Sanity // s.m. [IN EDITING]

[27]

as your loving author, i sincerely hope that this climax chapter destroys you & you suddenly hate your life.

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Elliot

***

I must admit one thing; I planned out the first words I was going to say to him if and when I did see him. Just a few simple, easy-peasy words. Words that, for the precious life of me, I could not recall at this very moment as I stared up at him with my round eyes wide, jaw dropped in sudden shock.

I knew I wasn't going to be prepared. No. It really was him. Not the glossy magazine cover with his face plastered across, which sat unmoving atop my coffee table back in New York. Not through the many microscopic pixels of the small tv in my living room, as I watched him live, from miles away. Not in the way I used to picture him as I sat alone and wondered where he was and who he was with.

He was real.

I'd been staring for too long. Shit. What was I supposed to say? What were those words that I spent hours carefully preparing? I couldn't see anything but flashing images of his eyes as they peered directly into mine, curiously, with confusion.

Finally, I clear my throat and somehow manage to mumble, "God, we have got to stop running into each other like this."

No, those were not the right words. He's going to think I'm being rude and sarcastic and walk away. He's going to hate me again.

"Elliot?" he chokes. "What are you doing here?"

I really fucking have no idea.

"I'm, um.." I struggle to place the sentence scraps into a coherent thought, but it was an extremely difficult challenge when I could feel his eyes scrutinizing me from head to toe.

"I'm here on the job," I finally say.

He raises his eyebrows. "The Times sent you?"

Are we actually having a conversation? Are we just going to pretend that merely a few months ago he told me that he loved me, or do you just not bring up that type of thing?

"No," I shake my head, averting my eyes. I can't take all this staring. "I'm with Manhattan Literary now."

"What, did you get laid off or something?"

I shake my head again, feeling myself getting dizzy with the motion. "I quit."

Moving on, has your daughter been born yet? Have you told your lady friend that you cheated? Do I mean anything to you anymore?

He takes a deep breath and slowly steps away, sinking his teeth into his lower lip. He opens his mouth to speak again, but he's interrupted by a loud beeping sound echoing through the building.

A female voice comes over the speakerphone, speaking clearly, "ladies and gentlemen, if cast, crew, and their single guests would please make their way to the indoor theater at this time. The premiere will begin shortly."

I glance back at Shawn, who was pulling his phone out of his pocket with a worried expression on his face. He types something quickly, then returns his gaze to me.

"I have to go," he mumbles. "I'm meeting Sarah at the elevator. Um, listen, Elle-- Elliot, it was, uh, it was nice to see you."

Oh god no. Did he really just say that? Or am I hallucinating? "It was nice to see you" is only said to your ex on one single conditionally closed case, and that is, he has moved on. Said adios and aboarded a new train. Sayonara to Elliot Johnson. He's over me.