Nepenthe (Bracing for Love #2) (10 page)

Nothing comes to mind for me to say, so I nod.

“Are you still in school?”

“Not at the moment. I went to grad school because there wasn't any other option, and I got dropped this semester for missing too many days.”

He nods. “Okay, we'll work on that later. Next thing, not all medications are for everyone. This will be a trial and error process until we find one that works best for you. Read the possible side effects and if you have any, stop taking them and make an appointment to come see me. Medications do not fix your problems. Understand that. The purpose of medications is to help
you
fix your problems. Popping pills won't do anything if you aren't trying to help yourself too.”

“Okay.” I can do that.

Dr. Stewart discusses a couple different options before prescribing me something. He gives me a referral to a therapist, but I toss it in the backseat of my car once I get in. I'm not so sure about all that. While I'm waiting for my prescription to get filled, I get something to eat from a fast-food restaurant.

I shouldn't have, though.

“Excuse me?” I turn to see a guy around my age, wearing the same football hoodie as Ben. Shit. Not another one. “You used to play for Salem University, right? You're Corey Kennedy. Sucks to hear about your injury. I wondered what happened to you. Did you transfer here?”

Sucks to hear
? How about sucks to have it happen to me? How about it sucks for you to bring it up? I nod my head, hoping that'll end the conversation.

“We had a player who had to quit too. He had a really bad concussion. Still dealing with it.”

Ugh, please stop talking. I didn't
quit
. They wouldn't clear me to play again and I was
forced
to stop. There's a difference; I would have played through it if I could. I wouldn't have cared about the long-term damage. Hell, it's long-term damage right now! The results are still the same.

Thankfully, it's my turn to order. When I go to leave, the guy stops me.

“Hey, good luck with what you chose to do now. I can't imagine not being able to play, or what I would do if I couldn't, so good luck with everything else.”

“Thanks. Better make sure you have a backup plan just in case. Things are worse when you don't have one.”

The guy nods, and that's the end of our conversation. Look at me, giving advice to the dude who can still play. Like he needs it. I check my phone while I eat. Olivia has texted me way too many times, so I should probably answer her.

Olivia: Well, how did it go?

Olivia: Corey...aren't you done by now?

Olivia: Better not be ignoring me. Just tell me if it was good or bad. That's all I really want to know.

Me: Went okay.

Olivia: I said “good or bad.” “Okay” doesn't tell me which.

Me: Good? I guess. I don't know. Today sucks.

I pause, wondering if I should ask her what I've been thinking about since she said it. Might as well. Not like today can get any worse.

Me: You said you would have guessed that I would do something where I could be around football...like what? Why would I do that?

Seems like it takes her forever to respond. If I was like her, I'd start sending text after text until she answers, but I'm not. Besides, I can't decide if I want an answer or not. I shouldn't have asked. Do I really want to know? Does it matter? My leg is having a panic attack, judging by all the bouncing up and down it's doing. I still want nothing to do with it, not sure how I could even have a football in my apartment, much less be around people who can play. Plus, Olivia might get all happy because she will think I'm talking or opening up or moving on with life.

That's not what I'm doing. Only figuring out what she meant and what she thinks. She's probably trying to use her see-into-your-soul-shit method on my text. Hopefully, it's not working, since she can't see me.

God, is she going to respond or what? My phone vibrates.

Olivia: idk. You love the game, right? Wouldn't you want to still experience what you can? You could be a coach or something in sports medicine, or ref, or agent, anything in the field. Options are limitless. Coach would be good because you're pissy and moody all the time anyway haha! Or ref because then people would have to listen to you and the calls you make and you wouldn't care if they didn't like it.

Me: You think you're funny with the coach line, don't you?

No need to tell her it made me smile.

Olivia: That was hilarious and you know it.

Me: I didn't laugh.

Olivia: No? Did you at least smile?

Me: Maybe.

Olivia: :D Good enough for me! So...I've been thinking.

Oh, God. What insane shit is she going to talk me into now? Pilates? Is that what it's called? I almost don't even want to ask, but I do.

Me: About what?

Olivia: We should go out and have fun...instead of being in my apartment all the time.

Me: Go out? Are you asking me on a date?

Olivia: No. I'm old fashioned. If you want to go out on a date with me, then you're going to have to ask. I meant as friends. And yes, go out. Like outside into the fresh air. Into society where you can roam free instead of being trapped in an apartment. What do you think?

Trapped in my apartment? See, there's that weird crap she does. I like being trapped and I hate it. The weird part comes in because somehow she knows this already. And I guess if at some point in the future, I want to go on a date with Olivia, I'm going to have to ask her. It shouldn't worry me or freak me out, but it does a little bit. Only because it makes things a little harder for me. Does she deserve that? Absolutely. Will it give me a panic attack if I ask? Most definitely. Would I want to ask her anyway?

Maybe.

If I knew for sure she wouldn't turn me down. She's a pain in the ass sometimes, but in her own way, she understands me more than anyone and there's not a chance in hell I would risk losing that.

Olivia: Well??

Me: Sunday?

Olivia: Works for me. :)

Let's just hope I have more energy to hang out with her then. Maybe the medication will be a miracle worker and work fast. He said I would be able to tell a difference anywhere from three to four days to two weeks, depending on how my body responds to it. I'm hoping for a fast response.

THERE ARE FIFTY little cracks in my ceiling over the couch in the living room. Who knows how many more there are in the rest of the room. I'm crying, but I don't think it's over a crack-filled ceiling. Tears have been steadily falling down my face for like a million hours. Or maybe only a few. I'm not sure. I'm supposed to go somewhere with Olivia today, but I can't take my eyes off the ceiling. We've texted some and I've sent one-to-two-word responses. She's funny sometimes, but my lips don't move in a smile.

