Anyone but Him

by Cassie Graham

  That’s where it ends, though.

  I finish my business and walk to the sink to wash my hands. Splashing cold water on my face, I look at myself in the mirror. Images flash in my brain of Oliver and Lark. Lark and a woman in a plum dress. The same woman looking at me and pointing to Lark.

  “Oh my God.” I cover my mouth.

  Lark. Dumbass Lark. Holli knew; she knew he was trash and I didn’t listen to her. He has an escort service. How tasteless can you get? Doesn’t say much for me, I dated the pig, but still. He willingly sold himself for sex.

  No wonder why he always had money. Women were probably clamoring for a night with the Captain of the football team. We have high standards.

  Gross.

  And what happened to Oliver? I think I ran outside after my adrenaline ran empty to clear my head.

  Wait.

  I’m in Oliver’s house.

  Oliver’s house.

  Holy shit. Where is he?

  Struggling to make myself look somewhat presentable, I take off my sweater and pull my shirt down. Squirting a bit of toothpaste onto my finger, I brush my teeth as best I can. Combing my fingers through my hair, I let my hands fall to my sides.

  I look like a zombie.

  An unattractive zombie woman.

  Pinching the ample part of my cheeks, the light pink rises and I figure it’ll have to do.

  Noiselessly, I turn the handle on the door and step out into the long hallway. Dark wood and white walls, the apartment seems clean and contemporary. I don’t know if I’d actually classify it as a bachelor pad, but it’s—something. Maybe a little too perfect? Almost like Oliver doesn’t actually live here.

  I round the corner, which opens to an open living room and kitchen. Beautiful red, plush cloth couches sit around a big screen TV. A piano is positioned in the corner, and a sheet of music sits on top. Walking up to the magnificent instrument, I sit on the stool and place the music in front of me. Placing my fingers on the keys, my mind reverts back to a time before I moved to California. A time before he ruined my life.

  My fingers dance and hop from key to key, and I let the music overtake me. The melodic, perky notes resonate from the piano and I close my eyes. I know this piece well. I’ve performed it more times than I can count. It’s only coincidence that it’s sitting here on Oliver’s piano.

  Eighteen bars into the piece, the key changes to minor and I can’t help but feel the pain the composer must have felt when he was writing it. It’s sad and haunting, making my heart beat along with the melancholy.

  “You play beautifully,” Oliver speaks behind me, making me jump slightly.

  I stop playing and turn toward him. In gray jogging pants and a red tank top, his skin glistens with sweat. How is it that he looks good sweaty? I don’t get it. I look like train wreck, hot mess, and here he is, looking gorgeous—and all too familiar.

  “Thanks.” I cut my eyes away.

  I don’t feel comfortable. Something is off here and I need to get out. Why was I making myself at home here playing the piano? This isn’t my house. I don’t really know Oliver.

  I bolt off of the stool and rush past Oliver, making my way to the door.

  “Are you okay?” Oliver prods.

  I place my hand on the door handle and shake my head. “No. Can you take me back to my car?”

  The unease I’m feeling is palpable. Looking at Oliver, I can’t shake this feeling. This restlessness.

  Oliver steps up to me, his hands out in surrender. “Whit. What’s wrong?”

  I shake my head, again. “No. I don’t know. Let’s just leave.”

  It’s then, when his eyes soften, I see something. I see it.

  “Jennings?”

  Oliver steps back. “Jennings, who?” His hands shake a bit, and he stuffs them into his pockets.

  “You know what? I’m sorry,” I say. This is absurd. He can’t be Jennings. There’s no way. No one is that messed up.

  “Do you mean Jennings Cohen?” Oliver suggests.

  “Umm, yeah. It’s just—you look like him. I’ve never really thought about it until now, but you guys look freakishly similar.”

  Oliver runs his hair through his short hair and smiles. “It’s okay, Whit. Jennings is actually my cousin.”

  My back hits the door. “How is that possible?” My blood pulses, raging through my veins. “Is Lark related to him, too?”

