On the other hand, Thursdays are college nights. Lots of people from the university will make their way to the club. I sigh and gently push the thought away for now. It’s not like I can call in and say, “Hey, I’ve been drinking and sleeping for four days straight and I’m still tired. Can I have the night off to sleep some more?” Like I would sleep anyway.
Hell, I’m tired from my thoughts too. They need to slow down before I lose the lightweight feeling and everything starts falling apart all over again. I hook my phone to a little sound system and start playing rock music. It’s easy to not think when my mind is occupied with listening to something else.
I’ve just slipped on my shoes when the music stops because my phone is ringing. Probably Patrick. He’s the pain-in-the-ass sibling out of the four of us.
“I’m sorry,” I answer, knowing I’ll be apologizing a lot throughout this conversation if things were as bad as Olivia said. “Does Luce know?”
“No, she doesn’t,” he snaps. “Corey, you’re my brother and I’d do anything for you, but there’s no point if you aren’t willing to do the same things for yourself. I don’t understand—”
And this is where I stop listening. He’s right. He doesn’t understand. The rest of the conversation doesn’t matter because it hinges on that. Someone has to understand this. Someone besides me. If Patrick, the psych major, doesn’t understand, then I’m fucked.
“You need help.” He echoes Olivia’s words and I wonder if that’s where he got them from. “Something is wrong, Corey. That much I do know.”
My mouth parts with the familiar phrase, “I’m fine,” about to slip out. I stop, remembering Olivia’s outburst. “I’ll work on it,” I say instead. I’m tired of him being on my back, and at this point, I’ll say whatever it takes to get him off.
“Promise? Or do I need to send Luce up there every weekend to check on you? You wouldn’t pull shit like this with her around.”
Pull shit like this? What the fuck is he talking about? I went from something being wrong to me purposely doing this? Lucy would come up here if he asked her, but neither of us want to resort to that.
“Yeah, I promise,” I answer, my voice void of emotions. “I gotta go to work.” I hang up before he can say anything else.
So much for a good night.
Traffic is bearable and work starts out that way too as I check ID cards and stamp the hands of those under twenty-one. The girls all blur to look the same, their laughter and voices melding into one, while the guys’ jokes and obvious comments about them mush together as well.
Until one of them says my name.
“Corey?”
I blink twice until those brown eyes and brown hair clear away my confusion. Olivia is wearing jeans and a dark purple sweater that make her curves, legs, and breasts look perfect, especially in comparison to the girls out here in short dresses in the middle of freaking January.
“ID.” I’m a master at conversation. Noticing her friend, I quickly add, “Ladies.”
Olivia’s eyes seem a bit too watchful, too noticing, too I-see-your-soul-and-deepest-secrets kind of shit. Luckily for me, I don’t have to look at her. Only the ID. She’s twenty-one. Good to know, I guess.
I hand them back and gesture for them to walk on in.
“Go ahead. I’ll meet you in a second.”
Her friend gives me the once-over before leaving Olivia with me.
“You’re holding up the line,” I tell her.
The loud giggle of another girl in line makes her step towards me. Her voice is quiet, yet somehow very loud to my ears. “I wanted to say that it’s great you came into work tonight.”
I laugh, and my smile is real for the first time since I went to have dinner with my siblings and Grant, Lucy’s boyfriend. “You wanted to tell me ‘good job’, basically?”
She smiles and nods. “Yeah. Want me to give you a pat on the back too? You really deserve it.” Olivia is being sincere about how I deserve a pat on the back for showing up for work, which makes me laugh again.
“No, that’s okay.”
“I’ll see you later, Corey.” She starts walking away.
“Thanks, Olivia,” I call after her as the next group in line hands me their cards, my smile still in place.
When I get home, everything seems to flip. The exhaustion of smiling, even real ones like what I gave Olivia, talking, and interacting with all those damn bubbly people hits me. Living makes me tired. How ironic is that? I head straight for bed after changing and all, and decide to check my emails from school.
