Pieces of Olivia (15 page)

Preston took a step toward me, his eyes on mine, and then they fell to the waistband of my jeans, his eyebrows threading together. He hooked a finger inside the waistband and tugged it down to reveal the entire crescent moon tattoo I had inked when I turned eighteen. Trisha had chosen a dragonfly for hers. Claire, a flower. Preston’s gaze lifted to mine. “That’s just . . .”

“What?”

He pulled off his shirt and spun around, and immediately, my eyes locked on his back. I gasped. “Is that . . . ?” Positioned in the top center, between his shoulder blades, was a Celtic moon. I traced the deep black lines with my fingers. It was intricate, emotional. Beautiful. “Your tattoo is a moon.”

He turned. “Just like yours.”

“That’s . . .”

“I know,” he whispered, his hands trailing down my arms to my hands. “I don’t care about your scars. You’re perfect. This”—he ran his hand back to my left biceps, gently tracing the red and purple deformed flesh—“changes nothing for me. I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through. The fire. Losing your friends. The pain of it all. But you can trust me not to run.”

I lifted my head, my eyes burning with emotion. “You have a moon.” I couldn’t get past the irony. Preston’s only tattoo was of a crescent moon, just like mine. That had to mean something.

He unbuttoned my pants and slid down the zipper, opening them up to get a better view of my tattoo. It was simple, only a black outline, nothing as elaborate as his, but I loved it. Maybe because it was the first thing I ever did without my parents’ permission. Or maybe because it was the last thing Trisha and I did together before the fire. Before she was gone, and I was the mess I had become.

Preston traced the lines with his fingertip, as I had his, but this time the movement was different. Slower. More intimate.

He took a step closer and splayed his fingertips around my hips just inside my jeans. “I’ve imagined you here a thousand times. Inside my room. In my bed. But this is different. I don’t just want you.” His gaze settled on me, anchoring me to him. “I need you. I’ve never . . .” He trailed off, but I knew what he was about to say, because I’d had the same thought myself a thousand times. Whatever we were, whatever had happened, was different. Deeper. Purer. It was natural and right and easy, and suddenly all thoughts of eating were replaced by a deeper hunger, a hunger that couldn’t be delayed. Everything I had held back from the night before burst to the surface and out of me, taking with it all my restraint. I reached for his belt buckle and unbuckled the belt and then his jeans. He reached to my back and with one hand unfastened my bra. I let it fall to the ground and then slipped off my jeans and panties so I was before him, completely naked, completely exposed, but for once, I wasn’t afraid.

I pushed down his jeans and boxers and dropped to my knees in front of him, desperate to make him feel as satisfied as I felt in that moment.

“You don’t have to . . .” He breathed, but I could hear the want in his voice.

“Let me show you what you do to me.” I gripped his length and sucked it deep into my mouth, relishing in his salty taste. He groaned loudly, and I sucked deeper in response, my hand working in succession with my mouth and tongue, stroking and licking and delighting in each guttural sound that slipped from his lips. He threaded his fingers into my hair and gently pulled me away, his eyes blazing. “I need to be inside you. Right now.” He lifted me up and laid me back on his bed, taking a moment to allow his gaze to glide over me like a caress, and then he grabbed a condom from his nightstand, lowered himself over me, and thrust deep inside, causing me to cry out in pleasure.

He began to move with me in rhythm, his mouth shifting from my lips to my neck to my breasts and back. I had never in my life felt so alive. I moaned loudly as he pushed still deeper, my voice unable to remain quiet any longer.

“Come for me,” he whispered in my ear, and the words and his voice and the feel of him inside me sent me plummeting over the edge and into the unknown. Stars burst across my vision and I cried out, screaming his name over and over, unable to silence myself until every cell in my body had surged with complete and total satisfaction.

I lay back lifeless against his pillows, my eyes closed, and when I opened them I found him propped up on his elbow watching me. I brushed his dark auburn locks from his sweaty face, my heart brimming with emotion. I bit my lip and shook my head, fighting back tears.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.

I shook my head again, my voice thick from the effort to not cry. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Preston lowered his forehead to mine and gently kissed my lips. “I think I’m already there.”

It was the first time I had ever stepped into Rose’s office smiling, and she took notice. Rose glanced at me over her bifocal lenses, her expression wary. “No pouting? No complaints of the worst day of your life? Who are you and what have you done with my melodramatic patient?”

I grinned despite her insults. I couldn’t stop grinning. And I didn’t even care. I’d told Preston about the fire. I’d showed him my scars, and he didn’t run. He stayed. My grin widened.

She nodded toward the sofa, and I sat down with the box beside me. I knew what we would do today, and while I wasn’t sure how I would handle it, at least I knew I had someone to lean on if the session broke me. The realization gave me strength.

“So . . . explain,” she said as she sat in her leather chair.

“I told Preston everything. I even showed him my scars,” I said, pleased with myself.

Rose beamed. “That’s wonderful. That is real progress, Olive. Real progress. Just talking about it out loud is going to really speed up your healing. Do you want to talk about how you felt when you showed him?”

