“You’ve never cried?”
“I’m sure I cried when I was a little girl, but I don’t remember what it felt like.” I turned on my side to face him as he stared up at the ceiling. “What about you?”
“You’re asking if I have cried? What kind of question is that?” he asked with hilarity in his tone. His eyes slid to mine, and I nodded in all seriousness. “I’m known to shed tears, but only on Mondays and Wednesdays.”
I shoved him playfully in the shoulder. “Ollie, be real. Tell me about it. How does it feel?”
“Alright, alright. No need to get physical.” Ollie turned on his side to face me and held up his head in the palm of his hand. “There are two types of crying,” he said, then paused. He pressed out a laugh as he brought his fingers to his eyes. “Wow, shit’s about to get real right now, yeah?”
He regained composure and looked back at me. “Okay, so there’s the kind from pain, not necessarily physical pain because there’s that, too, and as much as everyone says they’re the same, it’s not. So, I’ll go over the worst, which is emotional pain. It starts right here”—he pointed to my lungs—”and suddenly you can’t breathe, like a blow to the stomach, and whatever source brought this on stole all the air around you. Panic sets in …”
His fingers inched from my lungs to my chest, and I wondered if he felt the beating beneath his fingers. “An ache forms in your heart so intense, you’d rather suffer a hundred deaths than to last one more second of agony. Your heart pumps and you feel the burn as it struggles because pieces that once belonged are now missing.”
Ollie’s moved my hair behind my ear before gentle pressing his fingers over my temple. “And when you think it couldn’t get any worse, your head is pounding now, deprived of oxygen and the appropriate amount of blood flow. Nothing and everything is flooding through your mind all at once. And right as the thunder rolls in your head, the lightning crashes behind your eyes. Electricity, stinging and begging to be released, and the best thing to do is stop fighting it. If you hold back tears, Mia, the pain builds up in your heart, and your heart is only so forgiving for so long.”
Ollie rested his palm over the side of my face. I opened my mouth to say something, but no words formed. I wanted to ask him if he’d ever felt like that before, but he had if he remembered it all so vividly. So vividly, it couldn’t have been once he’d experienced that kind of emotional pain. How many times had his tall and strong man been broken down to only be pieced back together to go through the same torment all over again? Did I care enough to find out?
“The beautiful kind is when you don’t even realize it’s happening,” he continued to say. “You’re not fighting it because your soul is finally at peace with what is happening, and that’s when you know …”
“Know what?” I blurted as I hung on to his every beautiful word.
Ollie grinned. “You felt something so powerful, you can no longer be without it.”
We spent the rest of the morning talking and playing in the library, stuck in the fever of us. We ran through the history section, each stride crossing decades of battles, wars, and freedom fought for. Ollie tackled me in the children’s section and carried me over his shoulder through crime and thriller. I escaped his grasp in mystery, but he caught up in romance as our smiles gradually faded. The mood between us changed along with the genre, as he took a step closer—our feet walking through traitorous waters, and our hearts playing with fire. I pushed off him and ran, and when I looked behind me, Ollie smiled before chasing after me once again.
And up until the lunch, I had forgotten we were here at all.
“Will you come by tonight?” Ollie asked before we reached the mess hall.
I lifted my cast in the air. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t make it up the vent with a broken hand.”
“That’s right. And tell me … why did you punch the wall?”
“Because you kissed me,” I said with a single shrug.
He reached for the bridge of his nose as a cackle escaped from his throat. “Sorry, you”—he paused both his stride and sentence to double over and let out another laugh, and when he pulled himself back up, he inhaled deeply and straightened his face—”you punched a wall because I kissed you?”
“It’s not funny, son of a bitch hurt …”
Ollie threw his head back as he clapped his hands together. “I’m not laughing because you got hurt, but the way you said it so nonchalantly … damn …” He let out an exhale, and his smile faded as he draped his arm around me, pulling me close to his side. His green eyes transformed as if a lightbulb had gone off in his head, and he slowed his pace. “You know what this means, don’t you?”
