by Fisher, Kari
“Lauren, I don’t know what to do anymore. How should I help you?” Oliver asks, as though he’s pleading for an answer. He is. He hates to see her hurting and can’t take much more of this. He’s never been so emotionally involved in a case before.
Frederick has backed off and is sitting at the other side of the room.
“You need to spend the night here, Lauren. Do you understand? If you promise to be good for Doctor Christiansen, I will come back to visit you in the morning. Does that sound okay?”
“Yes,” Lauren squeaks. This might be her only chance to continue seeing Oliver. The portion of her mind that is still able to make rational decisions is telling her that she needs to do as they say, otherwise she’ll never be allowed to see him again—and that would kill her.
“I’m going to leave now, Lauren. I have to go write up some paperwork. You know that. But I’ll be back, okay? In the meantime, if you need anything you could ask Doctor Christiansen. He’s not a bad person,” Oliver explains.
Lauren nods. The notebook. He has to go write in the notebook. Always the notebook. That’s what he’s going to do.
Lauren hides her head in her mattress.
“Go,” she mumbles, but the word is muffled.
Oliver is gone.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Maybe you don’t realize
That I hear every word
Oliver walks back into my bedroom with a glass of water for me. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he offers it and I graciously accept. It’s gotten too hot in my apartment and I appreciate the gesture. He rests the half empty cup on my nightstand and somehow manages to squeeze into my side of the bed, pushing me over to his.
“Stop,” I whine playfully. He’s clearly ignoring me, and continues to inch his way under the sheet. The window is open a crack and I can feel the cool air on my toes but it’s still hotter than the Sahara. It’s getting late and my eyes are beginning to feel heavy.
“Do I really have to go to work tomorrow? I feel exhausted. I’m not myself lately. I could just really use some time off.” I’m being serious. If he wasn’t my boyfriend as well as my boss, I probably wouldn’t be so brutally honest with him. I’d probably make up some kind of story about my grandmother getting sick and having to go care for her.
“I’d really like it if you were there. Not only are we terribly short staffed, but I also enjoy seeing you, and randomly bumping into you as you try and wait tables throughout the day.” He winks at me.
I sigh, but I’m smiling at the same time. I enjoy it, too. He knows that. We haven’t worked together in a couple days—not since he had that horrible flu, and it’ll be nice. It’s just that I feel distant lately, and my mind doesn’t seem to be on track. I can’t focus on anything, and I’m having a really hard time dealing with even the smallest bit of stress.
“Okay, okay, I’ll come in.”
“Awesome. Thanks, Laur. Do you want me to spend the night?”
I nod, and he wraps his arms around me. His cheek is pressed against my head and I can feel his breath on my ear. I wouldn’t trade this feeling for the world. We sleep like this, two bodies entangled as though they’re one: he is in his boxers, and I am wearing panties and one of his t-shirts. For a second I contemplate having him get up to open the window more but then I realize I just don’t want him to move. I’d be perfectly happy staying in this exact moment forever.
Morning comes much faster than I wished it would, and it seems the sun is up and bright—and rubbing it in my face. Oliver is already out of bed, making coffee for both of us. I can barely keep my eyes open, and I hit the snooze button three times. If it wasn’t for Oliver’s hand on my wrist and his stern look, I would have hit it again a fourth. I groan as I bury my head into the pillow.
“Let’s go, Laur,” he urges.
“Fine,” I mumble. I wonder if I’m coherent enough to speak a full sentence yet but I highly doubt it. I am not a morning person. I don’t like mornings and they certainly don’t like me. This morning is especially unkind; I can tell from what I can see in the mirror, where last night’s makeup is running down my cheeks and my hair looks like it’s only giving me two options: to either shave it all off or wear a hat. I am convinced that if I had easy access to a pair of clippers right now, I probably would just get rid of it all—but I don’t. I guess that’s a good thing. Instead, I opt for the hat and I decide on my brown knitted slouch hat. It best suits my attire of jeans, a red tank top, and an oversized brown knitted sweater.
I am ready.
Oliver emerges from the bathroom, dressed and looking as delicious as usual—although, now that I’ve woken up next to him a few times, I know that his beauty doesn’t solely exist on the fact that he spends more time getting ready in the morning than most typical women, but in fact, he looks gorgeous like that when he first wakes up in the morning, too. I’m almost jealous of him. He merely stumbles out of bed and his hair springs into place with the perfect amount of wavy and guess-what-I-did-last-night.
I know what he did last night.
I wince as I remember the painful events that happened a couple days ago, when I found out about his wife.
I’m so glad we’ve talked since then.
It’s a messy situation, but I understand more now than I did. Oliver and his wife, Tara, are in the process of a separation. Unfortunately, they’re still living at the same residence, and they will be until the judge decides who has to buy who out in the agreement. In the meantime, they are both desperately trying to remain civil for the sake of the children.
