Newspaper Clippings 5/? (Orlijah eventually) PG-13

[awritinglilypea]

Fandom: Lotrips
Pairing: Orlijah eventually, Viggo/Bean
Rating: PG-13
Complete: Only in my head.
Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort, romance.
Chapter Summary:Elijah can't stop himself when he needs to stop and it's up to Orlando to pick up the pieces.
Author's Note: This is the hardest of anything I've ever had to write. A lot of people don't realize that those with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder aren't just anal retentive, they CAN'T stop themselves some of the time. Hopefully this will give people a better understanding of what it is like.

Thank you sparkly_shiny. You're still awesome, and an amazing friend. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this fic, with such kind and encouraging words. I can hardly believe how nice and wonderful everyone in this fandom is.

Previous Chapters



Dom left a half hour after Orlando, and Elijah found himself at a momentary loss, the silence of the apartment seeming almost oppressive, heavy now that the two liveliest people he’d ever met weren’t there.

Panic unfurled within him, curling into his veins, into his very being, and he could feel his breathing speed up as he stood in the doorway to his room and saw how dirty it looked.

It needed to be cleaned.

“Resist Elijah, resist,” he murmured to himself, remembering his psychiatrist’s recommendation that he try to calm himself down instead of giving in immediately to the compulsion.

There was still a smudge on the wall.

“Calm, deep breaths,” he murmured, closing his eyes so that he couldn’t see the smudge. It was childish, he knew, but he was now of the mentality that if he couldn’t see something it wasn’t real or didn’t exist. It just seemed like the right way to go.

Rocking on his heels, Elijah hurried for the kitchen, scrounging under the sink with an almost mad pace. He pulled out his cleaning supplies, all neatly arranged in a rectangular container with a handle, and hurried back to his room, almost at a run.

“It’s so dirty,” he muttered, his tone filled with complete disgust. He began scrubbing first at the smudge on the wall, running the scouring pad over it repeatedly until it was gone.

It wasn’t enough. The smudge was gone, but the floor still seemed to be dirty. He wondered when the last time was someone had decided to get down on their hands and knees and really go at it, and since Orlando wasn’t home, he decided to do so.

Searching through his small container of tools, Elijah found the hardwood cleaner that had been recommended to him and got down onto his hands and knees, putting some on a brush; he started in the corner closest to the window.

The grit in the edges along the wall took a while, and soon he was going at it with a toothbrush, feeling as though his skin was crawling as he did so.

It was so dirty. The room would never look clean if he didn’t get rid of it.

He stood up, an hour or so later, he didn’t know. His back ached and his muscles burned and the floor looked better, but now it was dull.

Elijah frowned, tears burning in his eyes as he looked down at it and let out a soft whimpering sound.

His room needed to be perfect.

Wax! The answer came to him quickly and he smiled brightly as he remembered seeing some in the cupboard. Rushing to get it, he read the instructions and mixed it all carefully, grabbing the special brush which had been labeled with his label maker before returning to the room.

Lowering himself back to his knees in the corner furthest from the door, Elijah began applying the wax, humming softly as he did so. It was going to look good, wonderful and he knew that it would make him feel more at peace in his new space.

When he’d finished, a half hour later, Elijah stood outside his door looking down at the floor, which had a definite sheen to it, and it looked so clean.

His old bed frame suddenly looked dirty and he found himself frowning, wondering when the last time was he’d had it re-stained.

Elijah frowned, glancing at his dresser and then his end tables, rocking slightly on his heels again.

The wax would take a whole hour or to set.

He needed them cleaned now, ready to be re-stained and wondered if there was anywhere he would be able to find stain at that time of night.

But if he stained it again, then he would have to wait. He didn’t want to have to wait to go to bed; he needed to be in bed by 11:30 exactly.

There was a knock on the door and Elijah whirled around, hurrying over. He opened it, shocked for some reason to find Orlando standing there, two bags with him, one on each shoulder.

“Elijah?” Orlando said his name as though it was a question. “Are you okay?”

Concern? Orlando was concerned? Why?

“Yes, why?” Elijah responded, puzzled by the question.

Of course he was okay, by the end of tomorrow his room would look perfect.

The perfect peaceful place where he could go whenever anything began bothering him.

Just the thought made him smile.

“Your hands, Elijah,” Orlando spoke the words slowly, setting his bags down very carefully by the door and reaching out.

Elijah shook his head, back-peddling. “Don’t put your bags there please,” he blurted out the words. “The shoes go there, and if something is on the shoes it will get on your bags and it could get on the floor in your room.”

Orlando nodded, shooting him a small smile. He picked up his bags and toed off his shoes, lining them up along the wall just like Elijah’s were. “Is that okay?” he asked. “I will take my bags up to my room and then I want to look at your hands, alright?”

“Yes, that’s okay,” Elijah looked down at his hands, turning them palm up. Pain suddenly flooded him.

The skin was worn away, paper thin in places from the last time he’d gone into a cleansing haze. Crimson wounds, which would become scabs, marred the soft white skin on his hands, irritated further by the wax which clung to portions of his fingers.

“Oh no,” Elijah moaned in despair, resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands.

He had been doing so well. It had been a month since he had hurt himself in this way.

Elijah barely noticed when Orlando came over to him, rested a hand gently on his back, and led him to the kitchen, lost in his own mind for the moment.

