Things are still going strong with Jennings and me. Nothing has changed between us. I’m still pining for a man states away and I’m still pathetic.
I’m not reckless, I know what I’m feeling is outrageous. One weekend and countless hours on the phone doesn’t equate to a healthy relationship. But what does? This “thing” we have going? It works. It might suck, but it works. The butterflies haven’t stopped, the happy-sighs haven’t gone away, and the yearn to be with him is still ever-present. And, that’s saying a lot considering I get bored with men a few days after being together.
Giving up on looking anything like a “normal party girl,” I grab a pair of black skinny jeans and a white flowy, button-up top.
“Fine. I’ll do heels. Do you approve?” I ask, lifting up a pair of Christian Louboutin So Kate pumps.
He hisses and looks away. “Those’ll do.”
I give him a look of question, but he doesn’t see it, so I turn and enter the bathroom.
Applying some bronzer, mascara, and blush, I give myself a once-over in the mirror. I’m simple. Love me or hate me, I’m not going to change for anyone. That Whitley is long gone. The Whitley who would do or be anything for someone, she died. So, when I look at myself in the mirror, I see someone who is all too familiar and someone I don’t recognize. Looking past my eyes, I see someone wanting to emerge, someone hoping to be found, someone lost, and I don’t know if she’ll ever be put to the forefront. Breaking down those walls—those barriers, means I could lose my edge. My one true barrier could shatter into nothing. It means he could find me. So, my hesitance is backed by genuine concern.
What’ll happen if he discovers me? He may have been the one to leave me, but it was only a warning. One that told me he could do whatever he pleases when he wants. If he were to find me, that could mean…the end.
I’m not ready for my story to end.
So, one by one, I build those barriers back up and wait for someone strong enough to knock them down.
Taking a deep breath, I spritz myself with a bit of perfume and walk out of the bathroom, stalling in the doorway.
Oliver looks up from his phone, and a wide, toothy grin spreads across his face. “You look great, Whit.” And when he says it, he looks down at his hands, like he’s said something wrong.
“Thanks.” I smile, checking the time on my cell phone.
Oliver stands up, and looks around the room, his eyes immediately falling to the safe in the corner of the room.
“That’s—umm, I store my valuables in there. You know? Mom’s wedding ring, that sort of thing,” I explain, trying to brush off the anxiousness I’m sure is all over my face. He can never open that safe. Ever. All he’d have to do is peek in that iron box and see the secret I’ve been trying to hide. He’d see the pictures and the gun. He’d figure it all out, and he’d leave.
“You’re a confusing creature, Whit.”
I let out a quick bit of air out of my nose and snicker a bit. “You have no idea.”
We’re back at the observatory, and it’s just past ten. Sitting in the back of the truck, Oliver loads his phone onto a tripod and aims it toward the moon. Hitting record, he shuffles back to the truck with his hands in his pockets.
“I don’t understand why Professor D wanted this to be a partner project. I could have done this alone.” I laugh. The Professor is certainly in a world of his own. He’s brilliant, but mad.
“Probably because he didn’t want to watch seventy-two different videos of the moon.”
“Huh. Good assessment.” I smile at him.
Oliver’s legs dangle off of the tailgate, swinging back a forth. He gives me a side-glance and a smile that brings out the same dimple that Jennings has. It must be genetic. “It was bound to happen.”
“So, what’s going on with the girlfriend front?” I ask. It seems like a safe question. Friends talk about this kind of stuff, right? I talk to him about Jennings.
I haven’t seen him look at a girl. Even the ones that throw themselves at him, he doesn’t pay much attention to. Either he’s a monk or he’s—and it pains me to think this—gay. What a slap in the face to the woman race, huh?
“The girlfriend front is nonexistent. Girls are a lot of work,” he claims, but the smile playing on his lips makes me think otherwise.
I don’t reply. For as much as I talk, he doesn’t. I’d feel awkward about it, but Oliver doesn’t give off that vibe. He is silent, and many of the conversations we have, we don’t say anything. In the subtle looks and smiles is when I feel he says the most.
