And then my eyes settled on Ollie. His raspy laugh echoed through the hall with Jake and Isaac at his side, coming in my direction. I closed my eyes as I buried his laugh into my memory, afraid I would never hear it again.
Jake noticed me first, and stopped suddenly. Ollie followed Jake’s gaze as his pace slowed. Ollie’s eyes darted between me, Stanley, and the suitcase in my hand when the color drained from his face. He slowly shook his head as he clenched his jaw.
“Let’s go, Mia,” I think Stanley said, but I couldn’t move as Ollie detonated before my eyes.
Ollie took off in a sprint toward us and, in a matter of seconds, had Stanley shoved against the wall. “Where are you taking her? What’s going on?” Ollie demanded, desperate questions flying through the thick air.
“Back off, Masters. You don’t want to do this,” Stanley said, pushing Ollie’s hands away.
Ollie’s face was pale. His once beautiful green eyes now strung out as he pushed Stanley again in the chest. “Where the fuck are you taking her!” he shouted, his face only inches away from Stanley. I’d never seen this side of Ollie before, but it was a look so familiar and a place I had been many times before. It was myself in him.
Anger mixed with fear—the perfect concoction to eradicate even the strongest.
“I’m warning you to back off,” Stanley said calmly but sternly as he reached for the radio latched to his belt.
Ollie turned to me and searched my face as Isaac pulled him in the opposite direction. “Let her go, mate! It’s over! You got to let her go,” Isaac repeated, but this only infuriated Ollie more.
With tunnel vision, Ollie shoved Isaac off him, his force sending Isaac across the marble, and pushed passed Stanley, clearing everything in his path between him and me. He held my head and studied my face. “Talk to me, are you okay? Where are they taking you?” Ollie asked, urgency in his eyes, but his voice cracked through each word. “Answer me, Mia.”
“Psych ward.” I shook my head in his hands. “I’m not coming back, Ollie … I’m so sorry.”
Ollie’s eyes glossed over right before Stanley ripped him away from me and slammed him against the wall. A pain entered my chest as I stood frozen. All I could do was watch Ollie crumble before my eyes, and I couldn’t comprehend what was happening. My mind slowly shut down as my heart pounded hard against my ribcage. The ringing in my ears competed against the loud thumping in my head.
Stanley attempted to zip-tie Ollie’s wrist behind his back as Ollie struggled against him, but Stanley was stronger. He slammed Ollie once more against the wall, this time applying the pressure of his forearm to the back of Ollie’s head, pressing his face against the cold cement. Stanley whispered inaudible comments in Ollie’s ear, triggering Ollie to stop struggling.
Ollie turned his head to face me with water in his eyes and red in his cheeks. His green eyes grew more beautiful when everything else had failed him. He needed me.
My feet moved toward Ollie, and he jerked against Stanley.
“No, Mia. Stay back,” Ollie pleaded, then winced when Stanley twisted his arms back, finally getting him into the zip-ties. My head darted between the two of them, feeling completely powerless as I took another step forward. “Jake, get her back!” Ollie shouted, and Jake pulled me away in seconds, keeping me farther than arm’s length—farther than I ever wanted to be.
Ollie pressed his forehead to the cement for a moment before turning to face me again. Tears fell from his bloodshot eyes and over his lips as my hands shook at my sides. “Mia, listen to me. You have to stay with me even when I’m gone, you hear me? Don’t let it burn out. Promise me,” he begged, but I couldn’t form any words. My body weakened in Jake’s hold and Ollie’s eyes screwed shut as more tears fell before he opened them again. “Dammit, Mia. Promise me!”
Before the last light went out in my mind, I was able to speak.
“I promise.”
Chapter Fifteen
“And If one day I
don’t recognize you,
I’ll love you anyway.”
—Oliver Masters
WHEN I’D SHOWN up to Dolor, I had been sure of two things. First being the fact I would do whatever I could to get kicked out to spite my father, and second … I needed to find someone to fuck in the meantime. Needless to say, I’d accomplished both.
