by Ivy Fox
“Oliver, if you use that word again with me, I promise you the kick to the balls you deserve. Get out of my room. It’s obvious you forgot who you’re talking to,” I warn, holding my arm out, pointing the way to the door.
I might love Ollie, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let him disrespect me just because he’s hurting. Ash might have gotten the better of me, but like hell if I’ll fall victim to Ollie, too.
Instead of leaving my room as I commanded, Ollie surprises me by pushing me onto the bed and falling on top of me, encasing me completely with his strapping body. Rather than being left alone, I am now being held captive under his unyielding frame.
“Let me go, Ollie!” I yell, slapping his muscled forearms in an attempt to gain some wiggle room and free myself from under him.
The precious frame I wanted to protect a minute ago is now my weapon of choice. However, Ollie knocks it away and binds my wrists above my head with just one of his hands. I try to pull away, but his hold is just too strong, and when I finally face him, his hazel eyes look even more majestic than what I remembered.
“You wanted to explain, so explain. I’m all ears.”
“Then let me up and I will,” I yelp, squirming again to get him off of me.
With my arms stretched above my head and his burly, swimmer thighs holding mine immobile, I don’t have much leeway. Yet, I try to wrestle my way out, until my knee knocks with his and the sting of bone crashing into bone blinds me for a bit.
“Stop it, Snow! You’re going to hurt yourself,” he snaps more forcefully, and the tiny echo of worry hits my heart, showing me Ollie still cares enough not to wish me harm.
I take a minute and inhale a deep breath to calm myself. Maybe this is my only opportunity to tell him my side of the story. It can’t get any worse than it did back on our parents’ wedding day. Once I stop my attempts to free myself, I realize that Ollie’s grip on me has softened, too.
“If I explain, will you listen? I mean, really hear me out, Ollie?” I plead, searching for any leniency in his eyes.
“You see me leaving? I’m here, aren’t I? I need to know the truth, Snow. So out with it.”
“Is that why you went through my stuff?” I ask, hopeful.
Yes, it was an invasion of privacy, but maybe he got caught on purpose, hoping somehow I would find him so we could finally talk—even if he had to force me down to get a confession out of me.
“I just need to know, Snow. Just tell me,” he hushes. Without breaking his hold, I feel the back of his knuckles caress my cheek just as he used to do.
So I tell him.
I tell him everything.
How the summer I met them at The Shack was my first summer in the Hamptons, too. How my father had argued with my mother to allow me to have this small speck of normalcy after my surgery, so I could feel empowered and not debilitated. I explained how she only conceded when she found out the diner was close to the outskirts of town, and most of her friends would never assume her daughter was pouring coffee and working for eleven dollars an hour. I told him how she threatened to pull me out of there the minute gossip hit her ears. But I didn’t care for any of that. All I cared about was that I felt in control of my body for once.
Since I could remember, I had been homeschooled by my nana. Every hour of every day of my life had been accounted for. Aside from Candy, the housekeeper’s daughter, I had no other friends, and no real opportunities to make any.
That all changed when I started working at The Shack. I met new people every day, all of them looking at me as if I was your run-of-the-mill teenager with a summer job. They didn’t see a girl with only one kidney. They didn’t see sickness or disease. And most importantly, they didn’t see a girl starved of affection—lonely and depressed with her lot in life. They just saw a normal girl, with her whole, promising life ahead of her. And then one day, I met the two boys who were destined to have my heart and give my wretched life meaning.
I continue to explain how, in the beginning, I never thought I would need to tell them who I was because we were only ever going to see each other that summer. But then I returned to Brookhaven, and every day I would get a call or a text from them. Pretty soon, they invaded my dull life, and I saw the color they both brought to it. Then the months passed, and my feelings grew. Suddenly, I was faced with the fact that there were a lot of things I hadn’t been upfront about and needed to explain, sooner or later—about my parents, about my condition, about everything.