Those poor kids. Apparently she isn’t very good to them, either. Oliver never told me exactly why he and Tara were splitting up, but I’ve gotten the impression that it has something to do with the way she treats their children. She acts like they don’t exist. Both kids are excited at night when she comes home from work, and she doesn’t even bother with them. They run to her with open arms and she shrugs them off, disappearing into her office for hours of paperwork and phone conversations with her co-worker, Matthew. It is clear that Oliver has some suspicions about his wife and this Matthew guy, but he has yet to come right out and say it.
While Oliver is gone to work and Tara is at home with the kids, she never bathes them or changes them in and out of their pajamas. They’ve actually gone to sleep wearing clothes they’ve worn all day because she didn’t bother to get them ready for bed; she just mindlessly sent them off without so much as a kiss goodnight. He feels like she regrets having them. The first one was a mistake—a slip up on her part, she thought she had taken her pill but she had not. They had discussed all their options to great lengths and although neither of them really felt ready to have a child, or to even commit to each other, they decided to give it their best shot. A few years later, things weren’t horrible and they decided to have a second, to keep their first child company. Tara isn’t sure now that it was the best decision for them—she wasn’t emotionally prepared to become a mom to a newborn once again, but now the youngest is a toddler and easier to handle. About six months ago, he started to sleep through his nights in his own bed, like his older sister. This allowed Oliver and Tara to have more alone time and to begin focusing on each other again instead of the children. They very soon found out that the spark had faded and they tried briefly to rekindle the flame. When a weekend alone proved to be more of a disaster than anything, they sought counseling. The counselor told them that no matter what happens in a relationship, they needed to put each other first—even before their children. The reason for that was because if they didn’t put their effort into making each other happy, they’d split up and then they wouldn’t have the family they wanted their children to grow up in. In addition to that, he explained that it was important to show their children what a good relationship was like. Fighting in front of the children wasn’t appropriate, but arguments were perfectly fine—as long as they were settled in a calm manner—because it showed the children that not everything is perfect and sometimes it’s
necessary to compromise.
They tried, but it seemed that their relationship was too damaged at this point. After much debate and a mutual decision, they decided to part ways.
Everything was fine until Tara saw Oliver with another girl. She was just a friend, and they went out for a coffee together to discuss possible employment, but Tara thought it was more than that and she lost her shit on Oliver. The second he walked into the house they still shared that night, she began to scream at him. He calmly explained to her that it was just a friend from another store on his street, but she wouldn’t listen. He told her that he didn’t care what she thought anymore, anyway, and that even if it was a date, there was nothing wrong with that because they were separated.
Tara became controlling. Over the next two months, she’d stop into Oliver’s shop to check on him. She’d refer to herself as “Oliver’s wife”, and Oliver would just shake his head in disbelief when people would mention it. She went so far as to text pictures of herself with Oliver to a girl he dated briefly, telling her that they were recent photos when they had actually been taken before the separation.
“You belong in a nut house,” Oliver had once said to her. He shook his head and walked away while she continued to scream, and he wondered why he always seemed to attract the crazy ones.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Falling short or falling behind
Without you, nothing left in my mind
“How is Lauren doing?” Oliver asked, as Frederick emerged from his office at the Malartin Psychiatric Center.
“I’m not sure, Oliver. I haven’t really been able to get through to her. We’ve adjusted her meds. At times, she seems completely sane. Then she crawls right back into her shell and starts accusing me of brutally murdering some cat. I’m trying my best. I can’t figure out what her triggers are. She keeps asking for you,” Frederick explains.
“Well, maybe I should go talk to her again,” Oliver suggests. Frederick shakes his head in response.
“That’s not a good idea,” Frederick says sternly. “We need to break this whole obsession she has with you. She needs to see you as little as possible. I can’t speak of you, and you cannot come around.”
Oliver nods. He knows Frederick is right and that is exactly what Lauren needs. Still, he can’t seem to get her off his mind.
“I know you’re right. I just feel so sad for her. She seems like such a lost cause. I feel like there might have been something I could have done differently. If I hadn’t taken her on as a patient to begin with, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“You may be right, but she probably would have attached herself to anyone who tried to help,” Frederick points out.
Oliver nods. He wholeheartedly agrees, although the feeling of helplessness remains. He imagines how terrified Lauren must be, and decides that he needs to see her again, despite Frederick’s advice. Realizing this probably isn’t the best decision he’s ever made in his career, he still doubts it is the worst.
He darts down the hallway, to the right, hoping that Frederick hadn’t noticed. With the keys to Lauren’s room still on his keychain, he quietly unlocks the door, looking back to see if he’s being watched. He isn’t. He slips into her room and closes the door slowly behind him.
“Hi Lauren.” He speaks softly, as not to startle her. She’s sitting on the edge of her bed with her back towards him, but the second she hears his voice she jumps and turns around.
“Oliver!” She runs towards him with open arms. He stops her before she is able to hug him.
“We can’t hug, remember?” he says, calmly.
“What? Why not?” she asks.
“Because we aren’t together, Lauren. We are not a couple.” His words are harsh and stern, and every time he says this, he can see the pain in her eyes.
“What are you talking about? We are together. You love me, Oliver!”
“No, Lauren, I don’t love you. We are not together. You are going to have to understand that, okay? We can never be together.” He sits on the bed beside her and she looks away.
