“He’s just a friend. He doesn’t know them. Just somebody who sometimes gets inside info.” I wouldn’t be at the concert; I’d be in jail. Because if I had to spend one more minute with Gretchen Adler, I would kill her. Kill. Her.
“I. Am. Dying. Do you hear me? Dying! Oh my…” Gretchen’s voice was so shrill I was sure all the dogs in the neighborhood heard her. I immediately tuned her out. I had to or her slow death would start immediately.
My mind shot so far away from our Psych project. I realized amid all the chaos Gretchen was spewing my way that I had a choice to make. Either I would tell Oliver we couldn’t meet or I had to tell him I wasn’t who he thought I was.
In the background of my mini panic attack, Gretchen rattled off all the tabloid stories she’d read about the guys from Phobia5. I only caught the details of the last one.
“Did you know they’ve admitted to having sex with groupies after every show? Shit, Kate. Could you imagine? He will be here. I will be here.” Enter the uncomfortable eye roll…again.
“You need to chill.” Dammit, she was on my last nerve. I was elated Oliver had resurfaced but how could I be sure he wouldn’t go back into hiding when I told him he wouldn’t be meeting me at the festival? Or that Lexi didn’t even exist and he’d been divulging his secrets to someone he only thought he knew. The hole I was digging just kept getting deeper and deeper, and I was at the bottom. His invitation to meet felt like the water that filled the hole and covered me.
“I got it! Our project! We could focus on the music industry. There’s enough fucked-up people in that industry to spend a lifetime studying, ya know? We should be able to find plenty there.”
She had a point. A really good point. There was so much we could do with the music industry. And I was elated that her focus had switched back to the task at hand and not fantasizing about Oliver.
“I think that’s a great idea.” I needed to keep her on this track. “We could make our project interactive, ya know? Have music and lyrics and talk about where a musician’s inspiration comes from. Because I bet much of their inspiration is laden with addiction, narcissism, anxiety, abuse…the possibilities are endless.”
She stared at me like she was having some sort of catatonic seizure but then clicked into character and responded accordingly.
“Kate!” She whispered to the best of her ability, which was half-assed. “Sex addiction. That’s gotta be in the DSM-V, right?” I shouldn’t have been impressed that she actually knew about the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, but her recent ditzy behavior had me guessing which Gretchen would open her mouth next. “We could contact Phobia5’s PR people and use this project as an excuse to get to meet the band while they’re here! Wouldn’t you die? Oliver Walt! OMG! I’d fuck him in a heartbeat.”
A sharp pain lanced through my cheek when I bit down on it so hard I could taste blood. It was a lame an attempt at self-control, but it served its purpose to keep me from slitting her throat with my pen.
“Here.” She grabbed my phone and typed in her number and then immediately texted herself so she’d have my number, too. My stomach knotted with panic and then I remembered I’d deleted all the previous texts from Walter. There was nothing she could see that would give away our secret.
“Okay, ladies and gents. I want you to email me by tomorrow where your focus will lie and what are at least three possible afflictions you will be connecting to that focus. And I want you to meet with your partner at least once to brainstorm before the next class.”
I nodded and smiled.
Gretchen squealed and ran from the room. Idiot.
I shook my head, stood and took a deep breath while I packed up my bag. I had to shake all this stress or I’d go mad. And with that thought, I heard Oliver’s voice saying the same thing when he was describing how he released his pent-up buzz after a show. My mind instantly had Oliver naked beneath my sheets, his body atop mine. His black locks fell from behind his ears and tickled my nose.
STOP!
“Miss Green? Is everything okay?”
“Yes, sir. Just your typical first-semester stress, that’s all.” I smiled, trying to look convincing, and handed him the info he’d asked for, a responsibility Gretchen had silently handed over to me.
“Well, go distract yourself with something other than my class.” He nodded his head toward the door.
I definitely needed a distraction to make me forget the huge secret that was threatening to unravel my sanity.
“Kate! Kate! Come on.” Gretchen ran up behind me and looped her arm through mine. “Let’s have lunch, on me, and we can start laying out plans for this project.”
So much for a distraction. Gretchen was going to pull me right back in. And she didn’t shut up the entire walk from class to the Union Building. But once again, I tried to tune her out.
We found an empty table and Gretchen headed up to order pizza. I didn’t much take her for a pizza girl. She came across as though she’d turn her nose up to grease and fat, but hey, she was paying and I loved pizza.
