by Unknown
I started to ask more when we arrived at Waterfront Park. Preston parked the truck and went around to grab the poles so I could get out without ducking beneath them. He held both poles in one hand and grabbed a small tackle box in the other, and then started for the Vendue Wharf pier, the most popular spot within the park. It was the very place I’d been dying to go since arriving in Charleston. I peeked over at Preston as we walked, curious if I had ever mentioned the pier to him. His lips were turned up at the corners, like he knew exactly what I was thinking, but he didn’t say a word.
We walked across the pier, soaking in the clean, salty scent of the ocean and the continuous sounds of the seagulls and waves. Preston stopped us just short of the end and passed me a pole. “Here you go.”
I stared at him, confused. “What?”
“I don’t pull over for hitchhikers. If you’re hanging with me, Small Town, you’re fishing.”
I took the pole. “Do you have any idea what you just said?”
He grinned. “Doesn’t matter. It worked.”
I fought the urge to argue and instead watched as he cast his lure across the edge of the pier. I followed his lead, recounting everything he’d taught me before. I let the water take out my line and then slowly began to wind it back in. For a moment, we fished in silence, Preston’s face trained on something I couldn’t see or hear.
“So . . . are you still seeing your therapist?”
The question caught me off guard, and I hesitated, wishing I could say that I no longer saw Rose, but I knew the lie would come out shallow. I drew a long breath and released. “I saw her yesterday. Once a week, though she’s making me up my sessions.”
“Why?”
I sighed. “I had to recite this poem I wrote a while ago in class today. I stupidly decided to read it to Rose during the session, and, well, you know the rest.” Strangely enough, it felt good to get the confession off my chest.
Preston laughed. “Must have been a hell of a poem.” And just like that, he’d made the conversation easy again. I loved that about him. How even the most uncomfortable moment became relaxed.
“I guess so.” I cast again, waiting to see if he would ask more, but he didn’t.
“You know, I’ve barely caught a fish since our last trip. I was starting to wonder if you were a good luck charm or something.”
“What, is Meg not into fishing?”
He turned to me. “Who? Oh . . . I have no idea. I haven’t seen her in a while.”
I grinned. “Meaning you stopped returning her calls and now Kara hates you?”
He cringed. “Something like that.” He flicked his wrist a few times as he wound in his lure, his concentration so focused on what he was doing that I wondered how he was managing a conversation.
“Why do you do that?”
“To make the lure look real.”
I sighed heavily. “Not that. Why do you ditch these girls after like a week?”
Preston stopped winding his reel and nodded to my shirt. “Why do you only wear long-sleeve shirts?”
Shit.
He smirked. “That’s what I thought. We all have reasons for why we do things, even if those reasons seem crazy to others.” He paused. “And I don’t ditch them after a week.”
“Okay, ten days.”
“Hey, now. Watch yourself.” My smile widened, and then he spoke again without looking at me, “It’s hard to trust someone when you’ve been burned before, ya know? I prefer to stay in control, ahead of it. Less damage that way.”
I cleared my throat. It was the second time Preston had revealed something to me. He deserved for me to give something back. I swallowed hard. “My best friend died in May.”
Preston stopped winding again and turned to me. “I’m sorry.” I expected him to ask more, how she died, why, but instead he took a small step toward me and focused back on the water, the step a way of showing he cared without saying a word. Few understood that surviving the death of someone you loved didn’t require words. It required support, often at arm’s length, a whisper to let you know they’re there instead of a hug. Preston understood. He understood a lot of things.
Suddenly, the wind whipped around us, throwing my hair across my face and sending a chill through me. I glanced up at the darkening sky, gray-black clouds fighting to dominate the white. It reminded me of how quickly sadness could take over one’s mood, one’s soul. “Should we go? It looks like—” And then before I could finish the sentence, the sad sky opened up and cried hard, cold tears down on us. Within seconds, we were soaked.
