Two Pieces of a Puzzle ✔

Chapter Three

ELIOTT

"Should I see a therapist?" I asked Toby. 

He looked up with eyebrows raised out of concern before pushing his laptop screen down and setting it aside, "What do you mean?"

"To forget about him," I admitted with a sigh, picking at my cuticles absentmindedly. 

"Wouldn't it be too much for you?" 

"It would. As of now, yes."

"Then go for it when you're ready, don't force yourself."

"But isn't that what you wanted me to do?"

"Well," he began, scratching the back of his neck. "Yes, but I might've been too harsh on you."

I said nothing, he continued.

"Hey, at least you thought about it; and that's enough. For now, at least."

Once again, I said nothing. 

I didn't look up either when he got up after a moment's silence and took his seat beside me on the couch. 

"What are you thinking about?"

"Penny."

"Huh?"

"Ever heard of the saying 'penny for your thoughts'? If you wanna know, pay up."

That made him smile. I didn't have to look, I just knew it did. I could tell from the little huff of air he let out.

"That's the first joke you've cracked in months."

That's why he was smiling. It wasn't because the joke was funny or anything; it was only because I was showing signs of being alright again.

 But no matter how many signs I'd show, I'd never truly be okay. 

I inhaled shakily, "I opened the box."

He didn't answer. 

"I know I told you I wouldn't, but I panicked last night after a dream I had."

I thought he'd tell me off, or be disappointed at least - but he simply placed his hand onto my back and gave me a gentle pat, "It's okay. What was in it?"

"A letter."

"Did you read it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Didn't want to do it without you there."

He smiled again. He had a pretty smile, and seeing him smile made me smile a little as well, but nothing would ever compare to his smile. 

Why did saying his name hurt so much? 

I pulled the letter out of my pocket and unfolded it before placing it face down onto my lap.

"Before that, can you tell me what you meant when you said I'm existing rather than living?"

"Give me a second to think about how I can word it properly."

I nodded.

He snapped his finger after a minute or two of complete silence, "I'll tell you with an experience of mine."

I shifted in my position and turned to face him. 

"I read how Oscar Wilde had said 'to live is the rarest thing in the world - most people just exist, that's all', and I spent a lot of time thinking 'bout it. Never really understood what the man meant by it, til I lost my mom to cancer a few years ago."

I wanted to tell him I was sorry. I wanted to place my hand on his shoulder at least to comfort him, but I couldn't bring myself to. Something was holding me back - the same something that had held me back that day when I saw him about to leave. 

"I stopped doing the things I'd usually do, y'know? Going out with friends, playing the drums, all that. Just stopped. Then, one day, I met you and the rest of the boys, and you guys taught me to live again. Seeing all of you so happy and vibrant reminded me of how I used to be."

He paused before continuing, "It hurt me knowing that I let myself slip away so easily when I could've achieved anything in the world in those few years I gave away. That's why I want you to live, Eliott. It sucks seeing you waste away like this - it sucks even more knowing that I can't do anything about it. All I can do for now is ask, beg, you to live. Live, Eliott. Even if you're living for someone else, just live."

Even if you're living for someone else, just live.

I gave him a smile, "Thanks. Think I'm ready to read it now."

"Do you want me to do it for you?"

"No, I think I'll be good."

I turned it over. 

There was only one sentence scribbled onto the paper in that messy, almost illegible handwriting of his that I had almost forgotten.

This reminded me back of when we used to exchange letters back and forth. I would spend hours on end struggling to read just one word because of how horrible his handwriting was. But, with time, I got better; and even adapted his handwriting to the point where the both of us were just writing in any language but English. 

"Can't seem to make any sense of it," Toby commented.

I finally exhaled and peered down at the paper. 

I read it in one go.

You promised me that you'd find me wherever I am, and I hope, no, I know you'll keep your promise. 

I read the letter out for Toby, my heart beginning to feel that all too familiar ache. 

It ached to the point where it didn't ache anymore - or maybe I just stopped caring.

Why can't I stop caring about him as well then if he was the reason behind this ache?

"He wants you to find him?"

And then it all clicked like a little switch at the back of my mind, lighting up a bulb above my head. 

"He wants me to find him," I repeated. 

And find him I will.