Takes Its Toll

by Kit Graves

  Harlan put his keys down behind her and looked around with her. She wasn't sure if he felt similarly, bit when she looked at him, his eyes were unsure. It was new ground for both of them, and it reminded Olivia of new snow, beautiful and sparkling but dirtied by each uncertain footstep. She wanted desperately not to turn their pure white fields into grey-brown slush, but the first muddy footfalls had already been taken. Now all they could do was watch their step.

  “Do you want to talk a little more?” he asked, tentative. She was glad that he’d asked, but as she thought about it, she realized that she truly didn’t. She was worn out despite her nap, emotionally exhausted from their afternoon of misunderstandings and straightening out.

  She shook her head. He still looked unsure, so she added “No,” and reached for him. He came to her, kissed her slowly, and rocked her in his embrace for a moment. Somehow his scent, his arms had become her most powerful comfort overnight, even though he’d been the one to upset her in the first place.

  Olivia broke off the kiss, and he looked hangdog, upset with himself. It hurt her to think he felt he shouldn’t have kissed her, but she was on the cusp of changing his expression, so she didn’t say a word. She just took his hand and let him to the bedroom.

  His hand was large and warm around hers, and she wasn’t brave enough to look back at him on the way down the hall. Only when they made it to his huge bed did she let go, sink down onto the mattress, and look up at him.

  It wasn't like her to be wanton, or it never had been before. But she could sense this other Olivia on the cusp of becoming, a confident woman, empowered by Harlan's quiet acquiescence, the way he looked to her like she was a daydream in the dying light. She wanted his comfort, wanted to give him hers, and she'd be lying if she said she hadn't been burning to be back in his bed ever since leaving it.

  “Little dove,” he whispered, as she unbuckled his belt, stroked her hands up and down his firm stomach and chest. “Little dove,” he cautioned, when her hands dipped into the waistband of his boxers, freeing him to the cooling air, but she didn't stop. And “Olivia,” he gasped finally, when she licked down his shaft and back up again, taking him into her mouth as far as she could.

  When she closed her eyes, she could smell the smoky, peaty musk of him, could sense each twitch and quiver of him under her hands. When she opened her eyes, though, she could see his chest rise and fall under his soft t-short, see his eyes slitted half-closed in pleasure and wonder, and that was better.

  She wanted to continue to work him under her hands and mouth and tongue until she could bring him to a peak, but with a rumble in his throat he brought his hand under her chin, stilling her neatly with his thumb. She pouted unconsciously, nuzzling back toward the erection she was still tantalizingly near, but his hand moved to the back of her neck, lightly tugging her hair to pull her head back. She was staring up at him now, his hand fisted in her loose hair, holding her in place as he stared hungrily down. Olivia knew she was probably flushed red, probably full-lipped and drooling, but she stared back openly, the heat between them sizzling in the air.

  Harlan was fast for a man of his size, and before she even registered having her hair free she was gathered up again, hauled bodily into his arms and against his chest. She could feel him grazing against her, and twitched her hips toward him, causing him to groan and seize her harder to him.

  She thought he meant to toss her onto the bed or carry her to the wall, but he turned instead, sitting down and pulling her knees so she was straddling his lap at the edge of the bed. He could cradle her from here, hold her close to him as he devoured her mouth. Together they stripped her of her sweater, her cotton dress, until she was just left in her panties and bra, these ones mismatched unlike the night before. She ground down again, desperation building, but he pulled away, leaning back onto his elbows to see her astride him before fumbling into his nightstand for protection without taking his eyes off of her.

  Harlan reached up to unfasten her bra, and Olivia covered her breasts out of instinct as it slid down her body, unused to being so bared to him. He was looking at her like she was perfect, though, and soon his hands followed the path of his eyes along her body. He stroked her hips, dipped his fingers between her legs to rub against her panties. “God, you're so wet,” he murmured, running his thumb down the seam. She blushed, chest and cheeks blooming red, but let her hands drop so he could cup her breasts before he skimmed his palms back down her sides. It tickled when he ran his fingertips down and up her ribcage, but her giggle turned into a moan when they found her breasts again. He worried her nipples, staring up into her eyes as as squirmed and gasped.