I crossed my legs, thinking back to that moment. It felt private, like a special moment shared between the two of us. I didn’t want to taint it by rehashing it here in therapy. “No,” I shook my head at Rose and motioned to the box beside me. “I want to open the box. I’m ready.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Okay, then. Let’s look in the box.”

I sat up and placed it in my lap. I took one more look at Rose, who nodded to me, and then I slipped the lid off. Inside was a photo of Matt. I pulled the photo from the box, making sure not to peek at any others, and set it back beside me. I stared at the photo. I could tell by my dress and the setting that it was taken at our senior prom, though I didn’t remember seeing someone snap the picture. Matt and I were dancing, but nothing about the photo looked right. Matt’s face was pulled up in a huge grin, his eyes on someone beyond us, though I couldn’t tell who. It looked like he was talking to them or laughing or something. But that wasn’t what made my heart hurt. It was me. The fake smile on my face. The perfect position of my hand on his shoulder, as though I knew others were watching us and I was more concerned with the appearance of happiness than actually being happy. And the worst part of it all was that I enjoyed my life. I liked being me. Only the truth was I wasn’t being me at all. I just never realized it.

“Where did you get this,” I asked.

“Your mother, just like with Claire’s photo.”

I shook my head. “She wasn’t there. How could she . . . ?” I trailed off, remembering. Mom was there. She had agreed at the last minute to be one of the parental chaperones, but I never talked to her while she was there, never looked at her. But clearly, she was looking at me. I wondered if I made her proud or if she saw what I was seeing now—that I was nothing more than a mold of what everyone else wanted me to be. Maybe she knew and that was why she didn’t argue when I decided on the College of Charleston. Maybe she saw me more clearly than I saw myself.

“What do you see when you look at that photo?”

I glanced up. “I see Matt. He looks happy.”

She nodded. “He does. But what about you?”

I shrugged. “I was fine. It was a great night.” I said, but that wasn’t the truth. I didn’t want to talk badly about Matt with him gone. It seemed best to remember someone in their best light, not their worst, and that night was definitely one of Matt’s worst.

Over the last six months of our senior year, Matt had become more and more interested in drugs. Trying new things. Testing his limits. And with each new trial, he pushed me to join in. I never minded smoking weed on occasion or drinking, but I didn’t like the way I lost control when I tried anything harder. I’d begun to refuse him again and again, and then eventually, I started seeing him with other girls. Girls who were willing to do whatever he wanted. After all, he was Matt and every girl in our school wanted to be with him. That night, at prom, I walked into the girls bathroom to find him with Parker and two girls and a tray already lined with cocaine. I stormed out, expecting him to follow, for him to care as much as I did about
Matt and Olive
, our image, but he didn’t. Instead, Trisha and I ended up getting in the worst fight we’d ever had. She couldn’t believe I’d put up with him ditching me at prom, but what she didn’t realize was that I never cared about Matt. Not really. I only cared about what we represented.

“Olive.”

I shook myself from my thoughts. “Sorry. I was just . . . thinking.”

“About . . . ?”

“I was lying before.”

She leaned in. “Okay.”

“It wasn’t a great night. Matt had begun to use, and the more he used, the less he and I had in common. The night of prom, he ditched me to get lit with Parker and a couple of random girls, which resulted in a huge fight between me and Trisha when I refused to admit what he was really doing. It was the worst fight we’d ever had.” I trailed off, remembering her face as she yelled at me, the hurt I’d felt when she called me pathetic.

“Was he using the night of the fire?”

I laughed sarcastically. “Of course he was. That was the final party before graduation. Parker’s parents were out of town. It was the perfect setup. I never even asked what he was giving me,” I said, more to myself than to Rose. “I never even asked. He’d been trying anything he could get his hands on, and he handed me a joint, and I just assumed that it was pure weed. But Matt never smoked straight weed. I knew better. I knew. Why didn’t I say no?” My voice broke as sobs began to wrack through me. “I hate him.”

Rose sat down beside me and handed me a tissue. “Why do you hate him?”

“Because he screwed it all up! We were fine, but he had to go all drug crazy, and then I had to defend him, and then Trisha . . . Trisha, she . . .” I shook my head, fighting to keep myself from breaking down again. “If I’d broken up with him, we wouldn’t have been there—Trisha, Claire, and I. We would’ve been shopping or at a movie or doing any one of a hundred other things. Instead, he insisted we come, and now . . .”

“And now they’re all gone and you’re stuck here, alive. Am I right?”

My lip trembled. “Sometimes I play it all out in my head just to see if it ends any differently. If we would have still gone to the party had I broken up with Matt.”

“And would you have?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. Claire was dating Parker. And Trisha was all about doing the final senior stuff. I don’t think she would have missed the last big party.”

“So if you would have gone to the party no matter what, then who is to blame?”

I hung my head. “No one.”

Rose patted my leg. “Right. And that ‘no one’ includes you, dear.”

My eyes snapped up to hers. I hadn’t realized the extent of my words when I’d said them, and now, I couldn’t get them out of my mind.
No one.
The tiniest of cracks began to form in my wall of guilt, freeing my lungs from the pressure that remained locked down on them every day and every night.