I pulled my phone out and had a string of texts from Oliver. I realized I never responded to his text about Phobia5 coming to campus.
Walter: Wow. Lexi, void of reaction? I’m unsure how I feel about that.
Walter: I think my feelings are hurt.
Walter: Yeah. Definitely pained by your cold shoulder.
Walter: I simply can’t bear it.
Walter: Lexi.
Walter: - - -
Walter: Darlin’, meet me at the festival. Sweet Jesus, please.
Walter: You’re killin me, love. I can’t take the silence.
Walter: Please don’t give up on me. Please, Lexi.
My heart was racing by the time I got to the end of his panicked texts.
Me: I won’t ever. I’m not angry. Was worried abt you.
Walter: I’ve lived 19 years w not a soul worried for me. I got this, love. No need to worry.
Walter: You’re coming to meet me. Yes?
I stared at his words and I could hear his sweet voice in my head. I didn’t have anything prepared to respond to his invitation and that in itself was criminal. The way Oliver felt for Lexi, he deserved an “I wouldn’t miss it for the world” kind of answer to his question. I couldn’t possibly give him that. I needed more time. I needed to figure it all out. But I wasn’t sure how long that would take. I needed to stall.
Me: Of course I am.
I immediately threw my phone in my bag, pissed at myself for the situation I’d created.
“Okay, they’re bringing our pizza over when it’s done. It shouldn’t be long.” Gretchen flipped her hair behind her shoulders and pulled a chair over to the edge of the round table so she was right next to me. She plopped down and did her little bouncing clap-thing. “So, ‘Musicians: The Tragedy of Success.’” She even added air quotes. “How do you want to structure this project?”
Was I supposed to be okay with the fact that she just decided on the title of our project without even conferring with me? It was admittedly a great focus, but she still needed to attempt to make me feel included in that decision.
“And, you know who we could focus at least part of our project on?” Gretchen’s voice snapped me out of my own head and her eyes were one size bigger than they usually were.
Please don’t say Oliver. Please don’t say Oliver. Please don’t say Oliver.
“OLIVER! Oliver Walt, from Phobia5!”
Son of a bitch!
“Why Oliver?” I had to get her off this idea and I had to do it fast.
“Get a clue, Kate!” She was visibly annoyed with me. “I was thinking of the addiction to sex part. The promiscuity of the girls he hooks up with has to play a part; they’re like the alcohol of his addiction. Girls like you are like the fruit punch. But girls like me, yeah…we know how to hook ’em.”
What the hell?
“Yeah, and that’s something to be proud of.” I said it under my breath and didn’
t make eye contact. I really disliked Gretchen. Day one of our project and I was already looking forward to being done.
She burst out laughing. “Gotcha! Kate, you should have seen your face! I’m joking. You think if I were actually that slutty I would freely admit it? She giggled some more, obnoxiously loud, looked around to see which cute guys noticed then winked and waved at each one. I tried to count how many sides of Gretchen I’d seen since I knew her. Talk about psychological afflictions; this girl had multiple personalities and I despised each one. I took a slow breath and faked a jovial expression as if she’d entertained me.
“Listen, Gretchen…” I was about to rip her a new asshole for how she’d been acting for the last hour and refuse to accept that all her input would become a done deal. I just wanted to set the tone that this was a collaborative project and I wasn’t about to be demoted to assistant or secretary. But then, like a light bulb, it suddenly dawned on me that maybe something within her focal range would reveal a tactical plan to safely unveil the truth to Oliver without sending him into a tailspin. So, I adjusted my approach and continued, “I’m relying on this grade to get me into the study-abroad program so I want to think outside the box and blow Professor Woods away with this. So, I was thinking we could choose three musicians and identify a disorder as part of what makes them great. You know, make it more of a ‘this is where they get their brilliance but it’s also what’s killing them’ kind of twist.” I used air quotes, too.
“Uh, yeah, I guess that would work.” She seemed deflated, upset that I’d had an equally fantastic idea. But she put on her game face and we entered phase two: trying to work together. “So, let’s start jotting down some examples of psychological disorders that plague musicians.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a spiral notebook with a pencil tucked inside the coil. She spoke each word as she wrote it. “Addiction…drugs, alcohol, gambling…sex.” She waggled her eyebrows and looked up at me slyly.