So, I stay silent and listen to the night pass by. Just down the hill, the city is still rustling with life even though a storm is forcefully rolling in. Car horns blare, crickets chirp—damn crickets—and spotlights flash through the darkening night sky. The bright light brings memories of Jennings and a pang of sadness washes over me. My life is madness when I’m with him with the constant paparazzi stalking and reporters, but not being with him isn’t much better. It’s been almost two months since our relationship was outed at the seafood restaurant, and thankfully, the buzz has died down. Jennings hasn’t been spotted and his mystery girl is no longer front-page news. Life has returned to normal. Oddly for me, normal isn’t good enough anymore. The longer Jennings is gone, the more I miss him. The cord that connects us frays the more he stays gone.
We have our good days and bad days. There are days when I’m tired of our phone relationship. Talking to him for hours at night just doesn’t do it. So, I gripe and keep my tone short, and he catches on, but he’s so unwaveringly sweet and understanding. It’s just—I want more from him, and that makes me angry. I’ve never been one to lean on another person. Since that day ten years ago, I was only sure of one thing. Me. I could only rely on myself. But, the more I get to know Jennings, the more I want to invade his life and entwine it with mine.
And then there’s the other thing, I’m tired of being alone. I’m tired of letting my past win. And, it would be nice to have Jennings be there to…not even comfort me, because I don’t want to be comforted, I want to be wanted. I want to be something to someone.
The smallest bit of sprinkles begin to fall from above and I shoot a look to Oliver. “You should probably get your phone.”
He looks at me, confused, enthralled in his own mind, thinking. “Huh? I’m sorry, what?”
I smile, bringing my thumb to his forehead, wiping the tiny droplet. “It’s raining…well sprinkling, but I don’t want your phone to get ruined.”
His brow furrows, and he watches my hand as I pull it away from his face. “It’s got a waterproof case.” And, like switching gears, he looks to the cab of the truck. “Want me to turn on some music?”
“Umm, sure?” I say when he hops off the tailgate, moving toward the front of the truck.
It’s not raining enough to soak us, or even really get our clothes wet. The sky is only spitting, but I hadn’t thought he’d want to actually stay out here.
The smooth sounds of a bluesy rock song leak from the truck’s speakers and I let the bouncy, yet slow beat take over my body. Closing my eyes, my head sways side-to-side, and the rain falls in tempo with the beat. I don’t hear Oliver walk up to me, but when I open my eyes, he’s standing in front of me, with his right hand in front of my body.
“Dance with me,” he insists.
I don’t answer him, but put my hand in his, letting him lead me away from the truck. Walking backwards, our arms stretch as he pulls me along. Tugging on my hand, he brings me close to his body, and holds me close, his head resting on mine. My left hand finds his back and I clutch his shirt. My right hand, and his left are connected, and his thumb rubs up and down to every the downbeat that pours from the radio. And, as much as it looks like a romantic gesture, him holding me close, me clutching onto him so tight that my knuckles are probably white, it doesn’t feel romantic. It feels like he can see in my brain, and saw where it was heading. That dark place that I’ve been thinking more and more about since
I’ve had more time to myself. And, instead of it being sexy, or hot, it just feels…comfortable. Like, he’s trying to ease the unhealthy thoughts in my mind.
Dancing helps. As we move to the music, my head resting on his chest, his slow, steady breathing aids in lulling me to a safe place. Retreating back to an innocent, nonviolent thought process. It’s a place where the things in my life are harmless and I don’t have to worry about what’s lurking in the shadows. It’s a place full of light and peacefulness. It’s not ugly and gruesome like my reality, it’s the exact opposite, and I’ve only really been to this place one other time.
With Jennings.
Now, I’m here with Oliver, and it doesn’t feel wrong.
It also doesn’t feel one hundred percent right, either.
So, we dance and sway to one soothing song after another for who knows how long, and I let Oliver guide me to a new favorite place. A place I’ll seek to find when it’s nowhere in sight, and I’ll dream about coming back.
