by Unknown
“Why are you avoiding me?” he asked.
My eyes met his. “I’m not avoiding you. You’re avoiding me.”
His eyebrows lifted and his lips quirked up. “Clearly. Which is why I followed you out here. To avoid you.”
I thought of the few times I’d seen Preston since he saw my scars. Had I been the one avoiding him?
“I’m not trying to avoid you,” I said.
“Okay. Then why are you drinking? You don’t even like beer.”
“You don’t know that. I could love it.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
He took a step toward me. “Exactly. This isn’t you. What happened?”
I shook my head. “What do you know about me?”
“I know enough to know that I want to know more.”
I glanced up, but then my gaze drifted to London, who had slipped outside and was making her way over to us. I ran a hand self-consciously over my hair and took another drink of my beer. “You have company.” I nodded toward her, and he turned around, cursing.
“Hey, where did you go?” she asked as she stepped up beside him, linking her arm into his.
Preston motioned to me. “We were just talking. What’s up?” I heard the dismissal in his tone, but London either didn’t care or had drank too much to notice. She leaned in closer to him and whispered in his ear before kissing his neck.
I closed my eyes briefly, the warmth I’d felt before replaced with ice. “I’m going to go find Kara. See you around.” I raced back inside, searching from room to room, prepared to beg Kara to walk with me back to Liberty, when someone shouted from the living room, “Cops!”
Shit. I glanced around frantically for a place to sit my beer and then realized it didn’t matter. You could smell it on my breath. But surely they couldn’t arrest you for smell alone, right? Damn it! People pushed past me, making their way back to one of the rooms at the end of the hall to hide, and then a familiar voice whispered in my ear, “Come with me.” Preston took my cup and sat it on the sink in the bathroom as he led me to the room at the end of the hall. More and more people poured in behind us, pushing and laughing and then someone turned out the light and the room became quiet. I tried to make out a face in the darkness, but there was nothing, not a single light to guide me. Then someone lit a match and my body quaked, my eyes focused on the movement of the yellow and orange and red.
“Put that out, you idiot!” someone yelled, and then once again, we were in darkness, but the damage was done. I saw the match in the depths of my mind, igniting the memory, building on itself, flames and smoke and screams. I tried to draw in a breath, tried to steady my shaking hands. Oh God.
“Shh, I’ve got you.” Preston placed his hands on my hips and pulled me against him, his head beside mine, whispering again and again that everything was okay. I buried my head in his chest, unsure of what else to do, and clenched my eyes tight, but all I could hear was Trisha’s voice, her cries as I stumbled outside, and then the horrifying sound of beams breaking as the house succumbed to the fire. I wanted to go back in . . . I should have gone back in.
I opened my mouth to say something, but I couldn’t pull myself away from the memory. As though I were back there, coughing from the smoke, screaming as the fire burned my clothes, then my flesh. Later, at the ER, they would have to cut off my shirt to get to the worst of my burns. I had no idea how I made it out of the house. I remembered taking the joint from Matt, smelling smoke, and then the rush of relief as I made my way outside. I lost everyone that mattered to me in one night, in one single moment of weakness.
“You’re shaking.”
I nodded against Preston’s chest, and he tightened his arms around me, pulling me still closer. I knew whatever he suspected of me before was flying out the window in this one crazy act, but I couldn’t do anything about that now. I needed him too badly to tear myself away.
He ran his hands up my back and then moved them to my face, cradling my cheeks as he tilted my chin up. My vision adjusted to the darkness, and our eyes met. The world disappeared around me, all thought replaced by Preston and his wordless assurance that everything would be okay. In that moment, he became my lifesaver, keeping me from drowning. Helping me breathe again. He inched his head toward mine, his minty breath warm on my face. I stilled, waiting, hoping, sure that I could lose myself in him if he would let me. But then someone opened the door to the room and turned on the light, announcing that the coast was clear. The cops were gone.
Preston took a step away from me and ran a hand through his hair, breathing out slowly as he peered around, his eyes on anything but me. I considered reaching for him or rushing from the room. Both options felt equally right. And that was when I noticed the person standing to our left. London. Her arms were crossed over her chest and the expression on her face was some combination of anger and disappointment.
Preston focused on her. “Hey,” he said, as calm as ever.
She narrowed her eyes. “I thought you weren’t seeing anyone?”
“I’m not,” he said, never looking away from her. Suddenly my cheeks became warm and my insides felt hollow and weak. He was telling her the truth. We weren’t seeing one another. We weren’t anything. So why did his words cut so deep?
“Hey, there you are,” Kara said, rushing into the room. She linked her arm with mine. “That was insane. I got caught in the bathroom with some smokers. I swear, I’m going to have to bathe in bleach to get the smell off me. Are you ready to go?”
I nodded quickly. Too quickly. “Yep. Ready.”
She stopped to look at me, and I shook my head just a touch. Girl code for I’ll tell you later, but of course I wouldn’t. This was Preston, Kara’s best friend, and no matter what she said, he would always come first. She would take his side, defend him. I couldn’t tell her anything. I couldn’t tell anyone anything. Except Rose. I cringed at the realization that my therapist had become the only person I could talk to. “Okay, then. See you later, Pres,” she said, hugging him.