  “Hop up,” he ground out finally, patting her thigh. Dazed, she almost didn't move, but slid backwards and stood finally in front of him, balancing with her hands on his shoulders. He pulled her panties down her hips swiftly, briefly leaning forward to swipe at her with his tongue. She barely had time to react before he pulled her back into his lap, where she slid into him, off-balance.

  “Good girl,” Harlan hummed into her ear, and Olivia shivered. His praise did something dark and sweet to her insides, a deep thrill running through her. She arched against him, reaching between them to wrap her hand around his cock, keep it perfectly placed for rocking into. He held onto her ass, letting her set the pace while kissing every piece of her he could reach, cheek and collar and clavicle.

  Now when she canted her hips, he gave her what she wanted, guiding their bodies into one with his grip on her flesh. Olivia leaned forward and tilted her forehead his neck, curling in on the sensation of him. He held her gently against his chest now, running broad hands up her back to her shoulders. She could see their joining from her downward view, and moved experimentally to see the effect. It heated her to see the slow slide, and feeling emboldened by it, she sat backwards so be could see too.

  Harlan's fingers gripped her lower back carefully as she began to move above him, urgency building with the pressure within her. “Fuck,” he said now, and Olivia nodded in agreement, still moving. It was a lot, almost too much, and then he slid a hand between them and it was too much, it was everything and-

  It felt like a rocket went off inside her, hurtling through her body and sending sparks showering to ember. Harlan's grip on her tightened near-painfully as he held her to him so she wouldn't fly away, but even that felt good, grounded her even through her soaring, and he fucked her hard and fast for breathless, overwhelming seconds before following behind.

  He didn't let her go, just held her tighter to him, his body dampened forehead hot against her cheek. She stayed without complaint, boneless and happy again in his arms. She felt shaky, high, solidified. She only shifted when her thighs began to ache, and he sensed her discomfort, laying back in the bed and pulling her to lay atop him, still snug in his arms. She lay her head into the crook of his neck, listening to their breathing calm and cool.

  “Thank you,” he said finally, so quiet that she barely heard him. Olivia propped her head up to see his face, and was faced with the most solemn expression she'd seen him wearing yet.

  “For what?” she asked, bemused, thinking bizarrely for a minute that he meant for being on top, but that couldn't be it.

  “For coming here. Forgiving me. What a day, Olivia, I swear I haven't done anything so stupid in years.”

  “I make you stupid,” she suggested, expecting a laugh, but he shook his head.

  “No. You're the reason I shouldn't be.” He kissed her, and Olivia sighed into it, going boneless on his chest. Things felt resolved now, more than they had before, and the sharp tinge of pain and fear and regret had abated. He ran his hand through her hair as they melted together, until they were almost asleep at the edge of his big, wide bed.

  Finally she grew achy and shifted, and Harlan helped her slide to the side so they could sit up. “Shower?” he suggested, but she shrugged.

  “Maybe… are you hungry?”

  “Definitely.”

  And so Olivia found h
erself sitting on the counter in the dark stretch of Harlan's kitchen, feet grazing against the cabinets as he cooked up a breakfast that would feed the entire former Everett family.

  She flipped through the channels on his TV and paused on the classic movie channel, finding Breakfast at Tiffany’s just about to begin. He laughed when she mentioned it, and they settled in to watch over midnight waffles, bacon, eggs, and orange juice Harlan tipped some tequila into.

  Full and sated, she must have fallen asleep again, because she woke up when it was almost over, her head in Harlan's lap. He had his legs on the table, a drink in his hand, and was totally sucked into the movie. He didn't even notice that she'd opened her eyes, and she peeked through her eyelashes as he took it in.