Preston tilted his head, allowing the rain to coat his face, and laughed, deep and full, the sort of sound you’d expect when something amazing happened. Something much more amazing than standing in the pouring rain.
“What the hell are you doing?” I shouted above the hammering rain.
He glanced over at me, his eyes lit, the hint of laughter still written across his face. “They were calling for a clear day. It’s funny, ya know?” Then something changed in his eyes, as though he remembered something he’d been trying desperately to find. “Sometimes it’s all just a guess, Olivia. Life. We move through it, we plan, we try. But at the end of the day, like the weather, it’s all just a guess. We can’t stay inside all day, afraid of the rain. We have to live.”
I blinked away the droplets that slipped down from my eyelashes, unable to break away. “Then why no relationships?” As soon as the words slipped out, I wanted to wind them back in like a bad cast. The meaning in them, the deeper question, was too much.
He pinned me with his ocean-blue eyes. “Maybe there hasn’t been anyone worth the chance.” His gaze dropped to my lips, and suddenly my cold, wet skin ignited underneath. Warm and sure. My body buzzed with the need to kiss him, the words hitting in my mind over and over, Kiss me, kiss me. But then a roar of thunder hit overhead, followed by a sharp crack of lightning over the ocean.
“Come on. It’s about to get bad.” Preston grabbed the poles and tackle box and took my hand, pulling me into a sprint toward the truck. He opened the door for me and I jumped in, my mind a swirling mess from the moment. Preston slipped in beside me and shook out his hair, sending water spraying all over his truck and me.
“Hey!” I reached out my hands to block me. “I’m already soaked over here.”
“Oh, you like that, do you?” he said, leaning over and shaking his hair until I was coated in water.
I pushed him away, laughing. “Thanks! Now I’m going to have to shower for two hours instead of one to warm up.”
His eyes lit with mischievousness, and I thought he would say something flirty, but then his gaze landed on my white long-sleeve T-shirt, so wet it’d become nearly transparent. My cheeks warmed at the realization that he could see my bra, but then I realized that wasn’t where he was looking. His eyes were locked on my left arm, on the thick red scars shining out through the white. I couldn’t bring myself to look at them. I knew what they looked like, how they were more raw, ground beef than skin. Like Halloween makeup, made to make a person look scary. They were disgusting. I was disgusting. I felt a wave of nausea in my stomach and fresh tears pricked my eyes. What could I say? The truth was too horrifying to reveal.
I reached up with my right hand and covered my left biceps, which had taken the brunt of the damage, and stared forward. “Can you take me back to Liberty?”
Preston put the truck in drive. “Sure.” We drove the rest of the way in silence, his gaze never leaving the road, mine fighting to remain clear from tears.
I had no idea what he was thinking, whether he was grossed out or curious or something worse. But one thing I did know: I would never wear a white shirt again.
Chapter Twelve
Dear Trisha,
There are days that I feel hollow inside, an empty vessel just waiting to be filled. I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
I pinch my arm. I listen to my pulse in my ears. And I wait for a moment when I can feel again. Each day I’m petrified that the hollowness will consume me until I’m nothing, just a void, gone. And then I remember that you are gone, and instead of hollow, I feel sick and ashamed.
There are never enough words to convey how very sorry I am.
Olive
Chapter Thirteen
“That settles it. I’m switching majors. Done. Quit.” Kara dropped her head against her chemistry book and sighed. “I want to be a clinical psychologist. Why do I need chemistry?” she complained.
We were seated in the hallway in our pajamas on a Thursday night, watching as half the girls on our floor got ready to go out. Kara had an exam the next day, and while I didn’t technically have anything I had to do, I did need the extra study time for a massive Western Civ exam the following week. The truth was that I had taken every precaution to avoid Preston since accidentally revealing my scars to him. We’d seen each other only a few times in passing, him coming by to pick up Kara or in bio, where I faked intense interest in my notes to avoid conversation. I was humiliated beyond belief, and the way he acted uncomfortable every time he saw me proved my greatest fear—anyone who saw me shirtless would run the other way. The worst part was that I didn’t blame him. Still, I hoped he might overlook what he saw, or at least pretend he didn’t care. Instead, he avoided me as much as I did him.
