But, Ethan kept my head above water.
At least when I closed my eyes, I could pretend it was Ollie.
And I was desperate.
Chapter Three
“What’s keeping me up at night
is the haunting memory of that last
breath you took right in front of me.”
—Oliver Masters
ollie.
“CAN WE AT LEAST stop for tea? I’m in need of a caffeine fix,” I asked, all-knowing the answer, but this drive dragged. Plus, my restless legs needed stretching from the three-hour transport from the jail.
The security guard didn’t bother entertaining my request, keeping his focus out the window of the small van. I didn’t remember him. He was dark-skinned with a shiny bald head and slim physique. The restraints pinged against the metal as I attempted to lean my elbows over my knees to steady my bouncing knee. I groaned and threw my head back against the torn leather. “You must be new at Dolor, yeah?” I asked, slicing the awkward silence. “Haven’t seen you before. What building are you stationed?”
“We have another hour until we get there. Let’s make the next hour relaxing for both of us, alright?”
Turning my head out the window, I wondered what could be waiting for me at Dolor. Maybe jail wasn’t so bad. Aside from being thrown into interrogation on numerous occasions for hours on end, I’d been treated fairly. It took five months for the detectives to put together a strong case against my brother, Oscar. At first, I hadn’t been cooperative, but only because I’d been angry … and I honestly didn’t know much. My brother wasn’t verbal with his indecencies. I could only confirm what I knew, which was the history of my mum, the names of the punters who came in and out of our childhood home, and what happened at Dolor.
After the second week without my medication, I had completely lost control as my emotions raided me from all directions.
The only thing I could think about was her.
All I asked for was her.
All I wanted and needed was her.
Regardless of whether my eyes were opened or closed, she invaded every piece of me like a raging storm. To get me under control, they had reached out to Dolor and retrieved my medical paperwork before putting me right back on the agony-reducing pills, and finally, they had me right where they wanted me.
Oscar had gotten what he deserved. And me? I had been cleared from all sex crimes. I’d never been associated with the prostitution ring, only a product of a prostitute.
Unfortunately, they couldn’t clear me from the original crime I’d been placed at Dolor for originally. Even after explaining to the detectives I was innocent for the crime against Brad, the punter that had been on life support by the hands of my brother when I was seventeen, they still didn’t have enough evidence confirming it was Oscar.
Oscar had a false alibi. I hadn’t.
Brad had passed away two months ago.
Now, I was charged with homicide due to mental illness instead of unlawful injury.
Dolor was my only chance at freedom.
Back to square fucking one.
With one more year left, they sentenced me back to Dolor to finish what I’d started since I wasn’t involved with any other crime.
I’d made a friend from my seven months in jail. His name was Travis.
We’d exchanged our life stories like they were lived by other people. Travis was a good mate, only got caught up in the wrong crowd. Travis’s story was much like every other desperate bloke needing quick cash. He was the look-out guy during a robbery, and had a clean record before. The bloke grew up much like myself with an absentee father and shitty mum. There was hope for Travis, who mentioned he had a girl waiting for him. He had asked me if I had a girl. I’d told him I didn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to talk about her, let alone say her name out loud. Though, she always lingered in the back of my mind.
I remembered the way I felt for her, and glad through these last seven months the medication had dulled the ache I knew I would have without it. Detoxing from the pills caused my Emotional Intensity Disorder to heighten those emotions and drove me into utter insanity.
During transport back to Dolor, I was three days free from medication, teetering back and forth on whether or not it was worth feeling again—back and forth on whether or not I’d ask Dr. Butala or Conway to keep me off of them.
Was it worth fighting through the pain?
It didn’t feel like I had much of a choice.
My feelings for her slowly raised from the ashes over the last six hours.
Every hour more painful than the last.
“We’re here,” the security guard announced as we pulled off the main road and onto a single path leading up to the gates of Dolor. The pavement beneath the tires turned to rock, and I glanced out the window to see Dolor under a grey sky.
My body reacted to the closing distance of hers and nerves set in. I drew in a long and uneven breath. Three days without the pills, and I needed to take them every twelve hours. Already, I felt myself losing control and thankful for these restraints. My hands shook, and I closed them into fists to ease the tremors.
The van pulled up to the front of the campus before it came to a stop. The security guard zip-tied my wrists together before unlocking the restraints from my wrists and ankles, and escorted me out of the van and through the double doors.
“Oliver Masters,” Lynch greeted at the security checkpoint, “I’d like to say welcome back, but that all depends on you.” It had been seven months since I’d seen Lynch, and it looked as if the chap aged twenty years. His tailored suit didn’t mask the tiredness in his brown eyes or the apparent stress causing his hairline to recede at a much faster pace.
“I’m not here to cause trouble. I want to make it through the year smoothly just as much as you,” I said, meaning every word. I refused to join my brother in prison.
Lynch nodded and guided me through the scanner without beeps. As I walked through the halls to the office, I kept my head down and feet in front of me, unable to bring myself to see the library doors—the place her and I ran off to each Saturday morning to escape.
Still, her laugh echoed through my head, reminding me.
Her brown hair whipped in my memory as I chased her.
Her heart-stopping smile projected in my thoughts against my will.
“This way,” Lynch said, rescuing me from the moments of my past.
The dean’s office hadn’t changed.
Lynch held up a finger, picked up the phone, and I took a seat in the chair across from him on the opposite side of his desk. I wiped the sweat from my forehead across the sleeve of my shirt, shivering in a cold sweat.
“Dr. Butala, yes … I have Oliver Masters in now … mmhmm…” Lynch nodded and hung up without a goodbye, “Your psychiatrist is on his way down now, so we’ll wait.” Lynch’s brown eyes met mine briefly before turning away. The color of his eyes matched a bottle of Jack, the same as hers, and my heart twisted from another reminder of her.
Dr. Butala and I never agreed on much, but his intentions were good and honest.
He believed in a chemical imbalance in the brain, and she—still not thinking or saying her name—thought it wasn’t a disorder, but a blessing to feel wholeheartedly. She loved me the way I was, but she had only ever seen one side of me. I never allowed her to see the other side of my disorder—the evil side.