Luke rarely leaves my side, not that I mind, but he has a life and job he needs to get back to. He can’t put his whole life on hold for me - nor should he. It isn’t realistic. Or normal. And I need normal. The problem is I’m not sure that he understands how much I need that. Crave it. But, he shuts down any conversation I venture to have with him about it, saying that none of that matters more than I do. And this is his new normal – at least for now. I’m going to have to make him understand and I’m dreading that conversation.
I love Luke with every part of me, but I find myself getting frustrated, aggravated with him easily. Why doesn’t he understand that I just need things to be the way they were before? Why do I have to spell it out for him? I have so much anger inside of me. Fortunately, I keep catching myself before I blow. Rationally, I know Luke isn’t the source of my anger, he’s just an easy target. And that’s not fair to him. So I keep it inside.
Interrupting my thoughts is the very man at the center of them, “Wow, just when I think I know everything there is to know about you, I’m reminded that I still have some things to learn?”
I absently look at him as he walks out of the bathroom, “Huh?”
He nods towards the TV, “What are you watching?”
I glance at the TV and quickly do a double take when it dawns on me what he means. The screen shows a glassy, wide-eyed deer lying on the ground, tongue protruding from its mouth, bleeding, obviously having just been shot by a hunter. It’s awful. “OH MY GOD, what AM I watching?”
Luke laughs, “Have you decided to take up hunting? If so, we can go get some gear and start planning a hunting expedition. I mean, it isn’t what I would expect from you, but I bet you’d look hot holding a rifle. Oh!” He stops and places a finger on his chin.
“What?”
He stares off for a minute and then looks at me at last, “Oh nothing, I was just imagining how hot you’d look holding a shotgun, wearing nothing but stilettos.”
“Ha. Very funny,” I tell him as he comes back to bed, making himself comfortable next to me. “I was flipping channels and then got distracted.”
“Distracted by what?”
“Oh nothing in particular, just thinking.”
His brow furrows and he looks away from the gruesome sight that’s still on the television and into my eyes, “Anything you want to talk about?”
“No. It wasn’t anything important. Just thinking about how I’m happy to be home.”
His face registers disappointment so fast, I’m almost sure I imagined it. He grabs the remote and starts flipping the channels, not commenting on my statement.
Turning back to my computer screen, I put the finishing touches on my blog post. I even included pictures of the horrible hospital gowns and made a list of suggested solutions. I bet I could even find gifs from movies where the old guy walks down the hospital hall with his low-hanging ass exposed, just for effect. My post includes ideas like how the gowns should be a nice light weight cotton, or silk. And perhaps cut a bit more shapely and offered in a selection of short, three quarter or long sleeves – or perhaps dolman sleeves to cover up equipment lines and such. Female gowns should have cute patterns like roses or sunflowers, with calming colored backgrounds. For men, an attractive flannel, or just a plain color, like tan, sand, or a nice green might be appropriate. Anything other than little blue dots. And perhaps matching short jackets or robes with non-skid socks.
“Livvie?”
I look up at Luke, and while I know he said my name in some imploring way, he isn’t looking at me. His attention is still focused on the TV. “Yeah?”
“Do you… do you want to talk about what happened? “
I grab my glass of water off the table and take a sip, as my mouth suddenly feels dry. “Talk about what?”
His eyes meet mine for a beat, and then he looks away. “About what happened when you were with Deacon. The doctor, well he said it would be good for you to talk about it.”
“No offense, Luke, but how could a medical doctor know anything other than the condition of my bones? I’m fine. Really. I don’t have anything to talk about.”
“Livvie, how can you not? You were held against your will for four weeks. God only knows-” he stops for a moment, runs his hand through his hair, “I want to be here for you.”
“The best thing for me is to get my life back. I want things to go back to normal. I want to get back to blogging, writing, and enjoying life again.”