“You aren’t to blame, Olive.”

I couldn’t bring myself to respond, to allow myself to truly feel blameless. Not yet. I needed to think without Rose watching me.

She walked over to her desk and lit a cigarette, studying me. “There is one photo left in your box. I’m sure you can guess who remains.”

I lowered my eyes to the box, every part of me wishing that I could take a step away from it. I knew exactly who I’d find in the box—Trisha.

I turned toward Rose, growing frantic. “I’m not ready. I can’t. Just—not yet.”

Her eyes softened. “Don’t worry. We aren’t going there today, but I wanted you to know, so when we do go there, you will have the strength to face it—
her
—head on.”

***

I opened the door to my dorm, still thinking about my session with Rose and how free I felt. Everything was coming together. Finally, I was starting to feel like myself again. A better version of myself.

I pushed open the door, only to startle back. “Oh. Hey.” Preston and Kara were standing in the middle of the room, and by the expressions on their faces, they were arguing. Preston took a step back, his hands on his hips and his head dipped in obvious annoyance. I glanced between them. “Should I . . . ?” I motioned outside, unsure if they needed a moment to finish whatever they were discussing, and then Preston’s gaze lifted to mine, the tension around his eyes switching from anger to concern.

“Shit. She made you open the box.”

He took one step toward me, just as Kara blurted out, “Olivia, we—”

“Not now,” Preston growled, shooting her a look so cold it sent chills down my back.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Kara hesitated, her eyes shifting from Preston to me and then back. She shrugged. “Nothing. I . . . I just decided to come back a day early and Preston was mad that I didn’t tell him.”

I cocked my head. I knew a lie better than anyone. I’d been spouting off lies to everyone, including myself, for months now. I glanced back at Preston to see him shaking his head, seething. What had happened?

Kara grabbed her bag. “I’m getting lunch.” And then she was through the door without saying another word.

I waited until she was safely down the hall, and then stepped away from Preston so I could see him clearly. “Okay, what the hell was that?”

He inhaled, as though he needed the breath to calm himself. “Nothing. She just needs to mind her own fucking business and leave mine alone.”

I bit my lip, waiting. I had never seen Preston so angry.

He hung his head again. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t know what happened, but you’re friends. I’m sure you’ll work it out. Just talk to her.”

“I don’t think this is something we can work out.” His gaze penetrated through me, and suddenly it occurred to me what, or rather who, they might have been discussing. My ears began to buzz as the silence held us, and a sinking feeling washed over me.

“Hey,” he said, pulling me to him and pressing his lips to mine. “It’s nothing. I promise.”

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“You know how Kara is. She’s dramatic. We’re fine.”

I hesitated, feeling sure that he was holding back, but they had been friends forever. We had only just begun whatever we were doing. If he wanted to keep their fight to himself, then who was I to argue?

I relaxed against him, hoping the fight was nothing more than some typical brother-sister-type fight. “Okay.”

Preston ran his fingers through my hair. “Now tell me about your session. Are you okay?”

I thought of the photo of Matt, the drugs, the fire. I didn’t want to think about it anymore, but I was done holding back from Preston. “It was good, I think.” And then I sat down with Preston on my bed and told him everything, forcing myself outside the safe zone. Forcing myself to trust him to not run.

***

Preston left shortly after to run errands, and I took to the shower, desperate to wash away the dried tears on my cheeks and the heavy emotions on my heart. I was exhausted from spilling so much of myself, but also relieved. I felt better, like a small weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I had survived Claire’s photo and all the realizations about Matt, but the final photo in the box wasn’t going to be so easy to overcome.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, I heard the
click-click-click
sound of texting and knew Kara had returned. I closed the bathroom door, already dressed in fresh clothes, and sat down on my bed across from her. I didn’t know if she wanted to talk, but I knew that I was more than willing to listen if she needed an ear.

She placed her phone beside her and peered over at me. “We had a fight. We never fight. We haven’t fought since—” She shook her head, as if to clear it. “We had a fight.”

I nodded. “It’s no big deal. Friends argue. You’ll talk it out and feel better soon.”

Her gaze dropped to her hands in her lap. “I don’t know. This . . . I don’t know.”

That was what Preston had said. I tried not to think about what had happened to cause their fight, but I couldn’t help remembering the look Preston had given me and the sinking feeling it caused. Was their fight about me?

“Are you staying with him tonight?”

I shrugged uneasily. “I don’t know. We haven’t really talked about it.”

“He really likes you. I can tell.”

“I like him a lot, too.” I hesitated. “Kara . . . are you okay with this? I mean, you seem distant now. I don’t want our friendship to change.”

She smiled, but it didn’t touch her eyes. “I know. And I’m sorry. I just have a lot on my mind. It isn’t you. I promise.” She came over and hugged me and I felt the weight on my chest beginning to lift. “More importantly, it’s Black Friday. Let’s go shopping.”

I grinned wide. I’d completely forgotten the date. “Shopping sounds perfect.”