I'll Never Finish This Book

TWENTY-FOUR

January 23:

After dinner at Emily's, I placed his things in a box in front of my door. They were gone by the time I woke up the next morning. For the first few days, I was angry. The anger was nice; it helped me stop missing him. The anger also helped me write more. Once my hate-fueled streak wore off, I began missing him. That's when things started to hurt, a lot.

Getting out of bed, writing, or doing anything, for that matter, was difficult. I only got up to eat, and I only ate when I was moments away from passing out.

It was tough staying in the apartment because every inch of it was tainted by his memory. The couch told stories of all our pillow fights, lazy Sundays, and heartfelt conversations. The kitchen counter carried our late night snacks and breakfasts that may as well have been dinner. The bed...I couldn't sleep in bed anymore. Since he left, I only slept on the floor beside it.

It was hard going to places in the city that the two of us hadn't been to. Every space reminded me of him; the big city never seemed smaller.

That day, I left the apartment for the first time in a while to buy groceries. Walking into the corner store was unbearable. Every aisle I walked through played back one of our memories. Shopping used to be fun. Life used to be fun.

I was still buying groceries for the two of us. I opened the pantry to place the snacks, which I realized were his favorites. There was an old sticky note attached to the back of the pantry door that read:

I ate the last box of cookies

Like the snack boxes, I dropped to the floor with the note in my hand. I sobbed, longing to relive that day and all the days we had together. Things felt weird and empty without him. My lungs were constantly on the verge of collapsing; without him near, breathing was difficult. I just wanted to breathe freely again.

Once I had a taste of what living with him was like, I couldn't go back to living without him. Too often, I called out his name from the kitchen, asking if he wanted anything to eat. My words trailed off into nothingness. The absence felt sharp.

I dropped the crumpled note to the floor and picked up my phone instead. My chest tightened, and my thumb trembled over the keyboard. I sent the text and grimaced.

Come over, please.

I was unsure if he would show up until I heard the knock on the door. My body remained heavy on the floor. The door opened after some time.

Eli looked around the apartment until he found me. He rushed over to the kitchen and squatted in front of me.

"Hey, hey, hey, what's wrong?" he spoke with the same sincerity as before.

I couldn't bring myself to speak. I just wanted to stay in that moment with his undivided attention. It had been so long since he looked at me with that much compassion.

"Come on, let's get you up." My body remained limp as he lifted me up so I was standing in front of him. I balanced myself as best as I could. "What's wrong?" he asked.

I stared at him a little while longer before clearing my throat. "I didn't think you'd show considering how we left things."

His eyes hardened when he remembered we weren't on speaking terms. "Well yeah. Your text seemed serious." His voice was deeper. He only talked like that when he was formal. It reminded me that things weren't going to be the way they once were.

"I just wanna know why you lied about living with her," I asked breathlessly. I hated confrontation, but that was the only way we spoke anymore.

His shoulders dropped. "Why are you so upset by this?" he whined.