Albatross

Chapter 01: The Things We Lose

"Have you been sleeping well?"

That was the first thing Dr. Holt asked him. She asked him that every time they talked and it was always met with the same answer.

"Yes," Elliot said in his usual tone of disinterest. Dr. Holt didn't seem convinced. "I always sleep well," he added, and it was true enough. It wasn't his fault that he never got much rest from it.

Dr. Holt wrote something in the notepad she always kept at her side and Elliot knew she wasn't satisfied with his answer. She rarely was, just like she rarely liked anything Elliot said. He knew she disliked the way he chose to call her Dr. Holt, for example.

She'd told him back in their first session to call her Clara, but Elliot had ignored her and called her "Dr. Holt". That was what was written on her office door and that was what he would call her. Besides, he wasn't looking to make friends, especially not with his therapist—a therapist that he'd been forced to consult in the first place.

If he hadn't been aware that his sister had made him seek out professional help to settle his issues out of pure concern, he would have been upset. As it was, he just wished people would give up on trying to help him, no matter how well-meaning their attempts were. Elliot didn't need help. He just wanted to get the day over with.

He just wanted to sleep.

The scratching of Dr. Holt's pen on the paper was the only sound apart from the ticking of the clock on the wall and the steady beat of rain on the windows. They reminded him of what it had been like to wake up that morning, alone.

Elliot never enjoyed waking up. He was always alone—always. It took a toll on his mind, on his life, and it hurt. It hurt more than ever that morning.

"What are your plans for today?" Dr. Holt asked. Elliot knew why she was asking. He knew she'd remembered and he wondered if she'd written it down in that notepad she kept so close to her.

"Nothing in particular," he said. "I'm sure my sister will call later." She'd offer her sympathies and try to get his mind off the date. Off of what happened just a year earlier.

"Maybe you should go out for a while. Get some fresh air. Maybe have lunch with Beth instead of just talking with her on the phone," Dr. Holt suggested. Elliot knew what she really wanted to suggest. Go visit his grave and remind yourself he's gone. She probably thought that would end his so-called problems.

Elliot had seen Allan's grave only two times. Once at the funeral, when he'd cried quietly under a sunny sky and left flowers that seemed like too small an offering. The second time had been on Allan's birthday when he'd stood before the shiny black marble—dry-eyed and tired—and wondered what he should say.

The thing was, there wasn't anything he wanted to say. Not to an empty grave, at least.

Allan had died suddenly and hadn't left a body behind. He was gone, all of him, wiped completely from the world. Elliot saw no use in talking to cold stone and an empty coffin. It wouldn't comfort him and it wouldn't let Allan know the things he needed to know. The things Elliot wished he'd said a long time ago.

He didn't tell that to Dr. Holt, though. "I don't think it's a good idea with this weather," he said instead. Dr. Holt tried to hide her frown.

She always tried to look happy and professional, with soft smiles on her face that didn't always reach her brown eyes. Idly, he thought she was a pretty woman. Clara Holt was a bit short, and maybe her waist was a bit too wide and her chest too small according to most men's taste, but Elliot still thought she was good-looking. Her face was a bit rounded, kind and with a small button nose. She kept her hair short, the ends just brushing her jawline, dark brown strands that seemed closer to black.

It was a shame she had such a flat personality. Though in retrospect, it might have just been the fact that she was his therapist that made him think that. All she ever did was ask him questions—questions he wished she wouldn't bring up.

Elliot still did his best to not feel so irritated with her. She was only doing her job, after all. It was still difficult.

"Have you thought of Allan today?" she asked, as if trying to prove Elliot's point. He nearly laughed at the question.

Always, he wanted to say. "When I looked at the calendar," he said instead.

"What did you think about?" Dr. Holt went on.

"That you would ask me if I planned to visit his grave," Elliot answered honestly, for once. Dr. Holt couldn't hide her frown then.

"I didn't ask you that," she said.

"You asked what my plans were," he told her. "You wanted to hear that I would go." Dr. Holt said nothing for a moment. She didn't even bother to write anything on her notepad.

"It's been a year since he died," Elliot went on. "I've done my share of crying. I've mourned. I don't need to see a headstone to remember that he isn't coming back." He just had to look at the empty space next to him on the bed.

"Elliot," Dr. Holt began, in a tone that told him he wouldn't like what she was about to say, "It isn't about you remembering, it's about accepting it."

Elliot sighed tiredly. "I think I accepted it a long time ago," he said. "It doesn't mean I'll be any less upset about it."

"That's okay," Dr. Holt said in her most understanding tone.

"Then why am I here?" Elliot asked calmly. After all, that was why he was there.

He was depressed, his family said, he needed help. So they got him help. It didn't mean he agreed with them, but at the time the idea was presented to him, he thought it would get them off his back. That had been months ago and he still had to sit in front of Dr. Holt while she pretended to understand him.

By the time he walked out of her office that day, she still didn't understand him. Not in the least.

He hurried to his car, the rain beating against his back, slipping down his neck and sending chills down his spine. It was just a short walk from the building his therapist worked in, but his hair was plastered to his forehead and his skin was paler than usual from the cold by the time he reached the vehicle. Elliot sighed as he sat in his car and closed the door, muffling the sound of the traffic he would be caught in the midst of just a few moments later.

A dull, throbbing pain was growing inside his head, spreading and telling him he shouldn't have shown up to the session. But he knew he had to, that Dr. Holt and his sister and everyone else who told him to keep going were only trying to help. Besides, it was bound to be a bad day, no matter what. He still shouldn't have gotten so angry. Dr. Holt was just doing her job.

It was still a relief to be on his own and the drive home gave him time to calm down—to think. Like Dr. Holt had said, Beth would call him later. She would probably ask him over for dinner and try to make him forget about Allan for a day. Not that it would work, and when it didn't Beth would just look at him with a sad, pitying look and send him home.

He loved his sister, but she didn't understand, no one really did. Elliot didn't need help, and he wouldn't forget about Allan, no matter what they told him. Allan was dead, and he had made his peace with that, but it still hurt.

Elliot drove home beneath a gray sky. He tried not to think about what Beth would tell him when she called.