The Days We Forget to Love- *Chapter One*

Rated 16+ for language

So yeah, here's chapter one... I know, it's been a long time! Hope you enjoy the continuation of Elodie and Daniel's story~

                                                                                          *Chapter One*

                                                        “Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world,

                               which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night.”

The invitation arrived a few weeks after the new year, and she left it on her coffee table unopened for a few days. She'd heard the gossip, relayed to her by her few real friends, learned through subtle questions and a bit of Facebook stalking, so she knew what this letter contained. That's why she'd left it sealed laying on the table, surrounded by magazines, bills and forgotten store lists. She'd hoped that it would eventually get covered up and she could pretend to forget about it, but that hadn't worked. Instead, every time she sat down on her couch, to watch TV or read a book, it would draw her eyes to it by some magnetic force that didn't allow her to sit in her living room in peace. 

So, she'd broken down and opened the envelope, praying that it would be a letter telling her that he had been wrong, all those years ago. As she had sat on her old beat up leather couch, with the rain pattering on the roof of her town house, she felt like the world was going to end. Because it wasn't a love letter telling her how much he missed her. The stiff cardstock felt like a dead weight in her hand, and she tried to fight back the tears that were cutting her eyelids like little tiny knives. It shouldn't bother you this much, she told herself, sternly, staring at the card. The swoopy gold script was tacky, and the cardstock much too decorated. It seemed gaudy and fancy, way too extravagant for the Daniel she knew. You broke up almost three years ago. Expecting him to take as long as you do to get over someone is unfair and unrealistic. 

For whatever reason, Elodie had yet to get over Daniel. Her friends had expected her to bounce back, expected her to be able to find herself a new boyfriend and settle with him and all would be good. But it hadn't worked that way. Maybe she'd been too young, and in too deep, or maybe she'd just loved him more than she thought she had, but it had taken her almost five months to be able to get out of bed every morning. She dropped out of the play she had been doing when he left, and didn't leave the apartment except to go to class. Eventually, her friends had started to get worried. They'd arrived at her flat on a Friday night, all glammed up and ready to drag her out for a 'girl's night'. She'd begged them to go without her, saying she wasn't up to it, but they'd insisted, and eventually she had given in.

The lights were much too low for her taste when they walked into the bar, and she felt uncomfortable in the outfit her friends had forced her into, saying she needed to look pretty if she wanted to 'catch a guy'. It was the kind of thing she'd have refused to wear before now. The shirt was much too low cut, the skirt much too short. Embarrassed by the fact that she was almost scared of this dark, smoky room, she told her friends she was going to get a drink, and left them to pose for the boys sitting by the door, practically begging them to buy them a beer. She'd always hated the way her friends acted when their boyfriends weren't there, never understood why they couldn't just be happy with the person they had, never understood why the wanted to hook up with someone every Friday night. She'd asked Daniel once, if his friends acted like that. He had smiled a rather sad smile and nodded, saying that sometimes people just didn't understand love as they did. "They see it as something that can be thrown away, something that's just going to be there the next day if they leave it sitting on the shelf for a night." He had explained, pulling her closer and kissing the top of her head. 

When she reached the bar, the tender looked up and raised his eyebrow, asking a question silently. She scanned the list of drinks, but the words were swimming together in front of her eyes. It might as well have been in Spanish, because all the words were foreign and scary. "I--" she started, her heart beat quickening as she felt the panic rising in her throat. 'Calm down,' she thought frantically, her eyes darting from side to side. 'You don't need Daniel to handle a public situation. Just pick a drink and be done.' "A Bloody Mary," She burst out, her eyes flying to the first one on the list. The bar tender smirked and started preparing the drink as she settled down on the stool, her heart rate returning to normal now that she'd managed to do something. The man put the drink on the counter in front of her, and she stared at it. It wasn't as if she'd never had alcohol before, but that was usually just wine in her apartment, by herself, or a bottle of beer at a cook out. 