“That night on the beach when you asked me to move in with you, I knew that I would have to tell you the truth. I just wanted us to have one last summer where my reality didn’t taint our days together. I just wanted to give us memories where everything wasn’t so complicated. It was selfish, I know, but it was never with the intent of hurting you. I promise you that,” I whisper, as the grief-stricken tears begin to fall from the corner of my eyes and wet the comforter beneath me.
“You’re right. You were selfish,” Ollie murmurs, his accusation laced with the same ache I feel inside. “Do you want to know the real reason why I’m upset? It wasn’t the lies, Snow. I could have forgiven you for wanting to detach yourself from everything related to your parents. What I can’t forgive is how I opened my heart to you, and you only gave me a fraction of yours in return. To love someone, you have to trust them. And you didn’t trust me, not really.”
“But I did! Ollie, please I—” But before I can say another word in my defense, he presses a hand over my mouth and stops me completely.
“Don’t. I can’t hear it, Snow. Not while I feel like this,” he relents, sounding raw and defeated.
I was hoping that Ollie would understand, once I explained everything. I truly believed he would see that I’m still me—his Snow. But as I stare up at his once glorious and earnest eyes, my chest tightens to find nothing but conformity and resignation.
“Perhaps our time has passed. I mean, you’re supposed to be my family now,” he whispers solemnly.
“I am your family, Ollie. I always have been.”
“Not like that. I mean, you’re supposed to be my sister now, Snow. And if I expect you to be honest with me, then I have to be honest with myself, too. I don’t think I can handle anything more right now.”
“What are you saying?” I sob, terrified at what he’s insinuating.
“I’m saying, give me time. Maybe after the dust settles we can find a way to at least be friends,” he explains so stoically, I almost want to curl up into the fetal position and die beneath him.
“Friends?” I choke out as if the word is the ugliest thing I’ve ever heard.
“Better than me hating you, isn’t it?”
I open my mouth to tell him it’s not—how I’d prefer his anger and hate over civil friendship—but I’m too shaken for anything to come out. Ollie leans in and places a chaste kiss on my temple, and the unshed tears in his eyes kill me even more. Then he straightens up from on top of me, letting me go once and for all.
“I don’t want you to have to worry anymore. I’ll have a word with Ash, so we’re both on the same page. Perhaps you two can come to the same even ground.”
“Asher isn’t the forgiving type.” I sob, praying Ash doesn’t wash his hands of me as easily as Ollie willingly seems to do.
“Neither am I, Snow. But I’m trying here.”
I turn my head to the side, not wanting him to see how his olive branch just sliced me in two. I hear him leave without a further word and I curl in on myself, letting the silent tears stream down my face as they wanted to the whole time Ollie was telling me he wants to be my friend.
It astonishes me how I preferred to have him hate me—knowing it came from a place where love still breathed inside of him—than this lukewarm sentiment of so-called friendship. All that word promises is that Ollie will never again love me the way he did. Like, with a flick of a switch, he’s turned his heart off to me. He won’t allow himself to give me any more tha
n that. And if that isn’t the cruelest punishment he could bestow on me, I don’t know what is.
I’m unsure how much time passes with me wallowing in my grief, but being in this room—where Ollie’s scent still lingers around me—becomes too much for me to bear. I get off the bed and rush out of my room in search of anything to distract me from this feeling of destitution.
Without even realizing, I find myself, once more, on the rooftop. I didn’t consider how late it must be, but there isn’t a living soul left up here. All that remains from the party, besides the vestiges of empty glasses from all the alcohol that was passed around, are the twinkling white lights and the soft, blue hue coming from the pool.
Depressed, heartbroken, and exhausted, I take off my shoes and sit on the pool’s edge. I let the chlorine water travel through my toes, reminding me of another time when Ollie, Ash, and I had the whole sea to ourselves. It’s a pale comparison to the Atlantic, which witnessed our budding love. But the cool water still has me reminiscing on our nights spent together—filled with promises, dreams, and a love that will never come to fruition.