We don’t use words to fill the silence, we simply move with the melody of the songs and rain. Oliver’s hold on my hip tightens, and even though he hasn’t said anything, I know he’s working somehow through his own issues, whatever they are. We’re finding solace in each other. It’s unintentional, and it’s healing.
“You’re my best friend, Whit,” Oliver whispers in my ear in between raindrops, and I pull back. Beads of water stick to my eyelashes and I feverously blink, trying to get them out of my eyes.
I return my head to his chest and listen to his heart. Robust and sound, he’s as composed as I am aware. His admission makes me smile so bright, I wonder if he can feel it against his skin. “You’re mine, Oliver.”
Oliver takes one last deep breath, squeezes my hip and gently releases my hand. I take a step back from him, feeling like jello, my limbs relaxed and calm, and let my eyes find him. The rain is coming down more vehemently now and my eyes squint in order to see him better. A slight, animated smile plays on his lips and, I’m not sure, but I think he winks at me.
I look down at myself and realize my very white shirt is now soaked through from the rain and it’s basically see through.
“Hmm, a little gift for me.” Oliver wiggles his eyebrows in a suggestive manner and I push him away.
“Shut up, you. I’m going in the truck, and you better have an extra shirt for me, otherwise you’re giving me the one you’re wearing.” I point at him.
“The one off of my back is just as wet as your shirt, genius.” He smirks. “You just want to see me without a shirt. I understand.”
I roll my eyes and stomp off toward the truck. “Don’t forget your phone, ass!” I yell over my shoulder, laughing the entire way.
“You hungry?” Oliver asks as we leave the observatory. We got a good two hours worth of footage of the moon, and I could have sworn we were only there a few minutes.
“I’d say I’m…” My stomach growls at the thought of food, and Oliver’s eyebrow quirks upward. “Peckish?”
We both laugh and he signals off the freeway into a diner parking lot.
“What about the party?” I ask.
“Let’s skip it.”
I’M REALLY STARTING TO hate myself.
The back and forth, the constant lies, the non-stop worry, it’s getting to me. And—I hate it. I hate myself.
Being Oliver has downfalls. Over the past few weeks, shutting her out when I did, it was infuriating. Watching her walk into class, seeing her move with such grace and poise, even with the sadness in her eyes, made me second-guess myself more than a few times. It pained me to not be able to tell her how beautiful she looked. I wanted the freedom to tell her how such a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt looked so incredibly perfect on her. How she is so effortlessly beautiful that I felt bad for every other girl in the world because no one would ever be as stunning as she is. I wished each and every day that I could breathe in her scent. I’d give anything to watch the pink rise to her cheeks. How, it didn’t matter what anyone else said to me that day, that her voice is always at the front of my mind. Her words repeating over and over again. I wanted to let her know how incredibly smart she is. She doesn’t talk much in class anymore, sort of hovers in the back, but I know she knows every answer to every question the professor asks. I want her to believe in herself. I want her to see herself the way I do.
I hoped those feelings would trail off and disappear. I despised the entire situation; it forced me to pretend I don’t notice all of her little quirks, the things that make her special, I had to ignore them. Act like I didn’t notice them. But, when she wasn’t looking, I took mental inventory of everything.
As the days went on, I hoped that I could get it through my Neanderthal brain that Oliver doesn’t have feelings for her, that I can hold my feelings back and maybe, somehow, my brain would train itself to not see her that way.
They didn’t. If anything, they intensified. Magnified, even. Watching her be a friend to Oliver only made my infatuation with her grow.
I just wanted to be a normal guy who liked a not-so-normal girl.
It wasn’t that easy.
Every day I saw her was a struggle, a struggle to hold myself together for the greater cause.
Normality.
Ordinariness.
Something I haven’t had in years.
But, in the process, I’ve taken away my possibility for a normal relationship.