However, her tolerance wasn't very high, and the thought of losing her inhibitions while her friends got even drunker than she would be, scared her. 'You gotta stop being scared.' She told herself, staring at the cold glass that was perspiring slightly in the heat of the packed room. She picked it up, and it felt heavy in her hand, weighing her down. Her eyes flickered closed, and she brought it to her lips, and took a drink, letting the spiciness overwhelm her senses, and the alcohol sting her throat. Before she knew it, the glass was empty, the garnish lying on the counter beside it. "You want another?" the bar tender said, looking at her. She looked up at him, and noticed that his face was just a little fuzzy around the edges. "No, no. I think I'm going to go home." she slid off the stool, and ran through the bar, hot, wet tears splashing over the edge of her eyelids. 

That night was what she called her epiphany night. She'd gotten home, and had decided she needed to sleep, taking two sleeping pills and falling onto the couch, because she still hadn't slept in their bed. The next weekend, she had agreed to go out with her girlfriends, and this time, she hadn't left in a rush of mad tears and anger. She had stayed. She'd drank with her friends, and sat by the bar and talked to the same bar tender that had served her the first time, but she hadn't joined in with her friend's dancing. Hadn't joined in when two of them had left with guys they'd met by the bathrooms. She'd gone home and taken two sleeping pills and fell asleep on what was really her bed now, since she never slept in the bedroom. 

As she stared down at the invitation, all the memories rushed back into her head, flooding her brain with things she hadn't thought about in months. Years. She'd decided long ago that she wasn't going to pathetic, that she wasn't going to be the girl that couldn't get over her first love. Therefore, she had wiped the thought of Daniel out of her mind. Covered the hole it caused with booze and dancing. In addition, she'd moved, and gotten a new wardrobe, changed majors... She was a different Elodie, so this invitation should not bother her. It shouldn't bother her that his name was entwined with her's, and the date underneath. "Why would he send this too me?" She said out loud, looking around. The only answer she received was the blank stare back from the cat she'd acquired, Lucius, and the silence from her empty apartment.

                                                                               ~*~*~*~

The clothes were strewn everywhere, and Elodie was so close to tearing out her hair it wasn't even funny. Each dress was too short, too long, or just not right. She was almost considering going out and buying a new dress. She wanted to look stunning, unattainable, and totally comfortable. Grabbing the phone off the nightstand, she typed a message to her best friend, and prayed that he would get there soon. 

"What are you doing?" Mike said, staring around the room. She looked up at him from her spot on the floor, throwing a blue sparkly mini dress at him. "Trying to decide what to wear to Daniel's wedding."

"Oh, Daniel, huh?" He joined her on the floor, and started sorting the clothes into two piles. He picked up a black dress, and sniffed it. "Elodie, this needs washed." 

"Oh, it has been. That's the dress I wore to the bar and I was stuck between a fog machine and five smokers the whole night." Mike rolled his eyes, and threw it into the larger of the pile. "I almost think it can't be done." 

"What can't be done?" He asked; throwing a skirt into the pile that was close to falling over with a disgusted look on his face. "Really, what were you thinking when you bought that?"

"That Eric would love it."

"Eric that you met at the rave or Eric you met in the library?"

"Eric at the library."

"Oh. I agree with you there. No taste. But, what can't be done?"

"Finding a dress to wear to this wedding. I never have trouble picking out something to wear. Never. I always have the perfect outfit for everything."

"Elodie, you're going to the wedding of the only man you've really ever loved. There's no perfect outfit for that."

"Oh, the wise words of Michael Timothy Green."

"I try," He tipped his imaginary hat, and looked around. "What's this little gem?" He grabbed a dress from under a couple of oversized tee shirts. It was something she'd bought for no reason, one of those things you never wear, but you bought for some unknown reason anyway. It wasn't very revealing, wasn't too short, wasn't too long. "Oh my God, Mickey, you're a genius."

"Was there any doubt?"