There is one from each of my instructors. Fuck. I’ve been dropped from all my classes for too many absences. The dread rises like a tidal wave and wipes out the last of my energy. I knew this would happen. I even said, “Fuck it.” But it doesn’t mean I wanted it to happen. What am I supposed to tell Lucy when she asks how my classes are going? I’m going to have to lie to her.
Not that I haven’t done it before, but I can’t hide how I’m now a semester behind for long. I’ll lie to my brothers too. Shit! I’m screwed. I’m always screwed no matter what. I can’t win. Why I expect for that to suddenly change is beyond me. Things won’t change. I’m stuck in this pit of despair and frustration, wandering around trying to find a way out while trying to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do with my life.
But you know what? All of it can wait until tomorrow.
My phone beeps with a text and I frown. Who would be texting me this late? Unless something’s wrong? I pick it back up, rolling onto my stomach as I check it.
Olivia: Here’s a pat on the back. You made it through the day! :)
I smile, but this time, it’s not a genuine one. She must have put her number in here when she was taking care of me.
Me: Thanks, though I don’t deserve it.
Not now that I’ve been dropped from my classes. I’ve wasted money and time, all while disappointing my family. At least I don’t have to tell them about this for a while.
Olivia: Thought you would be up. I can’t sleep either. Why don’t you deserve it? Good listener, remember?
Should I tell her? I don’t normally talk to anyone about serious stuff. People don’t want to hear it. Even growing up, after my parents died, no one really asked how my brothers and I were doing. Everyone was focused on Lucy, rightly so, but we didn’t have anyone to talk to but each other. Still, we were more worried about Lucy and our feelings were put to the wayside. I needed to be strong for them, so I was. What I was feeling didn’t equate to being strong and I hid them the best I could. Football was where I let them go. The rage, the hurt, the pain, the sadness, it all fueled my play and provided a little relief with the physical actions as well.
Being dropped from school doesn’t exactly require talking about emotions, so I guess I’ll tell her.
Me: Got dropped from my classes. Already missed too many.
After a moment, I send another one.
Me: Patrick, or anyone else in my family, doesn’t hear about this, FYI.
I’m not sure if she has his number or not, but just in case, I need to cover myself. What’s Olivia going to say about this? How did I manage that within weeks of school starting? How I should get my act together? She takes forever to respond, it seems, but when she does, I’m surprised by her text.
Olivia: :( It’s okay. They’ll be waiting for you next semester.
My shoulders and arms relax, making me realize I was tense as I waited. She’s right. Yeah, I’m behind and missing out on classes, but school isn’t going anywhere. It’s a small candle lit with a touch of positivity for the darkness I’m surrounded by.
Me: True. Why can’t you sleep?
Olivia: My mind won’t stop thinking long enough. Did you ever call Patrick?
Me: I’ve been told I’m not a great listener, but I could give it a try. & yes.
Luce and Patrick complain all the time that Jonathan and I are terrible at listening to what they’re saying. Something about selective hea
ring, I think. The only reason I offer is because Olivia has for me. It would be the nice thing to return the favor.
Olivia: Maybe another time. I’m going to try and sleep now. Night, Corey.
Can’t say I blame her for not wanting to share. Maybe it’s easier for some people to share their problems, secrets, and fears, but not me. Never has been. It was even more difficult after my parents died. And now, I don’t talk about those things at all. Maybe Olivia’s like me and has a hard time doing it too.
QUESTIONS BURN MY thoughts first thing in the morning as I stare at my ceiling. I think about getting up, but the task wears me out before I even make an attempt. I wonder if everything underneath my skin was replaced by cement while I slept. I wonder what I’m going to do with all my free time. Adjusting to having an abundance of it after my injury obviously didn’t go well. What am I supposed to do now? I only work a couple nights a week. I guess I could get a second job.
Ugh.
