THE ARISTOCRATS #1

00:28

ELIJAH:

Elijah saw red.

After an incident involving a knife and two bloodied school peers, his mother had forced him to attend therapy sessions at the age of 7 to deal with his anger issues. He attended all the way till he was around 14 years old and was able to effectively apply the techniques his therapist had taught him. He rarely ever snapped anymore, except for the few times during the announcement of his parents divorce.

He tried to suppress it as best as he could, but he could feel it brewing and simmering under his skin as he sped through the streets of London. It was a living thing that resided inside of him, slithering between his bones and through his veins. He needed to distract himself, focusing on his anger often heightened his fury and caused him to completely blow up.

He turned his head to Ronan.

Ronan sat in the passenger seat, his right leg jiggling anxiously while he stared out the window. His left hand tapped the knee of his prosthetic leg, making a metallic, rhythmic beat.

This wasn't working.

The number on his speedometer was steadily climbing, just like his heart rate and his breathing. His head felt cloudy, like he was about to pass out. He knew he was spiraling into another episode, but the only thing he could think of was the sound of Clementine crying on the phone.

His breathing hitched.

Ronan turned his head to him, staring at his face. He knew what was going on. He always knew.

"Don't do this," he said tensely. "You're gonna make things worse for yourself."

His grip tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He didn't reply, couldn't focus on much else other than the blood rush in through his ears.

"I'm fucking' serious, Elijah."

"Don't fucking talk-Just shut the fuck up," Elijah grit his teeth.

"Dude, she just got fucking assaulted, you think she needs some other man-hulk screaming and freaking out around her?"

Assaulted.

His ear began ringing.

"Shut the fuck up, Ronan," he snarled. "I'm not going to be screaming around her or anyone."

"You look like you're about to."

"Yeah, well I look like a lot of things, Ronan," he focused on the road. "You look like you're seconds away from getting fucked up."

"Remember last time you had an episode?" Ronan kept going. "You woke up crying about how you hated yourself."

Elijah slammed his hands against the steering wheel, his anger turning his blood hot and thick.

"Do you not know how to fucking listen?" Elijah cocked his head. "I must be speaking in a different language."

"You're such a dick," Ronan huffed.

Elijah knew he was being terrible, but the anger had clouded his mind so thoroughly he wasn't even aware of what he was saying or who he was speaking to.