Now Open Your Eyes (Stay With Me series Book 3)

by Nicole Fiorina

  “I’m in love with you, Mia,” his feelings compromised his voice, “I’ll always be in love with you. Forever, madly in that place you never have to question, no matter what happens. Wedding or no wedding, it’s you and I evermore. Do you understand me?” Nodding, my bottom lip trembled and my eyes burned as I watched my broken spirit only strengthen his. His faith shook, but he still believed in the two of us—enough for the both of us. He forced a small smile and released a breath. “Good, now go get some sleep. I’ll see you bright and early.”

  I didn’t say it back. I didn’t kiss Ollie goodbye.

  I was too afraid. If our lips met, I’d be on my way back to the hotel with him. And if I’d gone back, I’d never find out the truth. Was I the dependent girl whose happiness and strength relied on someone else, or could I find the strength within?

  After Ethan drove off, I’d officially hit the bottom of what was supposed to be a bottomless pit. The joke was on me when I’d crashed into the hard surface. Three things I’d learned about myself. First, I was definitely not a sociopath—never was. Two, I would forever be in love with Oliver Masters. And three, I didn’t know who I was without him.

  Number three was the punch to the gut, and the main reason I needed this time. With or without me, Ollie had a future, a life, dreams, a career … Everything I didn’t have and never knew I wanted until now. A part of me was jealous, another part incredibly proud. I couldn’t be angry with Ollie for going after it, but it only reminded me of how less of a person I was. At least with Ethan, on the run, it could have distracted me with a false sense of purpose. At least with Ethan, I wouldn’t have been the only one hiding, pretending, and lying to myself.

  Ollie waited in the driveway as I climbed the porch steps and pushed through the door of my dad’s house, where Dad sat over the beige microfiber couch in front of the TV, watching the Steelers play, his hand clasped around a glass set on the side table. His head scooped to the side to see I’d come through the door.

  Diane poked her blonde head through the kitchen opening with a rag in her hands. “We already ate. I’m not used to making dinner for three, so you’ll have to figure it out,” she threw the rag over her shoulder, “You’re an adult now, Mia. Time to take care of yourself.” Her head disappeared, and I hadn’t expected anything different from her.

  “It’s okay.” I stepped toward the living room, passing her on the way. “I wasn’t hungry anyway.”

  “Starving yourself or too lazy?” I heard behind me from the kitchen.

  I paused mid-step, my fists clenched at my sides. “Just tired,” I forced out. It was already close to six-thirty at night, which would’ve made it almost eleven-thirty in the United Kingdom, but as tired as I was, a conversation between my dad and I needed to happen. We hadn’t spoken since I’d returned, avoiding both of them until I could figure out what to say.

  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 mysel
f. 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?”

  “Phlegm was already taken.”

  It had been easy to fall asleep at night when you had no more questions. With Ollie, everything was going to be okay, even if I didn’t have the answer to everything. Next to Ollie, space and time were non-existent, and I’d slip into a coma of warmth without worry.

  And though he wasn’t sleeping with me now, the dreams of our time together held me over.

  I woke up before Diane entered this time and looked out the window.

  Ollie was there, standing against the silver hatchback on the curb with a Dunkin cup in one hand, the other shoved into the pocket of his hoodie. He must have felt my eyes on him, and his head tilted to catch me staring. What time did he get here? There was at least fifty feet, a window, and a tree branch between us, but his eyes found mine against the obstacles. Straightening his posture, he smiled, and his hand withdrew from the pocket and lifted in a small wave.

  I waved back.

  He held up a finger, sat his coffee over the top of the car, and opened the driver-side door.

  His back was to me, and I took the opportunity to fix my hair. My pillow-head only made my left side decent, and a large Champion sweatshirt hung from my shoulders. My arms dropped to my sides as Ollie faced me again, holding up a second coffee cup in the air as an offering.

  I shook my head.

  He held up a finger again.

  Then a white paper bag appeared from behind his back, and he gave it a little shake in front of him.

  I laughed lightly, hoping the distance, tree, and glass of the window gave the illusion I wasn’t blushing or completely taken by his determination.

  Ollie held up his palm in the air as in to say, give-me-something-here.

  I shook my head, and he hung his.

  A few beats later, he’d sat my coffee beside his and disappeared inside the car again, grabbing a backpack. I’d watched from the window as he balanced the backpack over his knee, unzipped, and dropped the white paper bag inside, I’m sure filled with croissants and pastries, before closing it back up. Ollie grabbed my coffee off the car and walked under the window and toward the front door, disappearing from my view.