And then like a coward, I followed her out of the room without a backwards glance.
Chapter Fourteen
“Explain this to me slowly,” Rose said. “You like this boy, yet you ran away like he was some infected leper during the days of the plague?” She shook her head. “Am I missing something? Explain it to me again.”
I sighed heavily and buried my face in my hands. It had been four days since I’d fled from the apartment with Kara, leaving Preston behind, yet all I could think about was that moment, the two of us surrounded by darkness, an electric charge in the air. I had felt powerful and vulnerable all at the same time. And now . . .
“You’ll have to do better than grunts and heavy sighs of injustice. You’re embarking on adulthood. We use words.” Rose took a long draw off her cigarette and set it down on the ivory ashtray she kept at her desk, flicking it once to shake off the excess ash. Her knowing eyes squinted at me, waiting.
“I think I’d rather talk about the fire than my disastrous night with Preston Riggs.”
“See that,” Rose said, pointing at me. “Every time you say his name, you say his full name. Preston Riggs. An expert might say that is suggestive. Like you’re holding him high above you. But, of course, I’m no expert.”
I crept out from behind my hands and stared at Rose. “You think I feel he’s too good for me?”
“Don’t you?”
“No! He’s . . .” I shook my head. “He’s Kara’s best friend and he doesn’t date beyond like a month. He’s complicated. The last thing I need.”
“Um-hm.”
“What?”
“Nothing. So let’s go back to that night.”
I got the impression that Rose had figured something out about me even though I hadn’t decided to reveal it. I hesitated, staring her down with a cocked eyebrow, but she gave nothing away. In
stead, she reached behind her desk chair and pulled out a black memory box. The box was no larger than a shoebox, its exterior shiny in the bright light of Rose’s office. She walked over to me quietly and set the box beside me, then moved to the chair in front of the sofa, her demeanor suddenly all business.
We had spent the last several sessions working through that night, minute by minute, memory by memory. It felt slow, painful, to rehash it in this way, but Rose refused to go fast. She said she wanted me to move on as I became comfortable. I talked about playing beer pong for an entire session, which felt so stupid, but by the end, Rose was right. I was okay with it. For that moment at least.
I eyed the box again. “What is that?” I asked.
“Ah, see, that question tells me that you’re cautious. Some people would open the box to see what is inside. You choose to ask. It’s safer. I want you to get past that safe zone. With this box . . . and with new friends you meet, including THE Preston Riggs.”
My eyes flashed to hers. I fought the urge to repeat my question, but something told me she wouldn’t answer it or any other question about the contents of the box. If I wanted to know, I had to trust her and open it. I glanced over at the large grandfather clock beside her desk, listening as it tick-tick-ticked closer to the end of our appointment. There were fifteen minutes left. The sounds on the street were calm for early morning, and I wondered if the clock was wrong and whether it was actually later in the day, which would mean that I might have missed my first class. “What time is it?”
Rose’s eyes pierced through me. “You know the time.”
I swallowed hard, refusing to look at the box. The smell of Rose’s cigarette hit my nose, harsh and burning, and I was back there, my eyes snapping closed so I could watch myself lie on the floor of Parker’s media room with Claire, singing Because, because, because, because, because along with Dorothy. Everything was so beautiful.
I forced my eyes open, unwilling to watch what happened next. “What if I don’t want to open it?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Rose leaned forward. “Then don’t. Today. But your homework is to find the courage to open it. You can do this, Olive. And when you do, you will be well on your way to healing.”
I nodded, my eyes back on the clock. How had only two minutes passed?
“Okay, now let’s go back to that night,” Rose said, leaning back in her chair. “You were in the house, and you stopped to talk to Claire.”
I drew a breath. “Right. Claire.” I saw her face in my mind, all humor and happiness. God, why didn’t I hug her right then? Why didn’t I tell her that she was more than just the third in our group, like she had said she felt. She was the glue that kept the group together when Trisha and I fought. Often about Matt.
I tucked my legs up under me and stared out into the office. “Claire wanted to go find Parker. He’d been distant lately, and she was afraid he was cheating on her, though I doubted it, and I told her as much. I told her he was likely upstairs with Matt, to come with me.”
“We walked around some couple making out on the stairs and went on into Parker’s media room,” I said, continuing. “The smell of weed hit my nose as soon as I opened the door. A sane person would have gone the other way, but I was Olive Warren and I was with Matt. Now, I can’t believe the stupidity of it all. Like I was the queen and Matt was the king. I refused to let on my doubts about Matt, even to Trisha. Even when the drugs became more important to him than me.” I blinked to keep myself going.
“So, you were unsure of Matt?” Rose asked.
I sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’d been with him so long, and my parents loved him. To me, there was no other way—just Matt and Olive.”
Rose nodded. “Okay, so go on. What happened next?”