I’ve somehow gotten away with skirting by without anyone noticing my resemblance to Jennings. That is—if you don’t include Whitley. Something changed in her the day I brought her home after Lark’s party. Maybe knowing that I knew a little about Jennings and how the spotlight could affect everyone in his shadow, she seemed to open up a bit more. It’s a double-edged sword, her being more open. I wish she’d tell me to leave her alone, stay away from her, and never look in her direction. Because the further I get into her and her life, the more I realize I shouldn’t be in it. I’m a dick. She deserves someone better than what I’m offering her as Jennings. And, Oliver, he doesn’t merit good fortune with her, either. But, I’m selfish and greedy. And, despite the fact that I shouldn’t be in her life, I can’t subtract myself from it.
So, when I told her she was my best friend, it was the most honest thing I could say in the situation. I couldn’t tell her my true feelings.
I’m falling for her and not just her looks, but her—everything. Her mind, her smile, that silly laugh that she has when she thinks something is ridiculous. The way she walks with her hands on her backpack straps. I wish I could say the light that appears in her eyes when she talks about someday traveling the world to teach children English makes me want to put her on my jet and fly her anywhere she wants. And, that I’m falling for the woman underneath the sass. Her snarkiness just adds to her incredible package. She has a spark that’s so damn bright I feel the need to shield my eyes when I look at her. Or that I’m growing needy with her time because I can see the darkness growing bigger inside her eyes and it makes me want to find a flashlight and shine on it so bright that I’m able to banish it away forever. Or even though I know she’s keeping a huge secret from me, it’ll never change the way I feel for her. Her gloom is an addition to who she really is. It makes her…Whitley. It makes her fascinating and mysterious. She’s captivating.
Even her sadness is breathtaking.
Whatever she hides in that safe, it’s significant. I could see the uncertainty in her eyes when I saw it. That flash of worry was a dead giveaway that I was about to hit something on the head. So, I let it go. Maybe one day she’ll tell me. Maybe months down the road, when she knows she can trust me, she’ll open up that box that she’s stowed away so far into her heart and let me in on her secret. Maybe I can help her see that the past isn’t what defines her. What defines her isn’t a specific thing or event. It’s what she’s able to learn and take away from the experience. There isn’t one defining instance that marks her future—or even her present. It’s finding that o
ne really good feeling, that one thing that makes her happy, makes her whole and holding onto it, never letting go.
“How do you feel about a trip to Mexico?” I ask Whitley.
Jennings has been back for a week, and despite the fact that I’ve been in L.A., Ted Bates, the director of my latest film, has the entire cast on a morning show promo tour. I’ve been on every morning show in California and getting up at four a.m. every day is wearing on me.
I need a vacation. I’m ready for a vacation. I’d like to put California in the rearview mirror and go somewhere where I can just be me. Jennings. Not Jennings acting as Oliver. Or Oliver acting as “just” a friend to Whitley.
“You seriously want to go to Mexico…,” she trails off. “With me?”
I chuckle and drag my fingers through my (natural) longer dark hair. The wig is long gone and now I’m winging it…not wigging it. See what I did there? With Whitley knowing Oliver and Jennings are related, it’s not much of a stretch for us to look so alike, now. A little temporary hair dye, and boom, new man. Well, new-ish man. Oliver is really just an extension of Jennings. Christ, even I’m getting confused. Although, it’s not like Whit has seen much of Oliver this week. They saw each other on their last day of class, and again over the weekend for a “friendly” movie night, but since I got back, Oliver has been laying low. A few texts here and there, but really, my facts are getting muddled. What I know and what Oliver knows is starting to become a jumbled mess in my stupid, stupid brain. Most nights after intense talks with Whit, I’ll make sure and cover it with my alter ego. That way we can all be on the same page. But, Jennings doesn’t know about the secret safe, or the cloak-and-dagger that’s hidden inside it. Jennings also doesn’t know about Oliver professing his friendship love to Whitley. Not that it isn’t true. It’s—more so true when Jennings is concerned.
“Yes, with you, crazy. Who else would I go with?” I can practically hear the gears in her mind turning and I stop her before she can answer. “Nope. Never mind, don’t answer that. I want to go. With you, Whitley Hayes, to Mexico for an undisclosed amount of time.”
Anyone but Him Page 20