  You know what's wrong with you, Miss Whoever-You-Are? You're chicken, you've got no guts. You're afraid to stick out your chin and say, "Okay, life's a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that's the only chance anybody's got for real happiness." You call yourself a free spirit, a wild thing, and you're terrified somebody's going to stick you in a cage. Well, baby, you're already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it's not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somaliland. It's wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself, Paul Varjak was saying, and Harlan tipped his drink to the screen.

  She waited for the credits before speaking. “It's good, right? The book doesn't end as well.”

  He glanced down at her, his hand going to her cheek. “No? Then I prefer the movie.”

  “Me too,” she agreed, meeting his warm smile with one of her own. "Bed?"

  “Bed,” he nodded, and they went.

  Chapter 25

  Dr. Brannan turned out to be a small old man, half Harlan's size but tough as nails and with a big, booming laugh that would fill any room.

  The laugh set Olivia at ease at once, even thought she'd been nervous all morning, had even dressed up even though she'd had to wear her fancy clothes to class. She hadn't expected to go meet him just days after Harlan suggested it, but she was secretly glad not to have more time to be nervous, and work and school had kept her from worrying too much in the meantime.

  Harlan seemed comfortable in the office they met at, and she wondered at the emotions he'd shared only with this man and these walls. The walls were a rich, friendly oak, diplomas and abstract paintings covering every wall. The room was overstuffed with all kinds of furniture and cushions, tissues placed discretely beside each seat.

  Dr. Brannan seemed to have been briefed on Olivia's attendance, and was seemingly overjoyed to meet her. “My dear, my dear, you are a vision!” he'd said upon their introduction, grasping her hands and causing Harlan to glower a little.

  “Don't embarrass the girl,” he said, and Dr. Brannan winked over his glasses at Olivia.

  “Don't embarrass him, I think our mutual friend means, don't you?”

  Harlan had rolled his eyes and walked into the office, and Dr. Brannan had ushered her in behind.

  They sat, Harlan's arm protectively across Olivia’s shoulders in the loveseat they had chosen, Olivia clutching her purse like a shield.

  Dr. Brannan leaned back in his armchair and addressed Olivia directly. “My girl, I am delighted to meet you, although I do wish the circumstances were different. It's my gift and curse that the people in my life most often appear in times of crisis, but I'd be honored if you would share that burden with your silly Dr. Brannan.”

  “Okay,” Olivia said, offering a weak smile before clearing her throat. “I guess… well, as you know, my name is Olivia Everett.”

  She filled him in on her story, briefly, trying not to linger on any one painful detail. It didn't keep her from tearing up as she described her family, and Harlan took her hand as she talked a little about Tomer, clearly struggling to sit quietly.

  Dr. Brannan held up a hand when she tried to explain the events that had brought them in, saying he knew all about Harlan's backslide.

  “It wasn't really a backslide, just one mistake,” she tried to say, feeling Harlan's shame beside her.

  Dr. Brannan shook his head, but his smile was gentle. “Sweet Olivia, you mustn't minimize the error that our Harlan has made. It's very common in domestic abuse survivors to explain or excuse away these things, and I'm sorry to say that it prevents proper boundaries and defenses from developing. Think of it like this: your relationship barometer has been set by irregular behavior. Of course you know the broad strokes of what was improper, but there are many things that don't register as improper if what I call your “normal meter” is broken.”

  Olivia shrugged, embarrassed. Dr. Brannan patted her knees “Harlan, my boy, won't you give us a moment?”

  Harlan stood, obviously reluctant to leave her, but she gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile and he went.

  And her first session with Dr. Brannan began.

  Soon Olivia saw him more than Harlan did. He'd given her his phone number, and she called him from the corners of her campus and the privacy of her bedroom. She went back alone the weekend after their first session and stayed for five hours. It was addicting, now that she'd unsealed the little tomb of bad feelings inside her, to toss everything out in the open and see what Dr. Brannan would make of it. He had something to say to make her entirely drop the guilt and self-loathing she'd been carrying with her for what felt like everything, how could it not be addicting?

