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Chapter 64: Purpose

'I wanna save you but I'm not God.
I wanna heal you but that's not my Job.
I wanna pick you up off the ground and lift you high.
I wanna save you but I'm not God...'
-SAMOHT

Time had passed...

Just a year's worth of memories and some change.

1101.

The last time he'd seen those numbers, Laive accepted an over due apology and cut him off. Not harshly or to a fault, but L managed a calculating scheme to ease away. Slowly replying to texts, missing every few phone calls...Eventually it lead to Laive only speaking when they saw each other in the same space or vicinity. Rumor was she had moved out the building for good, onward to bigger and better things. Babygirl even gave neighbors a few parting gifts for good energy and naturally filtered air. Even informed one that she was too scared to ruin all the plant's goodness in transport.

Genuine.

His palm lie flat on the cherry oak door, hoping to rid feelings of a fool in similar predicaments. The road to redemption and apologies lasted an eternity, and Laive moved like whatever he'd said, she'd forgiven him. But it just wasn't the same. L was warm in bypassing. Cordial, lighthearted, and social. But when people weren't around, she didn't force efforts in making him a priority. Laive moved differently, almost like he never existed without a crowd around.

And he'd made this journey before, for almost three months now. There was a small hope that Laive could muster up enough courage to see him face to face. 2 months of disruptive knocks combined with 3 weeks of sheer determination, Mrs. Johnson told that Laive moved and left a lovely pot of gardenias.

"Peculiar but a lovely girl that one is. Not very social, but lovely nonetheless."

Mrs. Johnson's thick British accent was soft in volume yet full of tenderness. It matched the many years of wisdom streaked along her silver and white tresses. Laive would've compliment her regal bun and hypothesize theory of it being styled in decades of stories to share. However, today was different. He noticed Laive's features immediately on the elevator. With a hoodie on and face flushed, her black shades hid tears only a broken spirit would know.

"Laive..." The familiar figure picked up her chin and exposed a reddened face in response. It was. "Laive!" He reached in between to stop the elevator door, but was too late. Each door slammed shut quickly  moving up to the next set of floors.

Her face fuller. Her hair...curly.

That was Laive.

It just had to be.

"Was she here?" The young man asked.

Mrs. Johnson was too caught up reminiscing on the night she first met her husband. Absentmindedly rambling how he swooned her after a Midsummers Night Dream Play at the alley theatre. Said he'd shown back up on the door step after halfway making it home because he couldn't leave without a good night's kiss.

His heart ached, "Mrs. Johnson, was she here?"

"Was who here darling?"

"Laive, your old neighbor. Was she here? Is she home?"

"I haven't seen anyone all night, until you yourself showed up. Making those terrible noises in the middle of morning."