My brown hair blew violently in the night wind while Stanley and I walked across the green lawn to building B—also known as the “Looney Bin.” Stanley stayed quiet and composed, keeping his eyes fixed in front of him. But I could tell by his stance he was ready to pounce if I made the hasty decision to take off into a sprint through the woods, and because of how much weaker I’d become between the lack of physical exercise and my unhealthy eating habits, I wouldn’t doubt his ability to catch up to me.
As we reached the entrance, he pressed a button on the black intercom beside the steel door and rambled off some words my head was not mentally prepared to comprehend before the door buzzed open. Stanley walked in behind me and handed off a clipboard to another security guard through the opening of a glass divider. The security guard, with a shaved head and bags under his eyes, looked over the clipboard before buzzing another door open as if it were a natural reflex.
We walked through the second set of doors and Stanley advised me to wait for the nurse to arrive. He handed my suitcase to the security guard, and I wondered if I’d ever get to wear my Dolor shirt again. I stood at the entrance of a long hallway, which I was sure led straight to hell. The walls on both sides were lined with white doors, and the fluorescent lights flickered as a buzzing sound sizzled through its eeriness.
A lady in white scrubs approached me and handed me a clean stack of gray clothes. “Follow me,” was all she said. I turned back to Stanley, and he lowered his head in a single nod. Would this be the last time I would ever see Silent Stanley as well?
I followed the small woman down the poorly lit hallway before she made a sharp right-hand turn. Another corridor branched off, darker than the previous hall. Low moans and cries from the rooms we passed sent shivers up my neck and down my spine. Scared to speak, I quietly shuffled close behind her as if she could protect me. The constant feeling of a presence behind us kept my head turning behind me and over my shoulder.
We approached one of the white doors. The lady walked in after me as we entered a small white bathroom, nothing like the community bathroom back in the main building. This one wasn’t nearly as clean. Water dripped from a spot rotting in the corner of the ceiling as she turned on the faucet in one of the three stalls. Dark red stained the cracks in the tile. Is that blood? Holy shit, it is blood. My head snapped in her direction as if she heard what I was thinking.
“Undress. You need to remove all jewelry, articles of clothing, and any hair accessories,” she explained without looking me in the eye. “You’ll shower before I show you to your room.”
I did as I was told, afraid if I didn’t listen, she might grow horns or sharp fangs before ripping the flesh off my bones with my blood spraying against the same tile, joining the others.
The water was cold. The temperature only brought back memories of Ollie and me holding each other on the floor of the stall in the community bathroom. He’d hugged me so tightly that night under the water, it had managed to wash away my relapse. He’d been my only antidote in a time I was against myself. He’d always been my cure, but I’d been too far gone to see it before.
The only item in the shower was a bottle of soap, which smelled like baby powder. I used it in my hair and over my body before rinsing off and stepping out. The lady kept her eyes on a book in her lap as I dressed.
The gray drawstring pants hung low on my waist, clearly a size too big, but everything would be huge. I had no meat on my bones anymore. I pulled the plain gray t-shirt over my head, and then the plain gray sweatshirt. It was much colder in building B than in the m
ain building, and the sweatshirt made sense.
The quiet, tiny lady had a young face, but gray painted the part in her hair. She kept her dialogue to a minimum, only speaking to give me instruction, and never looked me in the eye.
Much like me, she detached herself from those around her. But her reasoning was different. Only here, she became this cold and removed person. If she grew an attachment, it made her job more difficult. I wondered at what point she had changed to this. Was there someone she’d grown to like? Had something happened to said person? Did she know I wasn’t going to make it out of here alive? Was that said person’s blood on the bathroom tile?
She walked me to my room. A stiff mattress lay over plywood, with no other furniture in the room. No pillow, no sheet, only a mattress. Not even a window in the wall. Only a fucking mattress.
I curled into a fetal position over the blue mattress, wanting and willing to cry, but no tears would come out. So instead, I stayed still—lost in my own head, wondering what Ollie was doing, if he was enjoying the company of liquor and Bria during his midnight rendezvous, or forced in solitary confinement after the incident in the hallway. Was he thinking about me?