“What?”
Ollie’s lip turned up in the corner. “You’ll see.”
Chapter Eleven
“All at once, she’s a monster and masterpiece,
worthy of someone to both quiet the dark side
and lights the colors of her soul on fire.”
—Oliver Masters
A LOUD THUNDERSTORM woke me Sunday morning as the downfall beat against my window. The rain sang its song over Dolor in the most soothing tempo in the dark sky. Nothing but gray skies hovered in the distance as I looked passed the brick wall surrounding the campus, and over the rolling hills. Nothing indicated the weather would lift for the rest of the day. The sun planned on taking the day off, allowing the rain to shine like it usually did in this city.
After my morning shower, which turned into a workout on its own with my cast, I pulled on my comfy gray sweatpants and a white tee, brushed my teeth, and threw my hair into a sloppy bundle over my head because it was one of those days. It was Rain’s day.
Zeke had finished eating by the time I reached the mess hall, and Jake’s entire crew was absent. They must have partied hard last night, and lost themselves in a dream through the morning.
Taking my seat across from Zeke, I pulled the hoodie over my head. Each time it was Rain’s day, the building dropped ten degrees.
“Good morning, Zeke.”
Zeke’s wild eyes darted around before picking at his plate. The large floor-to-ceiling windows took up one whole side of the mess hall next to our table as the rain came down hard, beating like a loud drum. Zeke’s hand shook as he held his fork.
“It’s fine. You’re safe.”
My attempt at reassurance didn’t seem to appease him, so I brought my attention back to my food. “I had a croissant yesterday, sure as hell better than this crap,” I muttered, picking at the eggs. I took a mouthful and forced it down—starving—but anything was better than nothing. I was beginning to think the British didn’t believe in seasoning because the food here was entirely too bland—probably also the reason why everyone in the UK was skinny, and everyone in America was overweight.
“So, yesterday, Ollie and I went to the library. Have you been?”
Zeke flinched under the clap of thunder with panic in his brown eyes. If I continued talking to him, maybe it would take his mind off the thunderstorm. “It’s like a maze. You could get lost in that place. Books everywhere, stacked in piles over the floor all the way to the ceiling. It was a-maze-ing.” I chuckled at my crack at a pun before looking back up to Zeke. “Oh, come on. That was funny.”
Thunder erupted close by as lightning hit, sending the mess hall into complete darkness. Zeke let out a shriek, and I scurried to his side without thinking. I crouched down beside him, unsure of what to do—if I should reach out to touch him, or if I should speak. It was dark, and I could hardly make out his face.
“It’s okay. Breathe, Zeke, just breathe. It’s me. It’s Mia. I’m not going to let anything hurt you,” I said over his cries.
Zeke’s scream died down as I continued talking him through it, waiting for the lights to turn back on, or the generators to kick in.
About two minutes into the darkness, the light
s slowly flickered on when an announcement played over the intercom. “This is Dean Lynch. Please report back to your dorms until the storm passes. I repeat, go back to your dorms and wait until further instruction.”
“Okay, Zeke, I’m going to take you back to your room, but you have to show me where it is.” I helped him out of the chair. Based on Zeke’s physique, he couldn’t have been older than sixteen.
We walked close together as he led the way and people shoved past us in the halls. Doors opened and closed, party invitations in specific room numbers tossed in the air, and laughing and insults paraded the halls. Zeke paused from time to time to freeze in place.
Zeke’s room was the same size as mine but seemed smaller with the amount of furniture stuffed in the small space. He had padded walls, and a television and DVD player sat on top of a dresser against the wall where my desk stood. In the corner was a small table and chair for one. Beside the table was a mini fridge. “You have it made in here, Zeke.”
Zeke went straight to his bed and curled into a ball before I waved goodbye and closed his door behind me.
