Each day had begun to prolong further with which my distaste towards the world became exceedingly overpowering. I possessed no discrete excuse for my continuance existence in this life. Eliza had voyaged afar into another world, forsaking me to drown in the blood leaking from my now opened wounds.

My Mother had apprised to us countless of times the salience of perpetually prevailing as one. As a team. Eliza certainly took her words to deaf ears. Now I was left, barely prevailing, without an escort.

I desperately attempted to push the questions that bombarded my thoughts out of my mind and decided upon clearing the room that formally held a promise of life.

Eliza's room now stood to be merely an empty void begging to be demolished. Yet I mopped it each day, cautious to leave no dust clinging to the walls. I desired not for her to stroll inside through the front door and throw laments on how dirty her room had become whilst she was away. Her anger was such that those not admitted to viewing it remained to be the luckiest people. Bitter as it is, I wasn't included in that list.

While I rummaged warily through her possessions, casting about for nothing in particular, I came across a pink glittery notebook.

Oh my!
I recalled the contents of this significant book without even opening it as if Eliza and I had just filled it up yesterday. This was our little escape from the rattles of the cruel world. I remember the feeling of being fourteen, weeping inside my room because Mother and Father were having their worst fights, and the only means of any happiness laying in this one book.

Eliza, who was sixteen at the time, would sneakily make her way into my room cautious to not make a single sound. For if my parents heard her, one of them would call her in to use her as a form of blackmail. She despised being trapped in between, having two strong forces clog her to themselves from each side.

When she'd enter my room and discern me crying, she'd wipe away my tears with a single stroke of her thumb and take out our magic wand. Being teenagers, we'd create our perfect guy on that little notebook. We'd write down all our deepest desires for a perfect boy. We'd give him dark hair, caramel eyes and medium tone skin. We'd also conjure his personality. He'd be good at sensing feelings, he'd be slightly cocky, he'd still be genuine and he'd give us chocolates in the shape of hearts. All the silly manifests and misspelled fantasies caused me to cringe every five seconds whilst skimming through the treasure that I supposed had been discarded .

As I flipped through the worn out pages, I came across this one line that read, "age :" and I recalled Eliza telling me that we'd fill this detail in only when we're in desperate need of our perfect guy and that he'd come to us right away when we do. She told me never to write anything down there foolishly because it's ungrateful for us to waste our perfect guy for stupid reasonings. I listened to every word she spoke intently, not wanting to miss out on the world she'd create with them.

It sounded pretty stupid now that I looked back at it - but it was comforting on scary, loud nights. We had even named this guy Cato. I'm pretty sure she came up with that name. If it were up to me, I would've named him after a cartoon character.

I grasped the pen lying a few meters away from where I was seated on the floor. Holding on to it felt as if I was cleaving on to my last splinter of hope. It felt as if this mere pen possessed the decision to my whole life ahead. The decision to whether my life shall abide any longer or shall it just conclude itself.

I gingerly wrote down '21' right beside the semicolon. A year older than me seemed perfect. Eliza would've desired for him to be a year older than her, but since that would serve absolutely no purpose anymore, I might as well construct him for myself.

I needed Cato. I'd never felt so alone. I needed him. The world had been needy in taking possession of all my happiness but if Cato were here, I'm certain he'd make sure I have my meals and I'm certain he wouldn't let another person glance at me with judgement, cover their mouths with books they didn't read, confirm among each other that yes, I am indeed the girl who should be pitied.

I attempted to justify my writing of the final factor by declaring to myself how this was technically an emergency. Eliza wouldn't have been even slightly fond of my resolution but she vacated me and hence, she was the basis behind me doing this in the first place.

Oh, who am I kidding?
How can a make-believe character suddenly materialize to erase every negative thought from my head? The fact that I actually relied on this imagination bothered me more than it should have. I was a grown adult putting so much confidence in a character created due to unfortunate times. I knew positivity was crucial in order to get through each obstacle thrown at me but that didn't provide me with an excuse to cling on to every minor unrealistic possibility.

Snapping out of my trance, I realised that my phone was ringing. I instantly picked it up without glancing at the caller id.

"Hello?" I said sheepishly

"Vera! Hey, it's Ana!" Ana, a close Friend from high school, replied on the other end, "I heard about Eliza. I'm so sorry for your loss,"

"It's okay."

"I also apologise for not calling you sooner."

"It's okay."

" I just want to inform you that I'm holding a gathering at my house today evening and it revolves around sharing opinions on different books and I really want you to come which can also really get your mind off everything else, you know."

It took me a minute to register what she was saying. A gathering? That doesn't sound absolutely horrendous. Maybe I should put an effort into getting back out there.

"Yeah, yeah, sure, I'll be there." I said promptly after becoming aware of my silence. I didn't want to go but I knew I had to go. I had to let people know that I was alive, that I wasn't decomposing or killing myself because I was sure that at that point in time, everyone thought I was just as dead as Eliza.

Ana hung up shortly after and subsequently texted me her address. I was slightly nervous about the prospect of conversing with people after a two weeks of mourning Eliza's death. I presumed everyone would throw a look of pity at me and that caused me to dread the event more. Perhaps most people wouldn't know me personally so they wouldn't be apprised of the loss?

I decided to get up and get ready so I wouldn't look as much of a mess I was feeling. My attention was diverted momentarily to the notebook once again and I silently pleaded for Cato to help me through the shreds of the world.