Ollie had cried. I had seen my dad cry before too, but it hadn’t affected me in the way Ollie’s tears had. Seeing him cry before me had only intensified the pain in my chest. Like someone had taken a dagger and pierced my heart, then twisted it. It hurt, and I knew if Jake hadn’t pulled me away, I would’ve done anything to make sure he knew he wasn’t alone. To wipe his tears and hold on to him the same way he became my angel in my darkest hours. Ollie had cried, and now he was alone. Or was he?
Either way, there was nothing I could do about it.
I was unable to measure time as it passed. The door opened numerous times with the small lady on the other end offering me food, but I declined. It was hard to say how long I’d stayed in this fetal position, staring at the blank wall in front of me. There was no sun, there was no moon, and there was no clock above the door—only white padded walls, and this fucking mattress. The irony in all this was, it was how I’d expected it to be before stepping foot out of the limousine on the first day I’d arrived. The psych ward was how I’d imagined it.
Not emerald eyes, inked skin, and a beautiful soul.
I’d never imagined Ollie.
I’d never seen him coming.
My stomach eventually stopped growling as I drifted in and out of a somber state. My body trembled as the pain grew thicker and deeper in my chest. I promised I would keep the fire burning inside me, but it was difficult without having him close. My body fought as my mind slowly lost balance. Determined to see his face, I clenched my eyes shut and imagined his lips moving as he read to me. The pain inside my chest set ablaze as I remembered the way he kissed me, the way he laughed. Dear God … his laugh.
It was a genuine laugh—one he threw his whole body into. His hands always went immediately to his face as his mouth shot wide open and his eyes would turn into slits. Sometimes his fingers would reach his eyes, sometimes he would bend over to his knees, but my favorite kind was when he would slap his hands together, and the cackle came from his throat.
And the way he made love to me.
The way he made me feel alive.
The way he made me feel—period.
A low whimper vibrated within me, and I pulled my knees closer to my chest. Nothing would make the pain subside. A slowly rising panic dominated, and my whimpers turned into screams.
I screamed until my voice broke and there was no air left in my lungs. Turning to the fucking mattress, I beat the bed before turning against myself, pulling at my hair and clawing at my arms. A mania took over as I beat my cast against the cement wall until it cracked open. I ripped it off and threw it across the room. Hysteria. All I wanted was out of this room. All I wanted was to fucking remember. Why couldn’t I remember? Why was I doing this to myself?
The door swung open, and I launched at whoever was in my path, but I wasn’t prepared to be out cold before I managed to lay a hand on them.
My conscious woke before anything else. I reached for my dry throat, but I was unable to move my hands. When I opened my eyes, Dr. Conway stood over me, reading from a paper in her hand. A blanket of relief washed over me at the sight of her.
“Oh good, you’re awake,” she said with a grin. “I was worried they gave you too much.”
“How long?” I asked. My throat felt like it had been sliced open with a knife.
Dr. Conway sat beside me, and I scanned the unfamiliar room.
“You were in psych ward for six days,” she said, and I closed my eyes at the time that had passed—six days without Ollie. “Your system is running on fumes. You can’t keep starving yourself. We had to constrain you and bring you to the hospital to get you on fluids.”
The hospital? “I-I can’t go back there,” I said, shaking my head. “Please, I’ll be good, just bring me back to the main campus. I’ll behave,” I begged.
“I’m sorry, Mia. It doesn’t work like that.” She patted my leg. “But, I am curious … your writing assignment, it was brought to me along with your books and paperwork. Have you read it?”
My writing assignment? She was bringing up my writing assignment now? As much as I wanted to go off on her, I shook my head. She’s on my side, I had to remind myself.
“You remember everything, Mia, or at least your subconscious does. Whatever the trigger has been for you, I need you to latch on to it. Hold on to that feeling and dive as deep as you can go. Once discharged, I’ll meet with you back at the psych ward to see how you’re doing.”