Wanting to submerge myself in the memory of what I lost, I pull my black dress over my head and throw it on one of the chaise lounges behind me. I dive into the pool in only my panties, and the touch of the water against my exposed skin feels like I am being kissed by them.
I want to laugh and cry simultaneously. The nagging feeling that I will never again be whole strangles me. But while I’m immersed in the water, I can at least remember how it felt to be loved.
I keep swimming, hoping the exertion will wear down my bones, as well as my somber thoughts. I try to cling to the memories and erase my current reality, but it’s of no use. This is me now—alone and forgotten.
“You seem upset,” I hear a voice announce above me.
Startled, I quickly swim nearer to the dark corner of the pool, hoping it can camouflage my naked state. I push my hair away from my face, and hold my arms over my breasts, hoping it’s enough to give me back some of my modesty. Malcolm Grayson lights up his Cuban cigar, letting out two circles of smoke as he begins to walk closer to my side of the pool.
“Such a nice night, isn’t it? Too nice to be spending it on your own,” he says as each step he takes brings him closer.
I try my best not to look alarmed but inch myself closer to the wall of the pool, not comfortable with my mother’s new husband seeing me this way. He mustn’t have realized that I don’t exactly have a swimsuit on. When he does, I am sure he’ll be just as embarrassed as I am. Of course, embarrassment will be the least of my concerns should he tell my mother he saw me half-naked in his pool tonight. She’ll make sure I regret my silly impulse of a midnight swim.
“Maybe I can offer my company. We haven’t had much time to get to know each other, so why not start tonight?” he proclaims before taking another long pull on his cigar.
“She’s got company,” a sinister voice hums behind me.
I snap my head around and see Rome lying on a chaise lounge. It’s relatively dark, but I can still see a whiskey glass in hand, and his white, collared shirt open, revealing a tattooed chest with words too small for me to make out. Where did he come from all of a sudden? Was he already here when I came up and I missed him? His posture is relaxed, but the black look he sends his father is anything but.
“So I see,” Malcolm responds, oddly entertained. He puts out his cigar using one of the half-empty glasses of champagne. “I’ll leave you both to it then. Goodnight, Holland. Roman.” He bids farewell, before heading back downstairs. I stay frozen in my spot at the edge of the pool, trying to understand the dynamics between Rome and his father after that odd exchange, when two bare feet come into view.
“I don’t hear a thank you,” Rome taunts, looking down at me with that damn smirk I’ve come to detest.
“And what exactly would I need to be thanking you for?” I crane my head back and snarl at him.
He drops down on his haunches, his crooked smile growing wider at seeing me squirm. He’s too close for me to be able to hide, so I know he’s getting an eyeful.
“The judge doesn’t sleep much, but luckily for you, I don’t either. I just saved you from a bonding moment with your new daddy, in your birthday suit. Doesn’t that qualify for a thank you?” His eyes begin to travel my body, and the asshole doesn’t even try to hide his blatant perusal. “Or maybe that was your idea all along. The twins don’t want anything to do with you, so you go after their father, is that it? Maybe any Grayson cock will do,” he crudely censures.
“You’re sick! You know that, right?!” I bark out, feeling my face flush with humiliating heat, brought out from his gross accusation.
“Actually, I think I’m offended. You skipped me entirely. Or should I be flattered you thought I wasn’t stupid enough to fall for your doe-eyed look?”
The disgust I feel for Roman Grayson is too real for me to hold back, so I let him see just exactly what I think of him—a twisted, ugly soul inside a pretty package. His translucent, amber eyes only see depravity, which tarnishes their beauty. His full pouty lips are tainted with the foulness that passes through them, and his silky, jet-black hair is just a small taste of how polluted his heart is.