"Of course not!" She grabbed the dress from his hands, and ran to the bathroom. As she started applying her makeup, panicking slightly about the time, Mike sat on the edge of the bathtub and played on his phone. "So why exactly are you going to Daniel's wedding if you don't want to see him again?" She didn't answer, just silently applied her makeup, staring at herself in the mirror. She looked pale and tired, like she hadn't slept the night before. Which was true, she hadn't. She had lain in bed, staring at the celling, with only memories swimming through her head. She had finally climbed out of bed and went to take sleeping pills, something she hadn't done in years, and then collapsed on the couch with the remote to wait for the melatonin to dull her brain and senses. It showed on her face, and she poked the skin, still not answering. He entered the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub, looking at her.

"Elodie, why are you going to this wedding?"

"I don't know... My brain has been fuzzy since I got the invitation."

"You must have some reason for going to the wedding of a person you're still in love with--"

"I'm not in--"

"Elodie, please. Your true friends know you are. You know you are. I know you are. Why lie?"

"It's pathetic to still be in love with him." She used a steady hand to brush the liquid eyeliner of her eye, careful to keep it straight and thin, just enough to make her green eyes pop. She knew this; she was an expert at looking her best when she felt her worst. This was a safe place. She felt comfortable doing this. 

Since she and Daniel had broken up, she would find herself seeking what she called her safe places. They weren't really locations, but more activities or certain words that made her feel comfortable. The sweater she'd had since high school, the sweatshirt that had been her father's before she stole it, the special mug with the painted flower on the inside. Putting on makeup. Folding Laundry, reading books about places far away. Instrumental music and ballet movies. This is where she found her comfort, where she knew, no matter what was going on, she could find herself solace. She depended on those moments. Because even if she'd come out of her shell in some senses, she was even more inside it in other ways. She refused to let anyone into her heart, and she knew it. Eric from the library, Eric from the rave, Michael-that-worked-at-Starbucks, Alex the point guard; they had all been the same. She enjoyed her time with them, she had even thought she might be in love with Michael, but in the end, it had all boiled down to one point. They weren't Daniel. And no matter how hard she tried to convince herself that she wasn't still in love with him, that she didn't need or want him in her life, she always knew deep down she was lying. And apparently, Mike knew it too.

Poor flamboyant old Mickey, forced to listen to all her problems with copious amounts of ice cream thrown in the mix. He'd been the one she called when she needed someone to rant too about the break up with Clark, her latest fling, and now he was the one she called when she needed support and fashion advice. And he was there, just like every good gay friend should be, sitting on the edge of her bathtub, discussing her woes, yet again. "It's not pathetic to still be in love with him. You are, therefore you cannot get over him. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Oh, Mike, if only that were true."

"But it is true, Elodie, and there's not point denying it. You're going to this wedding with the vain hope that he's still in love with you and will dump his finance at a moment's notice just because you showed up. And I hope, somewhere deep down, that you know that's impossible. That you know he's obviously over you, considering he sent you an invitation to his wedding."

She looked at him in the mirror, noticing as she did there were smudges all over them. She really should clean it at some point. "Maybe he invited me because he wants me to give him a sign that I'm still in love with him too?"

Mike fixed her with a stare that clearly said, 'you're losing the marbles you never had'. 

"What? It's...possible," she protested, so agitated her eyeliner slipped a little on the corner. Damn.

"It is not possible, Elodie. In fact, it's the opposite of possible. It is, impossible. You have to see that?" 

 "I guess," she whispered it, taking her hair out of its messy ponytail and turning on the curling iron.

"For some reason, I don't believe you."

She stuck her tongue out at him, and started wrapping her wavy hair around the hot cylinder. "I don't know why you do that, your hair is much prettier natural."

"You're a lying bastard. It's terrible the way it is naturally. God gives us all challenges in this world, and mine happens to be frizzy red hair."

  Mike laughed so hard he fell in the tub.