After reaching my dorm, I found another note passed under my door. It read, “Breakfast in my room, knock two times –O.” A smile formed, and each time it did, it became easier and easier to smile in his name. This smile was different from others. It wasn’t the kind of smile I had to fake, which was my go-to smile. This smile wasn’t pressured like when someone told a horrible joke. This smile wasn’t forced, like the times people said, “Smile, Mia. Things could be worse.” No, this was Ollie’s smile; habitual, distinctive, and easy.
I walked the four rooms down to Ollie’s and knocked two times as instructed.
“Who’s there?”
“Mia.”
“Mia who?” Ollie asked, amused, from the other side of the door.
Shaking my head, my Ollie-smile reached my eyes. “Mia, come in already?”
The door opened and a half-asleep Ollie stood on the other side with a lazy smile. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was his “Mia-smile,” or if he had one at all. His hair was a mess, and he wore sweatpants with a loose black tee.
“We’re going to have to work on your knock-knock jokes, love.” His two emerald eyes sparkled as he reached for my good hand and pulled me in.
His room was cleaner than I’d ever seen. There were pillows—actual pillows—and blankets over his mattress. “Did you not have a party last night?”
“I did, but I kicked everyone out early. Here, I got your croissant,” Ollie said, handing me over a bag, “but I couldn’t get the coffee. That’s only on Saturdays.”
Wasting no time, I reached into the bag for the donut and sank my teeth into its glory. “Oh, you are incredible,” I hummed with a mouthful.
Ollie climbed over the mattress and melted into a heap of pillows against the wall. “What are your plans for the day?” he asked as I fell over the mattress beside him.
“We’re on lockdown, so I guess nothing. I’m supposed to be in my dorm right now.”
“No, you’re good. Stanley won’t do a security check because of a storm.”
After finishing my donut, I sucked the glaze off my fingers as impulsive moans were liberated from inside. Ollie’s eyes lit up as I savored each finger. “Do you always moan when you eat? Because you’re sort of turning me on.”
I elbowed him playfully in the shoulder, and he fell back, pretending to be wounded.
“I’m told I make more noise when I eat than during sex, so yeah … as long as the food’s good, I can’t help it.”
“I like it,” he whispered, and another clash of thunder echoed in the room as the wind whistled against the window, “but I don’t want to hear about your sex life.”
“Jealous?”
Ollie shook his head. “Crestfallen.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Gutted”—he wrapped his arms around my waist and dragged me back against him—”discouraged”—he moved the hair from my neck—”crushed”—he grazed his nose across the skin below my ear—”Shall I keep going, Mia?”
All I could think about were his hands on me and his breath on my neck.
Yes, keep going, Ollie.
“I understand.”
Stupid, stupid mouth of mine.
Ollie released me from his hold and lay flat on his back behind me. It took all the strength I had to not climb on top of him. “So, how are we going to keep ourselves occupied?” I asked, wondering what was going through his mind, but then I remembered what Jake and Alicia had said. Their words replayed over and over. “Ollie doesn’t mess around. He’s not the type.”
Ollie turned over onto his side and lifted his head into his hand. “Okay, before you say anything—”
I fell to my side, facing him. “Why does the beginning of that sentence scare me?”
“Before you say anything more …” Ollie reached under his pillow. “You said you were willing to open up to me, knock down a wall …”
“Cut out a door,” I corrected with a finger in the air. “Don’t push your luck, Masters.”
Ollie laughed. “Alright, ‘cut out a door.’” He pulled a book out and handed it over.
I dangled it above my head. “The Notebook? The movie was based on a book?” A groan left me and I handed the book back. “No, I don’t read.”
“First of all, I’m going to read to you … and second, I saw you in the mess hall with To Kill a Mockingbird. Do you pretend to read to attract guys like me?”
“It was an assignment from Dr. Conway. I don’t read for pleasure.”