  When he walked back to the car, his hands were empty.

  He’d left it all waiting for me.

  Ollie paused before he got back inside the hatchback, car door half-ajar, shielding half his body. He looked up once more, his eyes saying everything I needed to know: I’ll be here tomorrow, I’ll do this forever, but hurry up because you’re killing me. And before he got inside and closed the door, the last look in his eyes said the very thing I needed to hear, taste, and feel instead. I love you, Mia.

  I’d spent yesterday’s brisk morning walking up and down the hills of Bushkill with the camera Ollie left me from the backpack, which also held some old clothes, a new pair of Converse, and a few simple shirts he purchased, knowing he had everything I’d left at Dolor.

  Bushkill, Pennsylvania was picture perfect during the changing seasons, and dead the rest of the year, known for the waterfalls and Pocono mountains. There wasn’t nightlife here, secluded with reserves, hiking trails, parks, and museums. We’d moved here after my mom died from Allentown, which was busier, noisier, and suffocating for my dad. I didn’t remember Allentown much, only the ice skating rink I used to visit on Saturdays with Miley and Charlotte.

  I’d went through two rolls of film, and remembered the way I felt behind a camera. Powerful and in control. I could give any illusion I wanted. Make anything beautiful. Even a gum wrapper carried by the wind amongst the leaves, I’d clicked and captured trash, a mint blue star dancing across brown hues.

  From the busy day before, Ollie had beat me to the front door.

  We stood on opposite sides, completely still and staring at one another, and I shivered from the cold-front seeping through the breezeway and into the house. Ollie had more layers on this morning with a beanie, the temperature in the high thirties or low forties. Though his feet were rooted in place, the rest of him was alive, ready to pounce if I’d let him. “You all right?”

  He stood in front of me, him on the doormat and me inside the entryway of the house, and I forced my head to nod to keep myself from caving. Here, I felt more in control of the situation. Here, I trusted myself. But with Ollie here, no distance was safe.

  Ollie’s chin dropped to his chest. “I won’t keep you, but I went into town yesterday and got you a phone with international service. I want to make sure you have a way to reach me,” he pulled out a phone from his front pocket and held it between us, “the young chap said the camera is the best feature, and I set it up for you last night, programmed my number. I also downloaded a few apps I think you’ll like. Mostly picture apps where you can choose filters and distort images …”

  Ollie continued to ramble nervously, and I reached for the phone.

  “Nah-uh-uh,” he pulled the iPhone away and held it over our heads, clouds from our breaths pillowing between us, “I want something from you in return.”

  I shifted, leaning my hip against the doorframe in a pair of his joggers he’d packed me and his shirt that read, MAKE LOVE NOT WAR. He knew I loved this shirt, not because of the saying, but because it was his favorite. “What do you want?”

  “If I give you this phone, you have to message me. And I’m going to watch you send me that first message now so I know you know how to use it.”

  The phone
lowered between us, and I held out my palm for him to drop it in. “I know how to use a phone, Ollie.”

  “You’d be surprised how much has changed in two years.”

  Shaking my head, I fumbled with the buttons to change the black screen to something different. The home button was gone. Ollie smirked but offered no assistance.

  Finally, I figured it out tapped the green icon. “What’s your number?”

  “It’s already in your contacts,” his hand jolted inside his pocket, “the only number in there, love.”

  I backed out of the messages and went to contacts. “Ollie” was listed, something so simple, but seeing his name across a screen made my heart grow wings and fly. I smiled, texting him.

  Ollie’s phone pinged in his other pocket. He took out his phone and dropped his head, his fingers working the screen to open the message, which simply read, “I love you.” His shoulders visibly relaxed, an exhale left him, and his gaze dragged from the screen until green eyes met mine. “I needed that.”

  The late morning sun filtered through the lace curtains, heating the side of my face. All night, I’d tossed and turned, unable to get warm or comfortable. My throat burned, and my insides felt as if I’d been thrown into an inferno. An annoyed Diane pounded on the door, announcing Ollie’s arrival, but there was no way I could get out of bed.

  For the first time, in a long time, I was sick.

  Groaning, I blindly patted for the phone inside the covers to text him.

  The phone was dead.

  “Diane?” I desperately called out, hoping she’d understand me through the animalistic sound that came out. My voice was gone. “Diane!” I tried again, this time pushing through the lodge inside my throat.

  Fully dressed in yoga pants, Nikes, and Michael Kors black puffer jacket, hair and make-up perfectly in place, Diane entered the guest bedroom with her bag slung over her shoulder, pink yoga mat peeking out.