by Fisher, Kari
“That might be entertaining,” he says, laughing.
I watch as he walks over and places his order. It’s one of the other employees manning the counter, who I don’t know very well. I don’t see Oliver anywhere. Maybe he already went home. I notice he hasn’t sent me a text message yet so he should still be here somewhere.
Chase is back at the table. He talks my ear off about why he chose to move here, and how he had such a hard time finding a place to live. He says he’s lucky to have found the vacant apartment in my building for such a great price.
“I’m a professional forklift operator,” he replies, when I ask him what he does. “I’m pretty good at lifting forks to my mouth.”
“Sounds like a good career,” I joke.
“I’m just kidding. I’m actually an electrician.”
He doesn’t look like an electrician. He looks like he could be in movies. He wears thick glasses, baggy jeans, a white shirt and a blue button up sweater. He’s clean shaven, and his hair is messy, like he just got out of bed.
“Where do you work?” he asks.
“Uh, I actually work here.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, today was my first shift. I needed a second job other than painting, and they were hiring. I always come here anyway. I may as well work here,” I explain.
“Oh, that’s awesome.”
He continues talking but I’m not listening. Oliver is watching us.
He must have been in the back room, but he was standing at the counter now, looking this way. I smile and he nods. He grabs a rag and begins cleaning off tables.
Is he jealous?
I hear Chase say something about how he has to start work tomorrow.
Oliver is cleaning the table right behind us. I wonder if he’s listening.
“I guess you’re going home to bed, then, after your long drive?” I ask Chase.
“That’s the plan. I just need to get my bed set up.”
“Where’s Pickles, right now? Did you bring her with you?”
“Not yet. I left her with my mom back home and I’m going to pick her up next weekend.”
“Hey, Laur. Sorry I hadn’t texted you yet. Are we still doing something tonight?” Oliver asks, interrupting us. From the way he is standing by our table, I think he’s about to sit down with us—but he doesn’t.
“I don’t think so. I’m pretty exhausted, Oliver. I think I’m just going to head home and call it a night,” I say. “Oh, this is Chase. Chase, this is Oliver. He’s my boss.”
I hope you’re jealous.
They shake hands and it seems almost awkward.
“Okay, well, send me a text tomorrow then, since you don’t work until the weekend, and we can get together,” Oliver suggests. He walks back over to the counter and pulls his notebook out of his messenger bag. He begins to write.
I wonder what he’s writing about. He must be writing about me.
Chapter Seventeen
I need a new reason to live
I unlock the door to my apartment and turn around to say goodnight to Chase. He’s standing there across the hall from me, just watching.
“I guess I’ll see you around, neighbor.” I grin.
“Sure will.” He smiles.
“Do you need anything else?”
“May I borrow a pillow, by any chance? I noticed earlier that I forgot to bring mine.”
“Yeah, sure. Come on in and grab one.” I open the door and he follows me in.
NyQuil circles Chase, who bends down to pet him.
“That’s surprising. My cat is usually shy around strangers,” I say.
Chase shrugs his shoulders. “I think he likes me.”
I retrieve a pillow from my bedroom and hand it to Chase. Our hands touch.
Chase kisses me and then pulls back immediately.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I just did that. You don’t even know me. I just—I don’t know. You were standing there, and—Lauren, I’m sorry.” He seems shaken.
I stand there, staring at him, not sure what to say. I reach out and tug on his shirt, so that he’s closer to me, and then I put my lips on his.
This time, the kiss seems to last forever. We stand there, holding each other, with our lips touching. He drops the pillow onto the floor and puts both hands around my waist.
I slowly pull back, and look him in the eyes.
“There’s something about you, Lauren. Something I’m really attracted to,” he whispers.
Not knowing what to say, I tell him he should probably get home to bed so that he can go to work well-rested in the morning. He complies reluctantly and then he’s gone.
I’m in bed. My warm, comfortable bed. I lie awake, thinking of tonight’s events. Meeting Chase must have been fate. I’ve felt that way about someone upon meeting them for the first time. It was instant. I feel conflicted, though. I’m worried that if I pursue this to see if feelings develop, I’m going to have my heart ripped from my chest once again.
I don’t even know him. How could I kiss a man I don’t know?
Lauren, you fool.
I don’t know anything about him. For all I know, he might have a girlfriend back home, who’s lying in bed right now, missing him and wishing he was with her—and his lips just touched mine. Or he could be a serial killer.
LAUREN, YOU FOOL.
What about Oliver? That wasn’t exactly fair to him, even though we aren’t official. He seemed hurt that I was at the café with someone else tonight.
My head is racing, but I eventually fall asleep—and it’s the best sleep I have in a really long time.
Chapter Eighteen
The first night we were alone,
You touched my beautiful scar
A text message wakes me up. I grab my phone off the nightstand, almost hoping it’s from Chase, but I realize that’s impossible since he doesn’t have my number.
It’s Oliver.