“Then it’s a good thing you won’t be the one reading.” He lay back against the pillow and opened the book, then looked up at me with a crinkle between his brows. “Something’s missing,” he muttered, and slipped his arm beneath me, dragging me closer to his side. My face fell into his neck as a giggle escaped. “Ah, much better. Now, quiet, Mia. I need to read.” Ollie kissed the top of my head as the rest of me melted beside him.
He flipped past the acknowledgments to the first chapter titled “Miracle.”
The moment the first sentence fell from his lips, I shifted my attention from the black ink inside the book to him, taking in the way his lips moved as his eyes danced along the page, flitting from one end to the other. His angelic voice remained steady as he ran his fingers lightly through my hair with one hand and held the battered book in the other. Ollie was captivating, and I was afraid if I turned away, even for a split second, I’d miss a beat—miss a word from his lips, and miss a blink of his thick lashes as he lost himself in the world the author had created. Absolutely breathtaking.
We stayed like that for hours, him reading, and me listening to his every word, every syllable as it rolled off his tongue. Enchanted by the words of Nicholas Sparks, but only because they were spoken with his sound of grace. It wasn’t only Ollie’s accent making the story come to life; it was the way he enunciated each word with a slow elegance.
I buried my cold feet between his legs, craving his warmth, and Ollie paused for a moment to press his lips to the side of my head before returning to the page. The rain picked up at one point, then slowly faded as it played of its own accord against the window. My lids grew heavy, and I fought against them, but eventually, Ollie’s poetic voice got the best of me.
It was Dean Lynch over the intercom who woke me, and my eyes opened to see Ollie’s chest slowly rise and fall with the open book sprawled across it. I tilted my head from his chest to see his face, and he silently slept with his mouth slightly parted, and I smiled to myself.
A part of me wanted to stay beside him and pretend time didn’t exist, but the rational side of me knew I couldn’t hold on to this moment forever. Carefully, I moved out from his hold, making sure not to disturb him.
Ollie’s hand sprang to grab my arm, and pulled me back on top of h
im without opening his eyes. I buried my face into the crook of his neck and giggled.
“Let me live in this moment for a bit longer,” he whispered.
Breathing in his skin, the mixture of coconut and sandalwood created a weak marine breeze. Turning to his side, the open book fell between us and his arms tightened around me. “It’s safe to say, you don’t talk in your sleep.” His eyes were still closed. It was a possibility if he opened them, a reality check would pour over us like the rain outside.
But only if he opened his eyes.
“That’s a relief.” Stay strong, Ollie, for both of our sakes.
Ollie opened his eyes, folded up the book, and stuck it under his pillow.
“Best nap ever,” he confessed, and moved the hair from my face. His hand lingered around my cheek and he traced his thumb over my bottom lip. “You haven’t got a clue how bad I want to kiss you right now, but I’m trying not to be selfish … for the sake of your wellbeing and all.” A small smile tugged on his lips.
It was torture for us both. I could see it on his face, him falling for me. My reflection stared back through his green eyes, and for a split second, I saw myself the way he saw me, and I was beautiful. I’d warned him. I’d told him before we kissed not to fall for me, but it appeared the heart had a mind of its own and these things you couldn’t control.
And now it was me without the control.
I inched my lips closer to his, and Ollie took in a sharp breath.
“Mia …” He closed his eyes and slowly shook his head as if it were too much.
“I’m letting the moment happen the way it’s meant to. Whatever you’re doing to me, I can’t stop it.” I brushed my lips against his soft ones as I spoke, which wasn’t satisfying my need for him. “Most of my time with you is either spent fighting some internal conflict or trying to comprehend what’s happening to me. I don’t even talk like this, Ollie. Why am I even telling you this? What have you done to me?” I smiled despite my frustration.
He pressed his forehead to mine as his breathing staggered. The refreshing mint in his breath sent shivers up my arms. “I’m utterly gobsmacked. I have no words right now. That is what you do to me.”
Stay With Me (Stay With Me Series Book 1) Page 13