin. I swallowed roughly--debating, deliberating, hating myself for even considering--

His lips met mine again, fierce and domineering, and I whimpered. My body was on fire and despite the fact that this was Elijah's dad, I was burning in lust. I could feel my resolve crumbling as the fire licked at my skin, as his deft and skilled hands explored the crevices of my body, pinching, clawing, exposing. His lips left mine and I threw my head back with a groan.

He moved down, licking across my chest and down my stomach. He bit at the soft skin just under my bellybutton and my hips jerked up; he had found my weak spot.

"Yes," I moaned, louder than I intended. My fingers fisted in his hair.

"Please, Eli--" I cut myself off and threw my head back again as his fingers began working at my zipper, his motions rough and heated and passionate.

"--fuck me," I begged, and my voice broke in a soft moan.

If he had any hesitations--which I doubted he did--they dissolved quickly after that. He grinned slyly up at me and his eyes were cloudy and gone, long, long gone, and he pushed at the top of my jeans--pushing them down, down, down, as my heart jumped up to my throat. And then his fingers were burning all over into my skin and I didn't say no. I couldn't say no. His mouth was on me and all over me and I hated myself because for the life of me I couldn't understand why I was enjoying it. Because I was. I was enjoying myself while having sex with my best friend's abusive father.

When we finally finished, I scooped up my clothes and left. Thoughts of Elijah--my best friend, that is--drifted from my mind as I choked back tears, feeling repulsive, disgusting, dejected. I couldn't bear to face her though.

Not when I could barely face myself.

//

A/N

so there it is. you finally know what happened with elijah, or eli, technically.

summary: 5 years ago thomas went to elijah’s house but elijah wasn't there, so he was invited into the house by her father (who you may recall is an alcoholic and abusive). unable to say no, thomas enters and is then gotten so drunk by her dad, whose real name is also Elijah, or Eli for short, that he consents to sex with the older man. the whole scene borders on rape even though thomas consented, and he is disgusted with himself in the end

question: do you think this constitutes as rape? I'm actually quite curious to your opinion. On one hand, thomas did consent. But on the other, he was drunk and obviously reluctant

thanks for sticking around for this guys. ill be honest, this wasn't the original plan i had, but i think it explains why thomas is doing the bet a bit better.

until next time,

//sam\\