More bubbly people to deal with.
It would keep me busy, though. Maybe busy is what I need. Doubt it, but who knows. My goal right now is to make my siblings think I’m back to normal. Normal sucked for me too, but they didn’t know that. I don’t want them worrying about me when I’m supposed to do all the worrying for them, just like I have since our parents died.
Missing a semester of school shouldn’t be too bad. No more classes I don’t want to take, even though it’ll be waiting for me in the fall. My stomach grumbles, interrupting my thoughts. Huffing, I manage to get out of bed, despite the weight in my chest. The kitchen is pretty scarce, so looks like a grocery run is in order. Great. That’s exactly what I want to do first thing on a Friday.
After getting ready, I open my door to leave as Olivia’s door opens. She smiles when she sees me. The girl smiles a lot. I smile in return for her. Her bangs are clipped back and she’s sporting jeans and a hoodie.
“Good morning, Corey.”
“Morning,” I reply as we lock our respective doors.
“Out for breakfast?” she asks as we walk towards the stairs.
“Close. Was going to the grocery store, but I am starving.”
“Want to grab something to eat with me then?” When I don’t answer right away, she laughs softly at me and adds, “Who knows, it could be fun. What do you have to lose?”
Possibly everything.
I’m not sure why I think that, but when it comes to Olivia, I’ve found myself more uncertain than anything else. Uncertainty isn’t something I particularly want in my life. However, I’m already so lost, so disoriented that I don’t know which way is which. What could it hurt?
I agree to go out with her.
I DON’T CONSIDER myself a reckless person at all. Only a handful of things scare me. Olivia’s driving is crazy, reckless, and scares me the hell out of me. I lose count of how many times my arms fly out to the dashboard, like I can prevent us from crashing. She hits the brakes at the last minute, coming within inches of the car in front of us at a stoplight, and travels too close at all times. Her turns are sharp and she speeds like a demon running from hell. We could die at any moment. I need to find a way to drive us back home, so we can get there alive. Someone needs to think of our safety. When she puts her car in park, I take a deep sigh of relief. Olivia laughs.
“Maybe I should have warned you about my driving.”
“You think?”
“I’ve never been in a wreck or had any close calls, so you were safe.”
I meet her around the front of the car. “Our definition of close calls must be different, because you had five on the way here.”
She laughs again. “You must still be drunk, because we didn’t have a single one,” she jokes as we walk into the pancake restaurant.
A waiter seats us and takes our drink orders. There’s a lull of silence as we scan the menu, and I look around at the other tables. The place is bustling with waiters walking back and forth from the kitchen, a low hum from the chattering everyone seems to be doing, and pots and pans clanking around as the chefs cook.
Olivia stays quiet until the waiter returns for our orders. Once he walks away, my gaze turns to Olivia. She is glancing out the window next to our booth. I wouldn’t have pegged her for a nervous person, but right now, she might be. She’s resting her chin in the palm of her hand, tapping her fingers against her lower lip. She shouldn’t be anxious, but just in case she is, I decide to start our conversation.
“Were you able to fall asleep?”
Those brown eyes turn towards me as she places her hand in her lap with the other one. “Yeah, after about thirty minutes or so. You?”
“It took a little longer for me.” Two hours longer. At least I got some decent sleep.
She nods like she understands. “Are you looking forward to your free time?”
My chuckle is fake. “Sure.”
She narrows her eyes at me and I see a spark of fury in them. Olivia’s voice remains calm and casual. “Do you always lie?”
I can’t be that easy to read. She has called me out every single time, though. Her question makes me uncomfortable, too. Lying has gotten easier as I’ve gotten worse and has almost become a necessity. I shift in my seat. “Most of the time.” The honest words weren’t my intention, but some wires must be crossed in my brain because they pour out. “The truth isn’t pretty, but lying about some details can make things look better, sound better. If I can get away with it, and it helps, then why not?”
