Two Pieces of a Puzzle ✔

Chapter Thirteen

ELIOTT

I couldn't bring myself to look away from the mirror. I could barely recognize myself. This was the first time I had dressed up in ten years.

And it was all because it was finally 'Next Saturday'.

I'd decided on taking Toby's car to the place we had arranged to meet. I could barely contain my excitement at the thought of finally seeing him again after it having been so long.

Was I nervous? Definitely.

Was I excited? Definitely.

Was I scared? More than I should have been.

I didn't know what I was so scared about, I was just scared - and the panging sensation my heart was burdened to experience the entire ride there was enough evidence. My own heart was swallowing me entirely, inch by inch, and there was nothing I could do about. 

Or.. I didn't want to do anything about it. 

I pushed all these unnecessary thoughts to the furthest corner of my mind and continued with my journey - and when I finally got to the coffee shop, I took my seat in the far end of the room after having taken a menu-sheet. 

With a quick glance at my wristwatch, I realized it was half past seven in the evening. 

He was late and so was I. 

Had he already arrived and left thinking I wouldn't show?

I began fiddling with my fingers and picking at my cuticles nervously. 

Picking at my cuticles was a habit I had picked up after the death of my parents a few years prior. It did hurt, having to attend their funeral and seeing two lifeless vessels of what once used to be the people I loved with my entire being. 

It hurt even more having to give a speech without breaking down - though I was sure with just another glance at their mannequin-like body, I would burst out in tears. 

And so I didn't look at them.

I only glanced at them once.

I couldn't bring myself to take a good look, and so I didn't cry. The realization that they were truly gone didn't even hit me till a couple days later after which I broke down in the middle of the living room. 

I remember the first few days after their funeral as if it were a movie I had watched a hundred times. I had gotten home, taken a nice shower, sent my parents a text telling them how much I loved them and fallen asleep.

The next morning I wondered why they hadn't responded to my text, and so I asked a family friend if they were alright.

"Eliott, they're dead. You were there at their funeral," they had said.

"Don't be silly," was my response as I waved my hand at them with a grin of disbelief. "They're fine. They're probably just busy."

That was what made them snap. They grabbed me by my shoulders and shook me with such intensity, I was sure I would fall unconscious, "Eliott. Listen to me. Your parents are dead. They're gone. They're no longer here."

"You're crazy," was all I had responded with before walking all the way back home. And that was when reality truly hit me like a baseball travelling a thousand metres per second, and though it didn't leave a physical scar on me like a baseball would have, it did scar me mentally - more than I thought it would have. 

And still, at present, I couldn't say confidently that I was over it. 

I regretted not having looked at their face that day, but I knew I had done myself a favour. 

I pressed my palm against my forehead at the recollection of said memory and squeezed my eyes shut in an attempt to forget. 

Forget. 

What I had been trying to do for so long. 

Why could I never forget? What was so difficult about it?

Was it because these memories had produced tools of their own and drilled themselves into each wrinkle in my brain so I would never forget? So I would lay awake at night thinking about everything wrong I had done? So I would attempt to force myself to sleep before eventually giving up and blaming myself for being such a failure?

I glanced at my wristwatch once again. 

Twenty minutes had passed. 

I was just about ready to get up and leave when I noticed he hadn't sent me a text either - when the smell hit me. 

That smell of caramel mixed with coffee. 

The same smell I would get so overwhelmed by every single time him and I embraced. The smell I would get high off of whilst running my slender fingers through his dark locks in an attempt to silence his sobs. The smell that kept me so attached to everything that had taken place ten years ago.

I looked up. 

And those dark eyes were looking right back at me.