"How may I help you?" I asked the tall woman hovering over me.
"I have an appointment with Dr.Renolds at 12:30," she replied in a high pitched Italian accent.
I looked at my watch. 12:17. "Well, you are right on time," I smiled at her and started digging through my files to find her paperwork, "so where are you from?" I asked.
"Florence, Italy," she said, and I sucked in a sharp breath.
I didn't think I could take it any longer. Everything reminded me of him. Last week I broke down in front of my best friend, Cameron when he asked if I wanted to play clubby. He tried to comfort me but I just ran out of his apartment and found myself driving to Oldham. I pulled up in front of the old building, and ran up all of the stairs, ignoring all the familiar NO ACCESS ALLOWED signs. Once I got to the top, I broke down into uncontrollable sobs and slid down the wall. I cried and cried until I fell asleep. The next morning I woke up with puffy eyes and a massive headache. I was still sitting on the rooftop of the building, my back against the wall, hugging my knees to my chest. When I came back to my apartment, Tamara, Cameron, and-oh god- my parents, stood in front of my door.
My mom hugged me first, "Elliot, oh my god we were so worried," she sobbed.
"Cameron called us," my dad explained.
I glared at him. His eyes were guilty and sympathetic, "What was I supposed to do El? I couldn't find you anywhere."
Once I got rid of my parents and Cameron, Tamara insisted to stay.
"What happend?! Is this about Elliot?" Tamara blurted once I had closed the door to my apartment.
I hesitated, only confirming her prediction.
After a full investigation from Tamara, I finally got her to leave.
Now even the slightest reminder of him had me in tears. I swallowed the bile down and pulled out the woman's paperwork, "here," I said and handed her the papers.
As I was studying to become a neurosurgeon, I had a part time job at this doctor's office.
I walked into the break room and sat down, putting my head in my hands.
"Let me know when you think of something," his words on the day he told me he always kept his promises flashed through my head. It was ages ago, but was still fresh in my mind.
Just when he was about to leave to America, I told him, "I thought of something you could promise me. Promise me you'll come back one day," I said, wiping my tears away.
"Of course baby," he smiled.
After our second year of sixth form, Elliot got some brilliant opportunity in a college in America. The calls and texts from him slowly began to fade, and two years later, we barely spoke. Another year passed and I hadn't heard from him. How could he have moved on so fast, I thought of him every day. I finally decided to call his mobile, but got sent straight to voicemail. Worry setting in, I called Violet only to find that he is doing great and already has a paid internship and many great opportunities. Two days later he called me back, but I ignored the call. I couldn't handle it. He would just tell me how busy he had been and the truth was, I was afraid. I was afraid that he would tell me that he moved on, that him and I were over, and that he had a new life in America. I didn't need to hear it. I didn't want to hear it. Deep down, I knew it was true, but I didn't want to admit it. I dodged about 50 of his calls before they stopped completely.
Here I am, four years since he left, still obsessing over this dark haired boy who stole my heart and took it with him to fucking America.
I told myself that he would come back for me one day, and then I tried telling myself that I was over him, I told myself a lot of things, but a month ago something clicked, and hit me right in the gut. He really wasn't coming back, and I really wasn't over him.