“I’m having your baby,” she whispers. Her voice is trembling. Her hands are shaking as they lay on each of her knees.
“You aren’t pregnant, Lauren.”
“Yes, Oliver. Why don’t you believe me? I have not had my period since you and I slept together. My breasts hurt. I’m nauseous all the time. I’m gaining weight and my stomach is hard. My sense of smell is so strong it makes me sick,” she explains, pleading him to believe her.
“Lauren, you must be mistaken. You are thinking about the time you were pregnant a few years ago, by your ex-husband. You had a miscarriage,” Oliver explains. He looks at her but she won’t turn her head back towards him. He hates to bring up things like this from the past when her medication isn’t quite working the way they’d like it to. He fears it might trigger her into having a breakdown, but he figures that nothing can get much worse at this point, anyway.
He can hear that she’s crying. Her shoulders are shaking now and the sobbing is resounding loudly in this tiny little room.
“Where are we, Lauren?” Oliver asks.
“Bedroom,” she squeaks.
“Which bedroom?”
“My bedroom. But not the same bedroom that we made love in. My new bedroom. I was evicted from my apartment. I wanted to tell you but I didn’t want you to think I was completely useless. I tried to pay my rent. I sold paintings; I worked hard. I did the best I could with the hours that you gave me at the café but it still wasn’t enough. I couldn’t come up with the money and they made me move out. This new place—I don’t like it. I really don’t. It’s in a bad part of town, and it’s small. They don’t allow animals. My cat, Oliver—oh god, my cat. I think I killed him. I killed NyQuil. I thought it was the man with the tattoo but it was me. What is wrong with me?” she asks, crying hysterically now and staring Oliver right in the eyes.
“You’re sick, Lauren. We’re trying to help you but you need to help us, too. Can you take these for me, please?” he asks. He hands her a tiny white pill from his pocket. “This will make you feel so much better, I promise.”
She trusts him. She doesn’t know why she trusts him but she does. She’s been hurt so many times, by so many different men—not Oliver. He’s different and she knows that he only wants what is best for her.
She swallows the pill with the tiny glass of water he brought in for her.
“It’s going to make you really sleepy, because you need to rest,” he explains. He feels like he should hug her but doesn’t. Instead, he gently squeezes her forearm with his strong hand.
“Okay, I’m going to go to sleep now,” she complies. She curls up into a tiny ball in the center of her bed. He covers her with a sheet and gets up to leave.
“Sleep, Lauren. I’ll be back to see you tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
What can I do to make you stay?
“A chocolate latte, please,” an older gentleman, seated at a table close to the window, requests. “Sure is a lot of snow out there, huh?”
“Yes, sir,” I nod. “It hasn’t stopped coming down in two days. It’s crazy. I guess it’s here to stay this time.”
I glance out the window. I can see the tiny little flakes of snow fall from the sky, dance in the air, and hit the ground. It’s so beautiful. I imagine myself outside, dancing in the middle of the street and catching snowflakes on my tongue. Nostalgia. I wish my grandma were still alive. She’d call me up and ask if I wanted to go skating. Even though I’m not a child anymore, I’d let her take me to the local rink back home and she’d watch me skate laps. I’d wave each time I glided by her. Afterwards, she’d take me home and make hot chocolate with those tiny little colored marshmallows. She’d put a candy cane in it—I hate the flavor of candy canes, but I never told her I didn’t like them. I just smiled, swirling it around my mug for a couple seconds, pulling it out before it had the chance to leave its flavor in my dr
ink. I’d lick it off and then discreetly throw it into the trash some time later without her noticing.
“I’ll get your latte.” I nod at the customer, smiling warmly.
I slip behind the counter and begin to make his drink but seconds later, I feel a tiny trickle on my leg so I drop what I’m doing and duck into the washroom.
I pull my pants down and immediately confirm that I have started my period. I didn’t expect it to happen anytime soon, and I don’t have a tampon with me. Panicking, I pull a bunch of toilet paper from the roll and wipe myself clean. It proves to be a daunting task; I am absolutely soaked with blood. I hop out to the sink and wet a paper towel with warm water, then proceed to scrub furiously between my legs. Back in the stall, I bunch up a good amount of toilet paper and place it into my underwear, pulling my pants up carefully and hoping that it stays in place until I get home. Suddenly, a wave of nausea hits me and I expel my innards violently in the direction of the toilet. I bend down to wipe up the vomit that didn’t quite make it into the bowl, and the cramping begins. My heart pounds as I throw up again. I gather myself and splash cold water onto my face. I walk out of the bathroom, and into the café. Without saying a word, I am out on the street, without my jacket, running.
I feel like I’ve been running for an hour, but it only takes me three minutes to get home. I live in a different building now, just a few more blocks away from my old place. My apartment is empty, except for my bed. Without anyone to help me move, I’ve left mostly everything behind. Frederick did help me bring my bed over with a promise that I’d give him a call to get together sometime soon.
I curl up in my bed. I feel as though I’m coming down with the flu, but I’m not sure if that’s just a side effect of getting my period after so long without it.