  His eyebrows crinkle. “Uh, no. Jennings is my cousin on my mom’s side and Lark is on my dad’s. I don’t think they’ve ever met.”

  My shoulders soften and I step away from the door. “Oh.”

  “Is that why you just freaked out? You thought I was Jennings?”

  He says it like it’s an absurd thought. I’m not crazy. I mean—geeze, they’re related. How did I not know that? Seems like something one of them would have mentioned.

  “Why haven’t you mentioned it before?”

  He motions for me to sit on the couch and I take a seat. He sits on the floor to stretch.

  “It’s not exactly something I blast from a bullhorn, Whit. If I did that, people wouldn’t leave me alone. I’d be harassed.”

  “Yeah. I understand that.”

  “Wait.” He snaps his fingers. “You’re the girl Jennings has been seen with?”

  I look down at my hands. “That would be me.”

  “Damn,” he says, baffled.

  I let that slide. “So, what can you tell me about Jennings?”

  “Other than the fact that he peed the bed until he was nine?” He smirks. “Nothing. He’s a normal guy with an abnormal career.”

  I smirk. “I’ll say. He’s been gone for two months training.”

  “Really?” Oliver remarks.

  I nod my head. “Yeah. He didn’t tell you?”

  “Uhh, no. We don’t talk much anymore.”

  “Why?” I coax. I’d take any information on Jennings I can get.

  “No reason.”

  Huh. Well, damn. Doesn’t look like Oliver wants to talk.

  “So.”

  Oliver stretches his arms above his head, and his torso peeks out. I do a double take. He really is a spitting image of Jennings.

  “You guys must be around the same age,” I conclude.

  “Yeah, twenty-five. I’m a month younger than him.”

  “Oh.”

  “You ready to head home?” he asks, all of the sudden impatient.

  “Sure. Let me grab my hoodie and we can head out.”

  When I return to the living room from the room, I find Oliver filling up two to-go cups of coffee. “Creamer?”

  Taking the hair tie from around my wrist, I pull my hair up into a bun and nod my head. “Please.”

  Closing the lids on the cups, Oliver strides up to me, giving me the steaming cup of joe.

  “Thank you.”

  He winks, and yet again, I’m plagued by Jennings face. They are so different, and so also so similar. It’s disheartening.

  Eerie.

  “What are your plans today?”

  I step out of the apartment and turn to watch Oliver lock his door. “Honestly, I’m going to crawl in bed and contemplate giving myself a lobotomy. My head is killing me.”

  He snickers, leading me to the elevator. “Sounds… gruesome.”

  “It is.”

  “Holli, yes. Jesus,” I say into the phone.

  I don’t know how many times I have to tell her.

  “Well, shit, woman. This is serious. Dixie Chicks serious.”

  Tripping over an uneven crack in the concrete, I fumble forward, laughing.

  “Pitch Perfect, really?” I sputter. It’s not easy to contain your laughter when I know the back-story of her particular reference.

  Holli auditioned for a specific role in that movie, went on many callbacks, had several chemistry tests with her co-star and was trumped by a certain redhead, who shall not be named, at the last minute. She’s still holding a grudge.

  “What?” she snaps. “I
would have kicked that role’s ass,” she huffs. “Shoulda been me, dammit.”

  The bright rays of the sun set an offensive light in the early morning, but the crack of thunder in the distance foreshadows a nasty storm to come. The weather lately has been so unpredictable that I don’t know whether to carry an umbrella or sunglasses. One minute, it’ll be sunny and hot, the next, it’ll be pouring down rain.

  Global warming, I’ll tell you.

  “I know, I know,” I affirm.

  “So, as I was saying. Jennings is coming home this weekend?”

  I groan. “God, Holls, yes. How many times do you have to ask?”

  I imagine her pivoting her foot with her hands on her hips, giving me a level stare. “As many times as it takes. You haven’t said anything about him. I’m beginning to think you’re keeping it from me on purpose.”