I sighed at the memory and peered over at Kara. We were now several weeks into the semester and Kara had progressed from excitement over her classes to dread faster than I could try to pinpoint the problem. She claimed she wanted to be a clinical psychologist, but she hated all of her classes. Surely that should be a sign or something.
“Is it just chemistry?” I asked.
“And bio, though I’m marginally better at bio.” She combed her fingers through her hair and stared at the bare wall across from us in deep thought, then grumbled loudly. “Whatever. I can do this. I’m not going to let a few classes kill my confidence. Right?” She glanced at me, hopeful.
“Right. Of course. Besides, you still have half of the semester to master everything.”
Her eyes fell. “Half of a semester. God, I’ll never survive this.” She leaned her head back against the wall and then stood, stretching her arms out wide. “I’m going to call Ethan real quick. Be back.”
I nodded to her and she disappeared inside our room. I waited until she was gone and pulled out my phone to check for text messages and emails, secretly hoping to find one from a certain fisherman, but there was nothing. I knew I shouldn’t want a guy that would be discouraged so easily, but I couldn’t help myself. Everything about Preston drew me in. His easy nature. His fake arrogance. The kindness underneath that he revealed when he thought no one was looking. I wanted to know him. Really know him. And now . . .
Kara stepped back out and sat down beside me, her face pale, her lips pressed together in a hard line. I couldn’t tell if she wanted to yell or cry. “Are you all right?”
She shook her head. “No—I don’t know. Maybe. I— No, he couldn’t.”
“Slow down. What happened?”
Kara shook her head again and turned to me, her eyes wide as though she were afraid to say. Like saying it would make it true.
“Kara, what?”
“I called Ethan and I heard a girl in the background. A girl. I mean, that could be anything, right?”
“Totally. Oh, don’t let this get you upset. She was probably there with one of his roommates. He has two, right? Or she could have been a study partner or just a friend. Or maybe they were having a party. Who knows. It could be anything.”
“Or he could be screwing this girl right this second. Hell, he could be screwing lots of girls. Oh my God.” She clenched her eyes shut, and I reached out for her hand.
“Hey. Don’t do this. It’s Ethan. You trust him. You love him.”
She opened her eyes and looked back at me, tears collecting in them. “I do. I really do.”
“Then that’s all that matters. You have to trust him, Kara.”
She nodded. “I know. This is just so hard. I never thought it would be this hard.”
“When is he coming up again?”
She smiled, wiping away a few tears that had fallen. “Next weekend.”
“See! It’s fine. He’ll be here and you’ll forget why you worried.”
She eyed her phone in her hands, nodding again. “You’re right. Do you think I should call him back?”
I shrugged. “That depends on why you’re calling. If you want to talk to him, sure. He’s your boyfriend. You should call him whenever you like. If it’s to check on the girl thing, then no. It’ll just drive you crazy if you hear her again.”
She released a breath and leaned back against the wall, dropping her phone to her side. “I didn’t think it would be this way.”
“You mean with Ethan?”
“No, college. It’s hard. And being in a long-distance relationship is just making it harder. I don’t know what to do. I love him . . . I’m just not sure if I love him enough to suffer through four years like this.”
“Well, you don’t have to make that decision tonight. Just wait, you’ll feel better after you see him.”
She flexed her hands out in front of her and stacked up her books and notes. “Forget this crap. I need a drink.” Then she peered over at me with her Kara’s-planning-trouble grin. “I know of a party just down the street. We could walk.”
I sighed. “I don’t know. I have this—”
“Oh, you do not. I know your test isn’t until next week. And you know you’ve already memorized every detail. It’s Thursday night. Let’s go out.” She laced her fingers together under her chin. “Please.”
“Fine, but I’m not getting dressed up.”