“You look insulted. You shouldn’t be. I couldn’t care less about what you do with my father. My only concerns are with the twins and my sister. But I am curious, though. Tell me, is that the deal you’ve made with your mother? She gets a black AMEX and gives you her crumbs as long as you open your legs for dear old dad?”
“Stop it, Rome! You don’t know me! You don’t know a thing about me!” I yell, outraged his mind could conceive such filth. He grabs my chin, tilting my head further back until his face is mere inches away from mine. I’m not unaccustomed to being manhandled, as my mother has done it to me enough, but Rome’s grip on me, although intimidating, is feather-light.
“Yes, I do. I know exactly what you both are—snakes. You’re trying to crawl your way to the top, using every resource at your disposal, without giving a second thought about who you may hurt along the way. I know a heartless bitch when I see one, and no fucking way I’ll let you hurt my family,” he threatens with a low growl that I feel all the way to the tip of my toes.
Rome lets me go and straightens up, standing proudly after making his point. It’s unfortunate that he unfairly placed me in the same light as my mother. It dawns on me that, in every terrorizing encounter we’ve had, his reason to punish me is because he perceives me as some sort of veiled threat to his siblings. I want to tell him that he has nothing to fear from me. That I love the twins, and that Elle is becoming a dear friend, despite the short time we’ve spent together. But even if I poured my heart out to Rome, he’d never believe me. The distrust and contempt swimming in his eyes is all I need to know that Roman Grayson will always be my enemy.
“Get out of the pool,” he orders suddenly, and I let out an incredulous gasp.
“What? No!”
“No?” he repeats, amused, that devilish smirk reappearing once he grabs my dress from the chair behind him.
“You heard me,” I quip back, standing my ground.
Is he insane?
The water doesn’t do much to hide my body from his scrutiny, but leaving my tiny security blanket is not something I will yield to lightly.
“Get out of the pool, Holland, or I’ll wake my brothers with just one phone call and tell them how you were up here getting friendly with our father,” he warns, going as far as taking his phone from his pant pocket and swinging it in my face.
“But I wasn’t!”
“That’s what it looked like to me. Care to explain it to them?”
“God, you are such an asshole!”
“Now, there you go again with the juvenile insults. You said you’d try better, but I have yet to see you do it,” he teases me with a throaty laugh.
In my mind, I picture throwing him daggers and wishing one would s
lice him open. He might want to protect his family, but this is still just a game to him—one that he thinks he can win by trying to break me into submission. He wants to be my puppet-master, but no way will I give him my strings. He’s intent on pushing me hard enough to a point where I’ll just snap. That’s why he’s coming up with the most gruesome, distasteful scenarios his little brain can conjure up. But two can play this game. He wants me to cringe and fold, but I’ll show him just how uncomfortable I can make him, too. I swim to the stairs of the pool and step out, unrepentant about my naked state. Dripping wet, I walk over to him, my chin up, my features blank. He wants me to cower, but as I stand before him, he’s the one who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but here.
Gotcha, you big jerk!
I square my shoulders, my resolve giving me the confidence I need to take one step closer to him until there is little room between us. As I move to take my dress away from his hand, he swiftly places his arm behind his back.
“Arms up,” he orders, his voice huskier than it was a minute ago.
I know that arguing with him is useless, so I throw my arms in the air, my eyes still fixed on his golden stare. He begins to trail my dress over my arms, then my head and then pulls it all the way down my body. He does it with such care that it seemed he was making an effort not to touch me. He then pulls my hair away from my wet shoulders, so gently, I begin to question where the crude, malicious jerk went off to.
Once he’s satisfied everything is in place, he bridges the small gap between us, his bare chest scorching mine. He leans down to my ear and the unexpected, electric surge that occurs, leaves me even more confused. My heart starts to drum in my ears, while a sudden lump in my throat makes it hard to breathe. He’s so close that I can smell the rich liquor he has been drinking, mixed with something sweet.