  She isn’t wrong. I want to keep what we have close to the chest. “How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”

  “Almost two months ago.”

  I haven’t told her about Oliver, either. Since the night I stayed at his house, he’s returned to his normal self. Every day of class, he walks me to my car and I go on my merry way. We talk during class, passing notes like teenagers. He knows about my feelings for Jennings because well—of all people, he’d understand my worries. He doesn’t know about what happened in Kansas, but he knows enough to know not to push me.

  Holli has no idea that I live in a Jennings bubble.

  She also doesn’t know about what happened with Lark. She’s been home three days in the past month, and burdening her with my drama is the last thing I want to do. Plus, I know she’d say something snarky about being right and I really don’t want to swallow that pill. So, I’ve gone from telling her everything to nothing.

  “And, he’ll be home for good?”

  “Yep. Training is done and the movie is set to start in January. Originally, I guess, the movie was supposed to start in February, but they moved up the date.”

  “That’s normal,” Holli says. “It all depends on funding. If they can get money before and all of the actors’ schedules align, they’ll film right away.”

  “Jennings said they’re filming in Arizona.”

  “Oh, at least he’ll be there in the winter. The weather in the summer is killer.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “And when is the last day of your summer class?”

  “Friday.”

  Holli clucks her tongue. “Just in time for sexy to get back.”

  “Justin brought that back a long time ago, Holls.”

  She chuckles. “Shut up, you.”

  “And what about Blaine? What’s he up to?”

  “He’s in Madrid doing some campaign for Gucci. We’re meeting up in Toronto on Sunday.”

  “Sounds great. And, Vancouver’s nice?”

  “Super nice.”

  Holli’s show, We The People, just officially switched networks, so now the show is primarily filmed in Canada. I’m stoked for her. The new network is much bigger and the fan base alone is enough to have the show be on air for another four seasons. It’s an opportunity of a lifetime for Holli. I couldn’t be more proud.

  So, while she’s off being a mega star, I’m here in L.A. stuck in a rut. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m forever moving, but can’t figure out what to do with my life?

  All that moving was supposed to help me find out who I was.

  I was supposed to flit from thing to thing in order to find me.

  I lost myself the day he dumped me on the side of the road. The woman who I was, stayed stranded on the side of that highway, and when I was found, the new me emerged. The hard me. The confused me. He brainwashed me. Poor, innocent, little Black Widow, that’s what he called me, she was like putty. He let me believe he was protecting me, shielding me from the bad people of the world. But, really, he was the bad guy. I should have been watching out for him. I should have known better. I loved him. I loved the way he made me feel. But, in the end, he helped end my life.

  Almost ten years later, and his face still haunts the darkest corners of my mind. His sneer that he left me with just before he drove away still makes its way to the forefront of my mind when I’m most doubting myself.

  I force myself to push those thoughts away and try my hardest to sound content. “I’m happy for you, Holls, but I miss you.”

  “I miss you. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  I end the call and continue walking to my class. The wind is beginning to blow with force and the palm trees lining the concrete walkway sway and move, making me feel like I’m in a fun house. A large frond falls in front of me and I barely miss getting pummeled on the head by a gigantic branch. I should have stayed home, but the professor informed us we’d have another outside assignment today and I needed to be here to find a partner. My luck, if I missed today, I’d get the professor as a partner and thinking about having to go somewhere alone with his creepy ass is enough to make me sit in the front row so I don’t have to put myself through that.

  “Whit!” Oliver shouts, jogging behind me.

  I turn around, watching him stop a few inches from my face. “Ollie. What’s up?”

  “I’m going to a party tonight, wanna come with?”

  I give a snort. “A party? It’s Wednesday.”

  He looks at me, not understanding. “So, we can still party.”

  “Let me think about it?” I’m not really in the partying mood as of late. Since everything went down with Lark, I don’t feel much like getting drunk. Honestly, just thinking about any sort of alcohol makes me want to puke my coffee up.