“Well, Parker and Matt were in the back of the media room, smoking a joint. They waved us over, and I remember sitting in Matt’s lap, proud to be his girlfriend. I was always proud to be with him. I liked what we were, how all the other girls at school looked at me as though they wanted to be me. Anyway, Matt handed me the joint, and I took two hits, then three, and then everything became fuzzy. Claire was dancing and singing, but it was like I was under water. Like I couldn’t really see or hear her. And then . . .” My body shook as I remembered the smoke, coughing, feeling sure I would die. I opened my mouth to say more, but I couldn’t speak. All I could do was sit there, shaking, my eyes shut so tightly that I didn’t realize Rose was beside me, her arms wrapped around me until she spoke into my ear.
“That’s enough for today, Olive,” she said. “Take a breath.”
I sucked in a sharp breath, forced my eyes open, and focused with everything in me on the tiny bird jutting out from Rose’s clock, telling me the session was over. I counted each call it made, and then slowly my breathing became steady and my pulse returned to normal. Rose reached over for a tissue and passed it to me. I hadn’t even realized that I was crying.
“Great work today,” she said.
I stood up after I was sure that I could stand without crumpling back down. My hands were still shaking, but I felt better. I inhaled, and then started for the door, when Rose called out, “You’re forgetting your homework.”
I turned back to see the box still sitting on the sofa and cringed. “Maybe I could just—”
She walked over with the box. “You will take it. And you will try to open it.”
I grimaced as I took it in my hand. “Fine. But you should know that I don’t like you very much right now.”
She smiled. “And see, I thought we were becoming friends. Have a great day, Olive.”
“Yeah. Great.”
***
I closed Rose’s door behind me, the memory box in hand like a curse, burning my palm, tingling up my forearm. Sessions like this made me wonder if I liked Rose or hated her.
I started down the sidewalk, when I heard a car horn from my left. I glanced over, expecting to see two drivers yelling at one another, but instead saw a black Silverado parked on the street just down from Rose’s office. I eyed the box in my hand, shiny and black, and then the truck. What were the odds? Two shiny black objects full of threatening things I wasn’t ready to explore.
I kept walking, hoping I was wrong about the truck—and its threatening thing—when Preston jumped out and jogged over to me. “Hey,” he said, his eyes concealed once again by his blue sunglasses. In place of his usual bandana, he wore a plaid wool baseball cap and a dark green long-sleeve waffle-knit shirt over worn and faded jeans. His brownish-red locks curled out from the edges of the cap, refusing to be contained.
“Hey,” I finally said, realizing that I wasn’t only staring at him, I was ogling him. Very smooth, Olive. I peeked behind me to the floor-to-ceiling windows of Rose’s office. Sure enough, she was there, peeking through the blinds, grinning her I-told-you-so grin. I rolled my eyes and focused back on Preston. “What are you doing here?”
He tucked his hands into his pockets and bit his lip, as though contemplating, then said, “I wasn’t sure when you came to see her, so I took a chance that you’d schedule your appointments for Mondays. Get them out of the way and all. That’s what I would do. Anyway, after Thursday . . . I thought you might . . .”
I released a slow breath. God, could this get any worse? “Oh.”
I had begun to hate the Wizard of Oz after the fire; the music, even the mention of the title brought on a cold sweat. But suddenly I wished that I were Dorothy and could grab a pair of ruby slippers to take me far, far away from Preston and this awkward moment.
“You look better today,” he said, nodding toward my face, which I imagined was six shades of red by this point.
“I’m fine. Look—”
“What’s in the box?”
I glanced down at the box like it was poison in my hand. “Rose gave me homework.”
“Oh yeah? What is it?”
“I don’t know. I’m afraid to look.” I closed my eyes slowly, hating the pathetic girl I was becoming in front of him, but somehow with Preston, I didn’t feel that natural urge to cover up my fears and insecurities. I could be myself around him, because I knew he would see through the lie. Like he already knew what I would say even before I thought of my response.
Preston reached out and took the box from my hand, tucking it under his arm. “Come on. I’ll drive you back to Liberty.”
“What about London?” The words were out so quickly that I didn’t have time to register what they suggested.
Preston stuttered, clearly taken off guard. “Uh, what about her?” He cocked an eyebrow at me, his lips angling up a fraction of an inch. But that was enough. He knew what the question meant. Damn it!
“I don’t know. She seemed . . . uncomfortable. You know, on Thursday.” God. Was he drunk at the party? Maybe he didn’t remember what happened. Or maybe he didn’t think the way we were, pressed together, his palms cupping my face, was unusual or intimate.
“Oh, right. She’s fine.”
My eyes narrowed. He was being intentionally shady, which meant they were still doing whatever it was he did with girls. I felt my resolve falter at the thought and peered behind me to see Rose giving me two thumbs up. I closed my eyes and shook my head, defeated. “Fine. I’ll ride in your damn truck.”
Preston grinned and started to reply, but then his gaze travelled past me to Rose’s office, his eyebrows shooting up. “Is that your therapist?”
I walked around him toward his truck. “Yes.”
“She’s waving at me.”
I sighed. Of course she was. Thank you, Rose. If I ever speak to you again, I’m going to turn you into one of those ghosts you love. “Are we going or not?”