***
Twenty minutes later, Kara and I were walking up the stairs to the apartment where Rena had told her the party was being held. Music screamed out through the door, and I instantly felt myself being pulled back to that night. I heard Trisha’s laughter in my head, felt Matt’s arms around my waist. Suddenly, my knees began to tremble. I shook my head to try to clear the feeling, but it was there, latched on to my shoulder, weighing me down. I hadn’t had alcohol since that night, but all of a sudden I craved a drink, desperate to free myself from the guilt, if only for a night.
Kara went in ahead of me and squealed almost immediately. I stepped through the doorway, expecting to see Rena, and instead found myself within feet of Preston and some leggy blond who looked like she should be on the cover of Marie Claire, not hanging out at a college party. That drink idea was becoming more and more appealing.
Preston’s eyes landed on mine and then cut away quickly. My cheeks burned as thoughts circled through my mind. Was he picturing my scars right this second?
Kara rushed up to Preston and hugged him, which caused the blond to glare at her in obvious annoyance. Preston pulled away and motioned between the girls. “Kara, this is London. London, Kara.” Then his eyes fixed on me, through me. “And this is Olivia,” he said, the words low and deep as though they held different meaning. My heart sped up as I studied his expression, searching for something that told me what he might mean by saying my name in such a way, but I found nothing. I settled on pity and looked back at Kara, who was watching us with her eyebrows raised. “So, yeah . . . I’m going to get a drink. I know you don’t—”
“I’ll take one, too. Whatever you’re having.”
Her face lit up. “Seriously? You’re drinking?” I shot her a look, and she backed away, her hands raised. “Okay, then. Two beers. Anyone else? No? Okay. Be right back.”
Kara disappeared into the crowded apartment, and my eyes and ears began to zero in on things, things that I didn’t want to see or hear. A game of Beer Pong in the corner. Pink Floyd blaring from the speakers. Suddenly, I f
elt myself yanked back to that night. I had walked upstairs to find Matt, leaving Trisha behind. He was in Parker’s media room, The Wizard of Oz playing silently on the giant TV, Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon telling a different story than the words in the movie. Half a dozen of our classmates were strung out in the leather auditorium-seating chairs, tripping out as the song and movie blended together until it was as though they were choreographed, one for the other. I sat down in Matt’s lap at the back of the room and he passed me a joint. I’d smoked plenty of times before. It was comfortable, safe. Or so I had thought. I took a hit, then two, and then—
“So how do you two know Preston?”
My gaze snapped away from the Ping-Pong table, the words pulling me from the onset of a nightmare. “Sorry, what?”
“Hey . . . are you okay?” Preston edged toward me, and I took a step back, my hands shaking.
“Yeah, fine.”
Preston started to ask more, when Kara walked up with our beers. I grabbed a cup from her hand, not taking the time to ask which might be mine, and tipped it back. Just for one night, I needed to not feel, to not think. I needed to forget. Please God, help me forget. I sucked in a breath as I finished the beer, my tongue tingly and icy. “Where is the keg?”
Preston’s eyebrows drew together. “I thought you didn’t drink.”
“I don’t.” I pushed past him and into the crowd of people, thankful that Pink Floyd had been replaced with something more upbeat. I made my way to the line of people waiting to go outside, assuming the keg had to be on the balcony. A hand latched onto my wrist, pulling me gently back just as I was about to step outside. I whipped around, prepared to let the filthy grabber have it, and stared straight into Preston’s endless-sea eyes.
He hesitated, considering me, then let go of my wrist and reached for a cup beside the door. “I’ll have one, too,” he said, stepping aside so I could go out first.
I nodded to him without a word and went out onto the balcony, wondering why he had followed me. Wondering what he was thinking. He took my cup from my hand and slowly filled it with beer, then passed it back to me. This time, the urge to drown out my fear and emotions was gone, replaced by the comfort and warmth I always felt around Preston. I lowered my head toward the cup and took a tiny sip.