  “No thinking. Come on. Just one night.”

  I begin walking, again, and throw my hands up. “Fine.”

  “You’re actually in?” Oliver hesitates, not sure if I’m joking or not.

  “Yes.” I laugh. “I’m in. Is it so hard to believe?”

  The long hall leading to our astronomy class is empty, and Oliver walks next to me. “Actually, yeah.”

  “Well, Adams, I’m a bundle of surprise,” I say as I throw my arm around his shoulder.

  I was right. We have another partner assignment. It’s basically the same assignment we had at the beginning of the semester, but this time, we have to capture the moon during an interval of time. Oliver is again my partner, so, the plan is to do our assignment then go party it up.

  Sounds…I don’t know. I want to be a good friend and hang out with him, but it feels bizarre. I feel like he’s an extension of Jennings. And, when I think about it like that, I get creeped out because I talk to Oliver about Jennings.

  Oliver seems like a safe bet. He never talks to Jennings and he couldn’t care less that Jennings is a celebrity. It’s a win-win for me, really.

  But, I’ve never actually hung out with Oliver outside of school. It’s like school was our little barrier. He’s always seemed safe in the confines of the walls.

  And the moment I think that, I question myself. I’m a shitty judge of character. That much is obvious. I let him get into my head and I had no idea the toxins he was releasing into my mind and body.

  “Let’s meet at my place at nine, sound good?” Oliver requests when we approach my car.

  “Sure.” I click the unlock button.

  He winks at me and turns on his heel, going to his truck.

  Starting the car, I exit the campus and head onto the freeway, saying a prayer before.

  My phone chirps its little ring and I glance at the screen.

  Jennings.

  Turning on the Bluetooth, I smile. “Hi.”

  The sounds of cars rushing by fill my speakers. “Hi, Beautiful. I miss you.”

  I take a deep breath and hum in pleasure. My life and brain might be one jumbled mess of confusion, but Jennings—he’s a constant. “I miss you. What are you up to?”

  “We’re on break. I’m getting lunch.”

  “Oh,” I say. “I’m actually glad you called. I’m, uhh—hanging
out with Oliver tonight.” It comes out like a question.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” I say, leery.

  “Are you asking my permission, Whitley Hayes?”

  “Umm.” I bite my nail. “I guess so.”

  Not really. I just don’t want there to be any more secrets between us. I’m already keeping a huge one in my back pocket. I don’t want to add to that heap of wrong.

  “You don’t need my permission, Whit. Oliver is a good guy.”

  “I know. I just want to be honest about what I’m doing. We have an assignment to complete for our class, then there’s a party downtown somewhere.”

  “Well, if I’m being truthful, I don’t like you going out with another guy, but it is my cousin, so I can’t be too pissed. Please, be safe.”

  “I will.”

  “Dammit, Oliver. I’m not wearing that to go to the observatory,” I persist as I grab the white mini dress from his hands. He decided to come over to my house so he could pick out my party outfit. It sucks for him, though, because no matter what he thinks he’s going to choose, I’m going to walk out of the house in jeans. I’m not really a dress kind of girl and I couldn’t care less what other girls are wearing at the party.

  “So, what are you going to wear?” he asks, throwing himself on my bed.

  I shrug a shoulder and put the dress back in my closet. “I don’t know. Jeans, probably.”

  He levels his eyes.

  “What?”

  “Jeans?” he makes fun.

  “Yes, dammit. Jeans. Dresses are uncomfortable.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t know.” He boasts and I throw a hanger his way, but he catches it. “You know, you look great in jeans, so it’s all good.”

  I know the crimson rushes to my cheeks and I turn away. When Oliver gives me a compliment, I can’t help but feel a tiny bit like Jennings gave it to me. Even though, that’s completely absurd. Two different people, two different opinions. It’s been weeks since I figured out their relation and I still can’t get over it. The resemblance is uncanny. And, it may be extremely unhealthy, but I like interacting with Oliver because I miss Jennings.