“You’re leaving?” I asked desperately. My cuffs clashed against the railing as I tried to reach out to her. “Please, you can’t go …” She was my comfort when Ollie couldn’t be. My throat burned, my head felt heavy, and all I wanted was for her to stay.
But she stood and ran her palm up my forehead and through my hair before turning to leave. The way she laid her warm hand over my forehead brought flashes of Ollie forward, and how I used to find comfort in that single touch, but it now only haunted me.
My mother used to do that, too, but it was before …
Before.
I grasped on to that single word as the door to my hospital room creaked open and Dr. Conway exited.
That sound.
No …
I shook my head rapidly, attempting to push it back down.
But I had been depleted of all strength. Memories of my past cascaded as a dam finally busted open. The pressure of the water was too much for my barriers to handle, and they collapsed around me.
I remembered everything. Every sickening thing. The beeping on the monitor beside me rang in my ears. My eyes darted around as I searched for air. Nothing could escape my mouth as I tried calling out for Dr. Conway. She continued to walk down the hall behind the glass dividing us. I pulled the cuffs against the hospital bed, fighting against the memories.
“Stay with me, Mia,” Ollie’s words rang over and over in my head. And suddenly, everything went calm. My lungs found air again, my heart rate went back to a steady rhythm, but I remembered everything.
I remembered the way my door had creaked open when he’d come into my room at night, allowing a sliver of light through the darkness. It had been the fear of the sound keeping me up as I’d prayed to God that once, just once, the sound wouldn’t come. But every night it had still came. I’d thought maybe if I pretended I was asleep the creak wouldn’t happen, but it always did—for an entire year, and God had never saved me.
I remembered his hot breath on the side of my face as he’d lean over to see if my eyes were open. My body would tense as I’d stay as still as possible, afraid to move a single muscle. The smell of beer and an ashtray would hit me like a drunken tornado. I’d shut my eyes tight as I prayed for my mother to wake. Maybe, I’d thought, she would sense so
mething was wrong with her daughter, and feel the need to come to check on me—a mother’s sixth sense. But my mother had never saved me.
I remembered the sound of his belt coming off before he’d climb in next to me. The mattress would slump to one side, and I’d clutch my blanket to avoid rolling closer to him. His callused and overworked hands would violate me in ways I couldn’t understand at eight years old. I’d pray my father would show up with his pistol, but my father had never saved me.
Every night like clockwork, but I’d still prayed.
And even as he’d raped me, I’d prayed it would somehow kill me.
But not even death had saved me.
I’d spent three hundred and ninety-four days crying myself to sleep, knowing no one would come and save me from my uncle’s abuse and torment. It had been me. I’d had to save myself. And on the three hundred and ninety-fifth day, when the door had creaked open, and I’d tensed under the hot breath against my cheek, and his fingers had slipped under my nightgown, I’d reached under my pillow to grab my father’s pistol I’d stolen earlier in the afternoon, and shot him in the head.
I remembered how much effort had gone into pulling the trigger, but I’d used everything I had—all my pent-up anger and shame. I remembered the way my uncle’s surprised dark eyes had grown wide seconds before, and I remembered the calmness thereafter.
He can never touch me again.
July 27th, 1999 was the day I killed him, and the day I stopped crying. A mental switch flipped the second I pulled the trigger, and my brain went on autopilot, protecting me from the trauma. My childhood, my innocence, all of it stolen from me since the first night.
I couldn’t even shed a tear when my mother took her own life. She surrendered to the guilt for not protecting me from her brother, and I was already numb to it all.
I remembered when my father had found me staring at her corpse in the bedroom after he’d returned home from a business trip. He’d cried over her dead body. The blood was already dry. I remembered the way he’d looked at me as if I’d shot her myself—like I was a monster. “What have you done?” he had asked me. “What’s wrong with you?” But I’d stood stiff, watching and waiting to see if her eyes would open—waiting to hear her voice again. Understanding death, I’d known none of it would come. But I’d still waited and watched, and I hadn’t known why.
Stay With Me (Stay With Me Series Book 1) Page 18