Why am I crying?

I'm not sad.

I'm not a crier. I only cried once after my parents died and haven't done so since.

Yet, here I am.

My face scrunches up every few minutes like I'm in pain or something as more tears fall, but I'm not. This makes no sense. There's a knock on my door and I take a deep breath.

“Come in,” I call out, sitting up and wiping away the relentless tears. No wonder I can't play anymore. I'm a wuss. Crying for no reason.

“Corey?”

I lift my head to see Olivia. Her eyes widen when she sees my face, most likely blotchy and teary and weak. Concern takes over as she sits next to me, wrapping an arm around my waist and analyzing me.

“What's wrong? What happened? I knew something wasn't right. Your texts were weird.”

My shoulders lift and fall in one big shrug. “I don't know.”

“Nothing has happened?”

“There's fifty cracks in my ceiling.” I point with one finger up to them.

“And you're crying about that?”

“No. Just saying.”

She wipes away the tears on my cheeks, thinking. “How long have you been like this?”

“All day. Why can't I stop? I don't cry.”

“I bet you don't,” she agrees solemnly. “It might be the medication. You were just lying here and started crying?” I nod. “Where's your appointment card? They usually have a person on stand-by for things like this. I'll call and see what they say.”

I tell her and she disappears to my room where those things are. This has to be a new low. Not only am I crying, but I'm crying in front of someone. And not just anyone. Olivia. Overall, it's a great relief that it's her and not my siblings or someone else. When she returns, there's a small smile on her lips.

“You're smiling?” She better not make fun of me, because I can't handle it.

“I can't help it,” she answers, coming back to sit next to me, bending her knees to prop her feet on the edge of the table. “You look so pitiful, but adorable at the same time.”

I turn, my body involuntarily leaning towards her as I face the back of the couch, finding comfort in the space between her chest and her legs. I put my arms around her waist, pressing my face against her chest. Olivia wraps her arms around my broad shoulders in return. She holds me, keeps me together, and I let her.

“You're mean. Go away,” I mutter. She laughs. Laughs! I tilt my head back a bit to look at her. “I'm crying like a baby and you're laughing?”

She giggles some more. “You're being a little dramatic, Corey. They said to stop taking it, and they were able to put you in to go back tomorrow afternoon to see him.”

I groan, pressing my face to her chest again. “I don't like him. Dr. Stewart.” Her heartbeats are steady, pulsing against my forehead. It's oddly calming to feel that mixed with the rise and fall of her breathing.

“Why not?”

“He reminds me of you and your see-into-my-soul shit.”

Olivia starts laughing again. “What are you talking about, Corey?”

“You know things without me telling you and you call my bluffs.” I pause, actually feeling sad now. My chest hurts like it's hollow and there's nothing left in there. “This doesn't seem like things are getting better. Only worse. I want things to be better, Olivia. Why can't that happen?” My words seem to mumble together, but she hears me.

“It will, but we need more time,” she says. A chill runs down my spine when she weaves the fingers of one hand through my black hair, which probably needs a trim. It's getting a bit too long for my liking. As if she's thinking the exact same thing, Olivia says, “You should let me cut your hair.”

“I'll think about it.”

Finally, we're silent.

MY EYES OPEN, dry as hell, and I realize where I am. Still on the couch with Olivia. She's tilted over, resting her arms and head on my legs while my head is in her lap. What time is it? I should probably wake her up and move us to the bed.

“Olivia.” I shake her shoulder.

“Hmm?” Her eyes peek open at me as she begins to sit up.

“Let's go to my room.”

“Nah,” she yawns. “Let's stay here. Stand up.” I do and she stretches out. “C'mon,” she mumbles, half back to sleep already as she tugs on the blanket resting along the back of the couch. I lie next to her, tugging her closer to me, and then we're both knocked out until morning.

The moment I wake up, I wish I hadn't. My dream, whatever the details may be, was simply amazing, relaxing, and perfect. I nuzzle further into the crook of Olivia's neck. Hell, this feels too good to disrupt too. Her body is pressed against me as mine has her almost pinned to the back of the couch, her arm under my neck. I don't care that I'm more wrapped in her than she is in me. All I care about is that she's here and God, does she feel amazing. My eyes hurt from how dry they are, though, so I start blinking rapidly to try and moisten them.

A giggle escapes as Olivia's stomach tenses up. “Corey, stop blinking. It's tickling my neck.” Her voice is like the perfect melody you can't stop listening to.

“Sorry,” I answer, mine more groggy and thick than hers.

“It's okay.” Her arm lifts and she tilts her head as she reaches for something on the end table. “Shit!” She suddenly exclaims. “Get up, Corey! I'm going to be late for class!”

I don't want her to go, so I don't move. “Skip,” I tell her simply.

Olivia blinks. “What? No, I can't do that.”

“Is it your only class today?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Skip,” I repeat.

“Corey,” she starts.

My desperation for her to stay runs deeper than I thought, because suddenly I blurt out the stupidest two-word sentence I've ever said in my entire life. “I'll talk.” That definitely catches her attention. “I mean, uh, I'll...” How can I take this back?

“Really? You will?” There's too much hope in her voice.

There's no way I can let her down now. I squeeze my eyes closed before opening them again to answer her. “Yeah, sure. Just,” I take a deep breath, already regretting this, “slow and steady, okay?”

She nods eagerly and relaxes back into the couch and in my arms. Olivia watches me for a bit and I prepare myself for the worst. “What's your middle name?”