“But…”
I snap, “NO LUKE. NO! I refuse to let that man take away any more time from my life. Can’t you get that? I will not allow him to take away what makes me happy, and talk about what he…” my eyes fill with tears and I look away from him. I take deep breaths, trying to slow my heart that’s suddenly racing in my chest.
Luke puts the remote down and scoots his body closer to me so he can hold me, but I don’t want that. I don’t want comfort; I don’t want to be held. I don’t want to be treated like a sick child. I’m not fucking broken. I’m not. And I don’t want to be treated like I am.
As soon as Luke’s arm wraps around my waist, I push my computer off my lap, and as quickly as I can, I swing my legs over to the side of the bed. “Babe, what do you need? I can help you.”
“I’m just going to go to the bathroom. I can manage.” I just need a few moments to myself. Time to calm down before I let my anger boil over and explode. And say something I will likely regret. Must keep control.
I grab my crutches that are leaning against the wall and put them in place. They are stiff and hard and not at all comfortable. I know they said not to put all my weight on my armpits, but I think the guy who wrote those instructions never really had to use the things, as not doing so, is nearly impossible. You would think they would make the pads puffier or something. Trying to calm down, I give extra attention to my crutches and assuming that rhythmic swinging-like motion with my body to make my way to the bathroom. Touch down, swing, touch down, swing.
Once in the bathroom, I sit on the toilet, aware that I did not have to lift the seat. Thanks, Luke, is it really that hard to put down a lid? I grab a tissue from the box on top of the tank lid, and dab at the tears, sitting in my eyes. I just need a moment to cool off before the emotional bomb ticking inside me detonates and Luke becomes collateral damage. I hate feeling like I may erupt at any time and that I’m communicating like some cold-hearted, angry bitch. I hate it. But when he brings up what happened or looks at me with hurt and sympathy, I can’t help it. . I see that he blames himself, it’s written all over his face and the pure torture is evident in his eyes. But his overbearing nature right now and his somewhat somber mood are all more than I can handle. I have enough of my own emotions I’m trying to work through, I can’t take his on too. And besides, this – these emotions and what I went through - is not about him. It’s my story. He needs to get over it, just like I am.
Feeling better, more determined and in control, I leave the bathroom after doing a fake flush of the toilet and washing of my hands. Luke looks at me with those sad puppy eyes – sigh - as soon as the door opens, “Do you need help?”
“No, I got it.”
He doesn’t listen, and as I get closer to the bed, he comes to my side and just stands there as I lower myself to the bed. He takes my crutches and puts them back in place and tucks me in like I’m a toddler. I want to scream, but I bite my tongue. Hard.
Reaching for my laptop, I place it back on my lap and open Google docs, determined to add a survey to my blog post. All those in favor of new hospital gowns can vote and weigh in with their opinions.
I hear Luke sigh and it immediately puts me on edge. I can see him staring at me out of the corner of my eye. I turn my body slightly, attempt to concentrate even harder, doing my best to ignore him, but he isn’t going to take the hint. Dammit. This isn’t going to be good, I feel the anger rising in me again like hot lava. The last thing I want is to argue with him.
Easing himself closer to me, and s
lightly moving the computer from its positioned place, he says, “I’m trying to talk to you about this Livvie, and I don’t have your attention.”
Something in me snaps. It’s intense and sounds like the crack of a bat against a ball. “Tell me something Luke, what the hell do you not understand? Have you forgotten the simplicity of the English language? What will it take for you to understand that I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT THIS?” Oh shit, I’m getting mean and I’m yelling and I can’t stop it now. “I REFUSE, absolutely REFUSE to let what happened take over my life. What do you not understand? Please, for the love of GOD, tell me, because I will do any damn thing it takes to make sure you GET IT.”