  They talked about her nightmares, and Dr. Brannan suggested that their worsening was due to the car accident at her work. He explained that the crash had brought the details of her family's tragedy into “the world of the physical.” Giving her a “scent, sight, and sound,” as he put it, her subconscious had more to latch onto when it came to conjuring up horrible visions. He suggested she exercise or practice yoga, adding “I believe we know a man in the fitness industry, as well.”

  They talked about how stupid she felt for being so slow to finish her degree, how adrift she was compared to her roommates and how afraid she was of leaving her comfort zone of low-effort jobs. To that he had an answer, too, and compared trauma to a heavy backpack that Olivia had been saddled with in her day-to-day living. “It's invisible, so it's tempting to blame yourself for not being able to run flat-out,” he offered, and Olivia’s eyes pricked with tears to hear the simple truth of what he was saying. “You've been carrying this burden without anyone to help for years.”

  They even discussed her anxiety, although Dr. Brannan though she could reduce her attacks without going straight to medication. It was a relief to hear him say she wasn't crazy, that she'd been coping the best she could. She had been, but hearing it from someone other than Thom or Harlan helped it truly sink in. She left every session feeling exhausted, but inevitably woke up light the next day.

  She and Harlan had developed a habit of eating dinner together when their schedules allowed, and so most nights they cooked at his house. They went back to the Starlite when she had a lunch break once, but mostly they stayed in, spending long evenings in bed talking and talking and a lot more besides.

  Harlan never asked what Olivia and Dr. Brannan talked about, but she often told him anyway, and he'd listen while she ran through the thoughts she was still so new to processing. She felt like she'd woken up suddenly, between Harlan and counseling, and everything was a bubble of brightness, colors and sensations emerging out of a fog she hadn't known she was in.

  The only thing they hadn't talked about again was the text that had led them to Dr. Brannan in the first place. It was only when Harlan dropped Olivia off one morning and Dr. Brannan asked him to stay, and if Olivia minded, that she knew it was time.

  Finally she heard the day’s timeline from Harlan's perspective, and it broke her heart to hear him admit his worry about her rejection, how he'd summoned everything in him to follow his gut and come check on her. How the ugly words of Tomer, unprepared as he was, had felt like an echo of his father’s. He described his an
ger, not looking at anyone, and this time Olivia wondered that he'd controlled himself to the extent he had. Finally he cracked a smile describing Winnie’s ejection of him and subsequently demanded reparations. Olivia smiled too, believing the worst to be over. Dr. Brannan declined to fill in the gaps of the conversation the men had had, but was happy to jump in and guide Olivia through her own retelling.

  Finally she asked the question that had bothered her the most about that day, although she didn't think anyone would be able to answer it.

  “Who do you think Tomer texted me, anyway?”

  “Because he's a sick little bastard,” Harlan sniped, but said nothing else at Dr. Brannan’s expression.

  “We can't know for sure,” he said quietly, firmly. “However. Escalation can be common after a run-in like you had in person recently. Seeing you being out from under his control triggered that need to control you, at least your emotional state.”

  “But I can just block him.” Olivia argued.

  “He still managed to disrupt your day. Nearly a new relationship. He can't know that of course, so he may find he wants to try again. Be on alert to delete any unknown numbers.”

  “If he's anything like my brother, he'll try again,” Harlan said darkly. “He has something to lose - he was just reminded what he lost.”

  Dr. Brannan nodded reluctantly. “Someone precious.”

  Harlan seemed thoughtful on the way back to Olivia's. She let him think, staring out the window at clouds and treetops. Only when he hmmed did she turn toward him for whatever he would say.

  He was driving the truck, but his profile seemed sheepish. “Nothing. I was just thinking how much easier it is to fight someone in person than to fight against their influence and their memory.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” She had to smile, though, imagining Harlan beside Tomer. “Especially when they'd be easy to beat in a fight.”

  “Don't tempt me,” Harlan sighed.

  Olivia hid a smile. She really felt like she'd gotten to know him better in a short amount of time with all the deep talks that Dr. Brannan had initiated between them. And every new layer made her like him a little bit more.