He’s asking me to meet him for breakfast. I really don’t want to get out of bed, but I probably should start my day. My apartment needs a good cleaning, so perhaps I’ll meet up with him for a bit and then come back and get some stuff done around here.
I meet Oliver at the diner down the street. He doesn’t look like he’s in a better mood than he was last night, but he does smile when I walk up to his table.
“How’s it going?” he asks.
“Good.” Should I tell him? I feel like he can read my mind.
“Sorry I couldn’t make it out last night in time, Laur. I didn’t mean to make you wait. I got really busy with work, and I just couldn’t leave until everything was done. And then you were tired. I hope you aren’t upset with me,” he says, studying my face.
“Oh no, not at all. It’s all good. I went home and—uh—went right to bed.” I wonder if he noticed my hesitation, but he doesn’t seem fazed by it at all.
“Are you feeling better today?” he asks.
“Yes, much better. I slept well.”
“Good.” He reaches out and takes my hand. His notebook is poking out of his messenger bag on the seat beside him, and I can’t stop staring at it, wondering what he wrote in it last night. He leaves it unattended when he gets up to order our food.
I cannot control my curiosity, and I open the notebook. I flip to the last page that has writing, and I immediately see Chase’s name.
“Chase is an emotional sponge.”
I blink and wonder what he means by that. I flip a couple pages back, and Chase’s name is still scribbled all over that page, as well. I open the very first page of the book, and his name is the first thing I read.
Why does Oliver have a new notebook almost entirely full of stuff about Chase, when he only met him last night?
I want to ask him, but I obviously can’t let him know I looked at the book. This is really starting to weird me out, though.
He returns with our food. I barely touch the bacon and eggs on my plate, and he doesn’t say much while he eats his.
/>
“Are you seeing Chase?” he finally asks. “I mean, it’s cool if you are. You and I aren’t together. I just want to know.”
“No, it’s not like that,” I squeak. He only stuck his tongue in my mouth twice, but I decide to keep that part to myself.
“Okay,” Oliver sighs. “I was just wondering. It’s really none of my business. Just tell me if I’m prying too much. How long have you known him?”
“Oh, I literally just met him last night. He moved into the apartment across from mine, and his hands were full so I helped him with a box. I ended up helping him unload everything from his car, which wasn’t much—the guy literally has no belongings, it’s weird.” And then he stuck his tongue in my mouth twice.
“Oh, okay. I figured you two had been friends for a while with the way you were talking, I guess.”
“No, not at all. I was just being a good neighbor.” I force a smile.
“That’s nice of you. I was wondering—there’s a gala next week. It’s for business owners, and I was invited. Would you like to come with me?”
“Sure, I’d like that. What night is it?” I ask.
“Thursday.”
“Perfect, I don’t have plans. I mean, I don’t ever have plans, anyway. I have no life.” I laugh.
Oliver gives me a ride back to my place and I wave as I walk away from his car.
I bump into Chase in the hallway.
I mean, I literally bump into Chase in the hallway, like the clumsiness you’d see in a cheesy romance movie. I guess I had been looking at the floor while I was walking, trying to figure out whether or not Oliver was interested in me.
“Whoa, where are you going so fast?” Chase laughs, almost having to hold me up.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize. “I’m just heading home. I was hoping to get some cleaning done and stuff. I thought you had to work today.”
“I did. I’m done for the day. It was only a half day orientation thing. It seems like a good company. I think I’m really going to like it here.”
“Good, I’m glad it went well. Sorry again for bumping into you.” I smile shyly, and walk past him to my door.
I’d really like to paint. I pull out another blank canvas. I don’t usually start something before I’ve finished what I was already working on, but I need to paint something I can sell for a bit of money, rather than this abstract one I’ve been working on that has no value other than the sentimental kind.
I can see my new painting in my head. I just need a couple of uninterrupted hours so that I can get it onto the canvas. There’s a woman with an umbrella. In my head, the woman looks sad. She’s not sad because it’s raining. Something else is bothering her. She’s damaged and broken. Her heart has been shattered into tiny little pieces by all the people she’s ever loved.
I’m violently throwing paint at the canvas, and I am almost in tears. Minutes turn into hours. Suddenly, I’m standing here facing a portrait of a woman on a dark blue and grey background. I’ve used a thin paintbrush to scribble a poem down the side:
You’re like the cliff that I look down from for hours on end,
Knowing that if I fall for you again
My broken wings won’t keep me up anymore
And I’ll hit the ground even harder than before.
You’re the water in my freezer slowly turning into ice;
I think one night with you would suffice.
I know that if I turn away for a second,
Someone else will take you and you’ll thaw out for them.
You’re just like a crowded city during the middle of the day;
And even at night, the other people won’t go away.
It’s like I need to drive for hours, though,
You leave me feeling lost; I missed my exit long ago.
You’re the air in the room keeping me alive;
You’re everything I need if I want to survive.
But you’re so torn between your own love and hate,
Sometimes you forget me and I suffocate.
You’re the weeds in my garden that won’t stop coming back;
I’d push you away but it’s a strength that I lack.
