Our sectional was L-shaped, and I dropped into the plush fabric on the opposite side of my dad. He looked over at me, and I felt exposed. I shoved my hand beneath my thighs to refrain from fidgeting. “I’m sorry.”
My dad grabbed the remote from the arm of the chair and turned the volume down on the TV. I wished he hadn’t. I didn’t want Diane overhearing our conversation or jumping into it. His bushy brow shot into the air, and he crossed his ankle over his opposite knee. “What are you sorry for?”
I didn’t exactly know what to be sorry for, only that we had to make amends if I was staying under his roof. He was already dealing with the strain it put on their marriage, and I hadn’t noticed it until now—until my heart thawed out since Dolor got ahold of me. Or Ollie. Or both. “That all this happened. That it got to this point.”
“I appreciate that, Mia.”
Diane laughed from inside the kitchen and my stomach knotted at the sound.
“Bruce, don’t fall for it. Mia manipulates, it’s what she does. The only reason she’s apologizing is because she has no place else to go. Twenty-years-old and nothing to show for it.” Her laughter continued, bouncing off the lifeless white walls inside the house. Perhaps I deserved it. For over ten years, I’d put them both through hell for my amusement.
Before, I’d say something smart in return. Probably comment on how Diane never worked a day in her life and lived off my mother’s life insurance to pay for her manicured nails and yoga classes, which was what the two of them most likely expected from me. The anticipation in my dad’s eyes zeroed in on me, and a huffing and puffing song drifted into the living room from the kitchen as dishes clanked inside the sink.
Deserted in the desert. Hands behind my back. A hundred rifles aiming at me.
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” I repeated, standing. “Thank you for letting me stay here until my court date.” There was an unsaid awkwardness in the air, and I walked toward the stairs to head back to my room without a second glance back to acknowledge Diane’s mutters under her breath. The thought of staying with Ollie at the hotel seemed like a better idea, but if I had done that, it only meant running away from my problems.
As I walked back up the stairs, the TV’s volume increased, proving I was some sort of temporary fixture that could be easily ignored and soon removed if the wiring got faulty.
My old room was no longer my old room. It had since transformed into a guest bedroom, complete with wall-papered floral walls, white wicker furniture, and a sign over the headboard, reading “Be Our Guest.” A crisp white quilt laid over the bed with over a dozen throw pillows, white, plush, and completely useless, and in the corner where my desk used to be sat a luggage rack for guests whom, I was sure, never visited.
I stood on my toes, grabbing a box of my old clothes from the top of the closet. Diane had thrown most out, but these made the cut. And after a hot shower, I climbed into bed and flipped on Netflix to fall asleep to shows about unsolved murder cases and fell asleep wondering if the murderers were anything like Ethan and if the victims deserved it.
The next morning, I woke to the sound of Diane knocking at the guest bedroom door. She entered, unannounced, but there wasn’t much I could say. This was her room now, her house. “There’s a guy outside asking for you.”
Ollie. He was here, and my heart did a round-off backhand spring inside my chest, ending with a backward free-fall, landing over on an invisible mat. I shouldn’t have been this shocked he’d come, but he could decide to up and leave at any point just like everyone else. I sucked in a breath, remembering what I needed to do. “Okay.”
“He’s not allowed in this house.”
“Okay … I understand.”
“Good.” She left, and as soon as she disappeared around the corner, I hurried toward the closet and slipped a sweatshirt over my head and pulled up a pair of sweats. I didn’t own anything aside from jeans and sweats, believing life was too short to be uncomfortable. Each step down the stairs scratched at my nerves, and I paused before the door.
If I saw him, I’d go with him.
If I’d let him talk, I’d listen.
I opened the door. Ollie turned to face me. And all my feelings drowned out the words I wanted to say.
“Hi, love.” He smiled his heart-stopping smile, looking at me in the way all girls, at least once in their lifetime, craved to be looked at, with admiration and without judgment. Three seconds and that single look had always been what it took to remind me Oliver Masters was my forever. He looked away for a moment like he always did to hide the effect I had on him—the blush shading his cheeks and the smile he could never do away with. “How did you sleep?”
“Horrible.” I missed lying next to him.
He seemed relieved. “Me too.”
Silence invaded the air between us, but it wasn’t awkward—it was never awkward. Being in Ollie’s space brought back a sense of self-awareness. I knew who I was around him. The girl capable of defeating the darkness that had taken over, and if I was capable of that, I could do anything. Around Ollie, I could fight monsters, have a future, and be the best version of myself. But I wanted to do all these things without him too.
“Can I take you to breakfast?”
My gaze roamed over him, finally taking all of him in. The tattered black jeans were familiar, the ones he’d always wear at Dolor. I’d pulled the stray threads from the holes over his knees in the mess hall whenever his leg bounced from the nerves of the crowd, and took a pen and wrote our names over the parts around his thighs when I was bored, and he’d let me because he knew I always had a hard time keeping still. But the gray hoodie under the jean jacket and fresh white shoes were all new. While I’d been held captive by Ethan, he had time to go shopping.
“Mia …”
My eyes snapped up. “I need more time than a night.”
“Can I come back later?”
I shook my head.
“This is killing me,” he admitted, shifting in place.
“Come back tomorrow.” It may not have made sense to him, but it made sense to me.
“I’ll be here. Tomorrow,” Ollie confirmed, and when I went to close the door, his palm came up and pressed against it to stop me. “I will be here, Mia. Every single morning, I’m going to be here until you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”
For most of my life, I’d been both a morning and night person. I would be up all hours of the night, talking to the night sky, my best friend. Before Dolor, I’d jump out the window during the sticky summer nights and lay under the stars over the rough and itchy shingles, asking questions google or a textbook couldn’t answer, like was Earth God’s ninth draft because Venus was too hot, and Mars too cold? Maybe God never got it right the first time around. And was there an alternate universe with another Mia under different circumstances, never taken advantage of by her uncle, Mom still alive, with loads of friends, and partying in her senior year? And why and how was the word moist made-up?
The night never talked back, only listened, which was the reason we’d gotten along so well.
I’d never found someone I could stand to talk to until I heard Ollie’s voice. He’d quickly stolen best friend status right out from under the night sky, staying up all hours of the night with me after flying through the vent in the ceiling to be with each other. “Is Earth Gods ninth draft?”, I’d asked him. “No one is perfect, Mia, but God is. God does nothing without purpose. Perhaps the other eight are there for balance.” “Is there an alternate universe?” I’d drilled him under the fort of the commercial Dolor sheet we’d held up with our heads. “If there is, I’m with you there too. We’re together in every lifetime.” “And what’s up with the word moist?”