“Can you get up on the stool?” Orlando asked him. “Or do you need my help?”

Elijah moved, trying to get up on his own, but he was used to gripping the countertop of the island to do so.

“Elijah, why don’t we sit at the breakfast table to do this instead? It might be more comfortable,” Orlando suggested, one finger tilting Elijah’s chin up in order to get the younger man to look into his eyes.

Nodding, Elijah shuffled over to the breakfast table and managed to pull out the chair at the head of the table with his foot before sitting. He held his hands out, palms spread shoulder width apart, thoughts rushing through his head at a dizzying pace.

He was angry.

Elijah was angry because he couldn’t resist it.

He felt helpless, because it felt so good to accomplish something that he hadn’t wanted to resist it in the first place.

Shame coursed through him because sometimes it was easier to live this way than try to fight his way out of it.

Orlando would leave, he knew. All of his friends except for Dom had left him, one right after the other because as they put it, they “couldn’t live up to his standards” and who could?

He opened his eyes after a moment, surprised to find Orlando sitting diagonal from him, supplies already on the table for caring for him.

“Why?” Elijah’s voice came out as a croak.

Gloved hands lowered Elijah’s into a soapy water filled bucket, and long fingers began gently removing the wax from his fingertips, careful to not hurt the lesions on his hands anymore than was necessary.

“Why what?” Orlando’s voice was soft, a lock of curly hair tumbling onto his forehead as he bent over Elijah’s hands, studying them.

Elijah cleared his throat, “Why are you being so nice? Is it because you want to study me?”

Orlando’s lips curved into a smile and Elijah found himself slightly enchanted. “No, no. I finished my thesis already; it’s all about work experiences and my general electives now.”

Nodding, Elijah believed him, there was simply something so open and honest about Orlando that he couldn’t help but do so. “Then why?”

“When I was seventeen I hit rock bottom,” Orlando responded in an easy tone of voice, although a flicker of his eyes indicated it was something that still bothered them. “There was someone, well, two people who helped me put my life back together.”

“So you’re paying it forward?” Elijah asked, his brows crinkling in confusion as Orlando gently patted his hands dry and then went to refill the bowl with fresh, cool water. He couldn’t help but sigh in relief as his hands were lowered into the cool water, the sting fading away slightly as Orlando made sure there was no soap or wax left.

Orlando shook his head, glancing up at him as he changed his gloves. “No,” he answered simply.

Elijah went quiet, trying to figure out what game Orlando was playing, or if he was even playing one. He seemed genuine. After all, who would share something so personal with someone they weren’t intent on trusting?

He watched as Orlando patted his hands dry again and then carefully cleaned them with antiseptic wipes, and then applying Polysporin before wrapping his hands carefully in a mixture of bandages and gauze pads.

“How long has it been since you had a bad haze?” Orlando asked him gently touching his wrist before he put everything back and tossed out the gloves.

“Two months,” Elijah responded, shrugging his shoulders he looked at his hands and frowned. He wouldn’t be able to write like this, and was glad his classes didn’t start for another two weeks.

Orlando nodded his head, “Would you like to watch a movie?”

Elijah thought for a moment, and then nodded with a small smile. “I would.”

“What would you like to watch then?” Orlando questioned, tilting his head to the side and studying him.

“The Princess Bride,” Elijah answered, smiling shyly.

Orlando grinned, “What side of the couch do you like to sit on?”

“The left,” Elijah told him, already getting up and making his way over to the couch.

Orlando followed him, “Perfect. I prefer the right, now is it in the cabinet?”

Elijah nodded, watching as Orlando opened the cabinet and pulled it out, putting it in the DVD player before he sat down next to him.

“You’ll have to turn it on and all that,” Elijah held up his hands in explanation.

“Oh...sorry,” Orlando wrinkled his nose and picked up the remotes, figuring it out after a few moments. He pressed play and leaned back, getting comfortable.

Elijah smiled to himself, tilting his head back against the cushion. He felt relaxed. His furniture could wait.

“And Elijah?” Orlando waited until he looked over at him. “I just want to be your friend.”

Elijah bit his bottom lip, feeling happy. He glanced briefly at Orlando and then back to the screen.

The angel wanted to be his friend.

Comments

[jovi-diva.livejournal.com]

Awww! The sweetness is epic.

Orlando taking care of Elijah is total love.

“And Elijah?” Orlando waited until he looked over at him. “I just want to be your friend.”

Elijah bit his bottom lip, feeling happy. He glanced briefly at Orlando and then back to the screen.

The angel wanted to be his friend.

So, so sweet! I think I have a toothache!!

[awritinglilypea.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much. This chapter was very important to me, and as such important that people liked it.

[sparkly-shiny.livejournal.com]

I really enjoy reading the way you write Elijah. He seems to be a little bit suspicious of Orlando, and I think it's understandable. This chapter, in my opinion, showed the struggle Elijah was feeling. He really wanted to make sure everything was perfect because I think he was afraid of what Orlando would think. Even though it's still early, Elijah seems to feel a connection with Orlando and I can't wait to see how this develops.

Great job, sweetie. You really did a great job showing Elijah's fragility.

[awritinglilypea.livejournal.com]

Thanks. He is suspicious of Orlando, that much is true, especially what he could represent in Elijah's life.