So I give up and just let you grow,
Soon you’ll take over all of me, I know.
You’re the music in the background that I can hardly hear;
I’d turn you up but I don’t want to let you near.
You just keep screaming; I don’t want you to leave.
It’s getting so very hard to breathe.
You’re the broken wings on my back, you won’t let me fly;
I feel that if I don’t, I’m going to die.
You just laugh, knowing you’re holding me down
And I’m getting closer and closer to the ground.
I’m glad the act of breathing isn’t voluntary, because I wouldn’t be breathing right now if it was. I haven’t written poetry in months. I’m so full of emotions right now that I don’t know how to handle them.
I put my paintbrush down. NyQuil is watching me, presumably hoping I’ll leave it unattended for a couple minutes so he can chew on it.
It feels amazing to be finished with a painting. I almost don’t want to try selling this one, but I know I need to. Someone will appreciate her. I’m sure of it.
I snap a picture with my phone, and immediately upload it to Instagram and Craigslist, with the title Fresh off the Brush.
I fall back into my couch and turn on the TV.
There’s a knock at the door. I find myself hoping that it’s Oliver, but it’s Chase.
“Want some company?” he asks.
“I was just about to start cleaning.” I’m trying to tell him—and myself—that now is not a good time.
“You have plenty of time to get that done later. Were you painting?” he asks, pointing to the stains on my shirt.
“Yeah,” I reply.
“Can I see it?” He walks into my apartment before I can object.
“I’m busy, Chase,” I call after him as he walks into the study. He stares at my new painting.
“That’s really good, Lauren. Really, really good.”
“It’s private. I didn’t want anyone to see it yet. You need to leave,” I say sternly—obviously lying, because I’ve already shared pictures of it online—I just didn’t want him to see it.
“Sorry, I’m just really bored. I’ve unpacked some stuff, and now I have nothing else to do. I figured I’d come over and see if you wanted to hang out.”
I don’t know why I suddenly feel so weird about Chase, but I have no patience for him right now. I think I’m still disappointed in myself for letting him kiss me—and kissing him back, while I still have feelings for Oliver.
“I’m sorry, I’ll leave you alone,” Chase says, obviously sensing my discomfort and backing off. He heads for the door and I don’t stop him.
Then he’s gone, and I decide to avoid him for the next while—possibly forever.
Chapter Nineteen
Without you, I’m as good as dead;
An angel left behind
The hall for the gala is beautifully decorated. Oliver and I are the first couple here and he hands me a glass of wine. He’s wearing a pink shirt under a grey suit, and he looks incredible. He smells of cigarette smoke, which is the only turn off.
“I like that suit on you,” I point out. “The pink really looks good.”
“Thanks.” He smiles. “I really like your dress, too.”
A second couple arrives and Oliver obviously recognizes them. He grabs my hand and whisks me towards them.
“Lauren, this is Elliot and his better half, Mia. They own several apartment buildings, as well as a property management company,” he explains. “Mia and Elliot, my girlfriend, Lauren.”
Girlfriend?
I nearly spit out my sip of wine.
Since when am I his girlfriend?
“Excuse me for a second.” I smile and duck away, leaving them to discuss business.
&n
bsp; I stand in the bathroom, in front of the mirror. For a second, I don’t recognize my face—the face of Oliver’s girlfriend.
I finish my wine in one big gulp, and I grab another glass as I walk towards Oliver. He’s standing alone now.
“Are you okay?” he asks, puzzled.
“Yeah.” I drink the wine.
More wine, and more wine.
By the end of the night, I am feeling fuzzy. Oliver can tell, and graciously lets me hang onto his arm for support. These three inch heels prove to have been a terrible choice.
“Let’s get you home, Lauren.” He smiles as he helps me into the passenger seat of his car. He shuts the door for me and goes around to the other side.
He’s driving.
We’re at my place.
He’s helping me up the stairs.
“I need to shower,” I groan.
“Can you wait until morning, Laur? You shouldn’t be showering in the state you’re in. You could get hurt.”
“Come with me.” I pull him into my bathroom, and shut the door. I peel my grey dress off my body, and let it fall to the floor.
“I don’t think this is a good idea.”
I’m not listening to him. I reach back and unclasp my bra. It falls to the floor as well.
I lean closer to him, and pull his shirt up over his head. It seems he’s no longer trying to object, as he unzips his pants and steps out of them.
We’re in the shower.
I am leaning against him, letting the almost scalding hot water fall on my back. His lips are touching mine, and it is the most mesmerizing feeling I’ve ever experienced.
Chapter Twenty
I lie back on my bed and look at the ceiling,
Trying to make sense of all that I’m feeling
I wake up before Oliver does. I have no clothes on, and I’m barely covered by the sheet on my bed. Oliver is asleep with his back to me, and he’s lying on my arm. I wonder if I can slip it out from under him without him noticing, or if I can just saw my arm right off. I really don’t want to wake him up right now. I want to ask him what happened last night, but I would really like to take something for this headache and put a pot of coffee on first. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the coffee, too.