I’m breathing hard and sweat has appeared on my forehead. I can practically feel the production of hormones being secreted keeping pace with my emotions. I want to count to ten or a hundred, but can’t. Neither can I control this. Exhaustion and rage engulf me and despite my internal alarms, my entire countenance radiates my feelings. I’m acutely aware of the internal turmoil contributing to this outburst. On one hand, I’m struggling with having not been totally honest with Luke, yet I am holding him culpable for trying to pressure me to talk, to tell him…and simultaneously I am enraged at myself, both for shouting and for my attempt at deceit. Trying to gain a semblance of composure, I again make eye contact and the look on his face is pure shock. His eyes that became widened and fiery during my rant are accompanied by a new speechlessness. He’s taking deep breaths and I realize it’s likely that he has found the benefit of silently counting to ten before responding to me. Probably smart of him.
“I’m just trying to help.”
I take an extremely deep breath and look him right in the eyes, “I do not want your help. I do not need help. I want us to move on with our lives.” I say each word slowly and with distinctness and clarity. “And, speaking of which, you cannot sit here and babysit me day after day. You have a business to run and you need to get back to it.”
“It’s fine. I will just take a brief leave of absence. I’m the boss. I can do this-“
“Oh, hell no you won’t. You can’t. Absolutely not. I will not be babysat like I’m some invalid. No fucking way. What I need… how you can help… is by listening to what I just said. Go back to work; try understanding that I just need normalcy. Be normal. I don’t know how many times I have to say it.”
He looks so torn, devastated. And defeated. He is clearly battling what I’m asking – no, telling - him to do versus what he wants to do. I’m not dumb, I get it. I know he blames himself at least in part for what happened, but I cannot continually reassure him. I must move on. Tears fill my eyes and I rapidly work to blink them away, because on the tip of my tongue are words to soothe him, to give him what he needs and wants and to tell him to stop blaming himself, but I can’t.
Deacon’s fingers trail up my leg and he’s saying something about wanting me to wake up, but I can’t make out the words. It sounds like he’s slurring and I can’t keep my eyes open. I begin to go under again just as I feel his fingers at the edge of my panties.
NO. I can’t. Taking a deep breath, still trying to calm myself down, I look into his eyes. “Luke, I love you, I do. But if you don’t listen to me, I’m telling you right now this is going to be a problem for us. I don’t want to talk about this, because if we do, I may not be able to control where my mind goes. And I don’t want to think about any of that, okay? I need you to accept that, or I need you to leave.”
“Angel, I’m sorry, I just want to fix this. I just want to help.”
Looking him straight in the eyes I say words I know he won’t like, “You can’t.”
12.
CAVEMEN WERE ON TO SOMETHING
Luke
This shit sucks. I feel completely helpless. Emasculated. Has Olivia ever yelled at me? Certainly not like that. Sure, I admit, seeing her all worked up is kinda hot. Part of me wants to smile and then shut her up with a searing kiss that ends up in hot, sweaty sex. I mean, I am a hot blooded male after all. However, the reason behind her anger doesn’t get my blood pumping at all.
No one – not even Olivia – can treat me like I’m weak and powerless. Doesn’t she understand that seeing her like this creates a natural instinct in me to defend and protect? The unreasonable caveman part of me wants to throw her over my shoulder while screaming, “ooga ooga” and take her to my cave. I could watch her and keep her safe there. If only it were that easy. The loving part of me wants to soothe the hurt away I see in her eyes. I want desperately to fix this and make it all go away. It kills me to see her this way, and even though she says I can’t fix it, I damn well want to try. I want to give her back the peace and security she deserves. I mean fuck, she finds the strength and determination to stick up for herself, leave him and their so-called marriage, to end up in something even worse? What the hell? That isn’t fair at all, even if I know and have learned that life often seems unjust. Hell, if it was, I never would have lost her all those years ago, and she never would have met that bastard to begin with.
I can’t change that though. She did meet him, and as much as I want all of this to be some kind of bad dream or horrible acid trip, it isn’t. All I can do is hope she feels my love, and recognizes that my attempt to help her is to meet her need for security and safety. I want her to find peace in the knowledge that it will be okay. Aside from tracking him down myself and ending this, I don’t know how else to make this better.