“Helps who? Because I would bet it’s not helping you.”
My fists clench in my lap. The waiter appears and I have to hold my tongue, completely pissed off. Just because she sees right through me doesn’t mean she gets a say on my morals or lack thereof. The food arrives right as I’m ready to go back home.
“Did I piss you off?” she questions once the waiter is gone and I still haven’t spoken, only eating silently.
Ignoring her question, I say, “I can take care of myself.”
Her voice and eyes soften. “Not all the time, and that’s okay. You need to realize you need support and someone to lean on every now and then. You could trust me. You don’t have to be strong all the time, Corey.” She pauses, almost thoughtfully. “Or pretend to be strong, I should say.”
Pretending? I’m strong. I have the muscles to prove the physical side, though I’ve gained weight since I stopped all my healthy habits after my injury. I have three younger siblings who are respectful, smart, and wonderful people who are well on their way to fantastic lives, in part because I was strong. Because I am strong. Being weak in the confines of my own home, my own life, and my own mind doesn’t mean I’m not strong.
Right?
Or am I feeding myself bullshit now?
Before I can comment, she shakes her head. “The ‘that’s okay’ part went right over your head, didn’t it?”
No, I caught that and ignored it because I don’t want it to be okay. Being the strong older brother is who I am, have always been. I can’t lose that part of myself too. Admitting it’ll be okay is admitting I have a problem.
“You don’t know anything, Olivia. Even if you do, it doesn’t matter. I lost everything and it’s not going to be okay.”
Her brows pull together and she frowns. “What did you lose? Because based on what Patrick said, you have two brothers and a sister who try to be there for you, so you didn’t lose your family. You didn’t lose the ones you love, so what did you lose?” There’s a bit of a bite to her question.
I swallow hard. Those crappy moments where I feel like I could cry? I’m having one of those. After a deep breath, I mutter, “Football.”
Olivia stares at me. It’s a bit creepy having her so openly watch me eat, but I know what’s really bothering me is not knowing what she’s thinking.
Finally, she speaks. “Football?” I nod. “I need a better explanation. There has to be more to this than that.”
“More to what?” I carefully ask, my muscles tensing like she’s abo
ut to hit me and I need to be prepared.
There’s that embarrassed/ashamed expression again. The little flit of her eyes away from me as she goes to quietly answer. “I think you might be depressed.”
My fork falls from my fingers with a clink to my plate and I lean back in the booth. My chest is ten times heavier than it was seconds ago, my ears are ringing, and I’m barely breathing in enough air. That word has been thrown around in my head before during rough patches, but none of those were like how I’ve been for the past few months. Hell, the past year.
I’m worse.
But it doesn’t really mean anything.
Life gets hard. I’m in the middle of one of those times. That’s all. I’m not one of those people in the TV ads for antidepressants who place a hand to their forehead and look so sad. If that’s what depression looks like, then I’m definitely not that.
You need help. Something is wrong, Corey.
Does this mean Patrick thinks so as well? Depression means psychiatrists and medications. Um, no thanks. How strong and reliable would I look to my siblings then? Vomit clogs my throat as I imagine Luce’s face. I swallow it back down. No, I can’t have her give me a look full of pity and sorrow and worry. She doesn’t need to worry about me. She shouldn’t have to. I’m the big brother. I’m supposed to worry, care for, and look after her, not the other way around.
Olivia has been watching, analyzing me.
Words. I need words. She’s expecting a response and I should probably give her one before I faint. Because that would be very manly and tough and strong of me.
“Why do you think that?” I force myself to say.
“Observations…and a few off-handed things your brother said. Plus,” Olivia hesitates, struggling with going forward.
“Plus what?” I grit, desperate to know.
“Personal experience.”
My eyebrows lift immediately following her statement. Olivia has suffered from depression? No wonder she sees right through me. The lightbulb explodes over my head as I realize what this means.
Nepenthe (Bracing for Love #2) Page 3