I knew from the moment Olivia and I met that she was meant to be mine. Not in a twisted, sick way like Deacon. She truly belonged with me – we belonged together - and all I’ve ever wanted is to make that reality. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for her to make her feel safe, secure, and loved. Her inability to lean on me, to help her, causes actual physical distress, real pain in my chest. I absentmindedly rub at my heart through my shirt, as if I can soothe the hurt there. Rejection tries to adhere itself to me like an octopus, and I keep pushing it away, refusing to let it get its tentacles on me.
I know I can make her happy. I know we will be happy. We just need to get through this. Question is, how do I make that happen when she won’t even talk to me? She won’t admit what happened, won’t deal with it all, and until she does, how can we move forward? It’s simple - we can’t.
“Okay, I hear you. You don’t want to talk about it. You don’t want to deal with it. I’ll try to accept that temporarily, but love, I think we are going to have to at some point. You think the only thing we need is to move forward and get back to normal, or we’ll have problems. Okay, I get that…for now. But you listen to me, too. This is our new normal. This is not just a part of our – or your - past. Not dealing with this, or our failure to deal with it, will create a wall that may get impenetrable and be sure to come between us.”
I look her straight in the face as I’m telling her this. It’s like gouging my own heart out with a spoon; this candor, this brute honesty. I’d like to forget about it all too, to forget what I didn’t do, what I know, what I heard. To erase how I feel. Wouldn’t that be easy? To pretend the nightmare never happened and the two of us go skipping off into the sunset like some cheesy Lifetime movie? Not that I skip, or anything. Or watch Lifetime. Fact is, it did happen. And while she doesn’t realize exactly how much I know, she does know I’m not dumb, and I know something went down. I mean, Deacon is a twisted fuck. Of course something happened.
Olivia looks down at her hands twisting in her lap. She won’t meet my eyes. “I understand, Luke. Please, just not yet, okay?”
I swallow hard at the pain I hear in her voice. “Okay. And as far as going back to work, you’re right, I do have a business to run, but none of it is as important as you. Can you understand that?”
Her gorgeous green eyes finally meet my own and she gives me a soft smile, since I threw her words back at her. “I’m not trying to say that it should be. Just that I know it’s important to you too; it’s part of what makes you happy, part of who you are. And I don’t want to be
the reason you get behind on anything. Maintaining that business is important for our futures. Plus, I need to get back to my work as well. It only makes sense that while I’m working, you should be working too. Baby, I will be fine.”
I can’t help but sigh in frustration at her statement and one of the thoughts I’ve had repeatedly spills out, “We don’t know that Olivia. Deacon is still out there.” Panic rises in my chest, making it difficult to breathe. I do my best to push it away because that won’t help either of us. “Until he’s caught and put away, leaving you is something that seems to risky – and is going to be very difficult for me to do.”
“I get that, I really do. But we’ve taken necessary precautions as much as we can. The locks on the door have been changed, the security working the building has his picture, and there’s an alarm on the door and windows. The police are working on it. On top of that, I won’t take stupid risks with my safety and neither will Pyper.”
I nod my head absently and look at her when she grabs my hand, “We can’t let fear rule our lives. That would be the worst thing for us to do. He would win, at least in part, and we can’t let that happen.”
I stare into her eyes and feel myself start to give in. She does make a point and I can read between the lines. I think she needs a little bit of space, and I respect that. It isn’t going to be easy at all, but I quickly resign myself to a plan I have been formulating. And best of all, she doesn’t need to be aware of it. I will talk to Pyper and I’m sure that we can work out a schedule that just happens to ensure that one of us will always be here, just in case.
I say nothing to Olivia and instead look at her in her cute pajamas. Hair on top of her head, her nose is crinkled as her attention has been deflected back to the computer in front of her. God, she’s beautiful. I need her so much. Every part of me wants to reach over and touch her. I know she wants time to herself, but I can’t stop thinking about how damn good it would feel to kiss and taste her right now.
Pretty Little Dreams Page 10