“Actually, I was thinking of things that can be hidden or are more difficult to diagnose—things like narcissism, anxiety, self-harm, bipolar disorder, depression.” The way Gretchen stared at me, her mouth slightly open and her eyes wider than usual caused panic to seize my chest. For a split second I worried that she saw right through me and knew I had an ulterior motive for our project.
“Sure. That could work, too.” She spoke those three words under her breath and rolled her eyes as she jotted down what I’d said. “But, I think we need to have addiction as one of our three. I just think people associate the word ‘addiction’ with tangible things like drugs and money, but what about the addictions that are kept inside and hidden from the public eye but at the same time are just as dangerous to the celebrity’s well-being as an overdose?”
She had a good point. It was an interesting approach. The word ‘overdose’ echoed in my mind. I sucked in a staggered breath. Oliver. I didn’t know what I would do if anything tragic ever happened to him. He was such a gentle soul. So beautiful and kind.
That thought took me back to a conversation we had in the very beginning of our friendship. It was all via direct message but the fact that he opened up to me in a very private way made me happy. At the same time, the weight of his honesty was unbearable. When Oliver needed to dump his emotional baggage I would be there to help him pick up the pieces. But the guilt from the lie I carried was heavy, too. I just hoped I was strong enough for the both of us.
OliverPh5: Lexi, are you there?
Me: I am. :)
OliverPh5: Darlin’ I’m having a hard time today. Can you chat with me for a moment?
Me: I have all day, O.
OliverPh5: You’re a godsend, I hope you know that.
Me: Of course, I do. jk
OliverPh5: Lexi, I dreamed of my mum and it’s messing with my head. I can’t seem to shake the dream so I thought maybe I could tell you about it…
OliverPh5: …it would clear it from my mind. You know a kind of ‘shaking the tree’ so to speak.
Me: You want to shake your tree. LOL
OliverPh5: Yeah, it actually means to make something happen. But I envision it being more literal – like you’d shake the bananas from a tree…
OliverPh5: You know, you shake off what drags you down, the thoughts that are plaguing you.
Me: Got it. So, shake! :)
OliverPh5: You can’t repeat anything I tell you.
Me: You can trust me, Oliver, I swear.
OliverPh5: When I was just little, maybe 5 or so, my mum bought me a puppy. He was the cutest little thing.
OliverPh5: I don’t know what breed he was, if he was even just one breed at all. He may have been a mutt but I didn’t care. He was mine.
OliverPh5: I was responsible for a living, breathing thing. It meant a lot that she entrusted his care to me.
Me: What was his name?
I knew that sometimes I needed to ask innocuous questions or interject something that was slightly on a tangent because it gave Oliver’s emotions a break. That was the psychologist in me—or maybe that was just me being an overly sensitive confidant who needed a break herself.
OliverPh5: Buster. I named him Buster.
Me: :)
OliverPh5: One day Buster messed in our trailer – right in the middle of our kitchen floor.
OliverPh5: My mum stepped in a big pile of poo as she carried in the groceries. She flipped the fuck out.
I winced and waited a while. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say, if anything. So, I just waited a little longer.
OliverPh5: She kicked him. She kicked him so hard he hit the wall and I heard something crack.
Me: OH NO! Oliver!
My heartbeat felt irregular and I was instantly nauseous. I could not imagine the kind of monster she must’ve been to do something so heinous.
OliverPh5: I can still hear the sound of his cries, Lexi. The sound is imprinted in my brain. Buster didn’t move and she wouldn’t let me go to him.
Me: My heart hurts…
OliverPh5: His big brown eyes begged me to help him. His front paws scraped the floor trying to get to me. But she held me back.
Me: Please tell me he was okay.
OliverPh5: She called our neighbor to come over. He tried to pick him up but Buster growled and screamed in pain at the same time.
OliverPh5: Have you ever heard an animal scream in pain, Lexi?
Me: No.
OliverPh5: It’s the most primal, haunting sound you’ll ever hear. And you can never forget it.
Me: Oliver, I don’t know what to say.
OliverPh5: You’re helping just by listening, Lexi. That’s all I need. Are you ok? Do you need me to stop? I shouldn’t tell you this…
Me: I’m fine, Oliver. Don’t stop.
I wasn’t fine and I wanted him to stop. But I couldn’t bear to tell him that. I needed to bear his burden. It’s the least I could do to make up for the lie I’d been keeping from him. But, even if I didn’t owe him that, if the lie didn’t exist and we were in the same place in our relationship, our friendship had grown so deep, so quickly, I would have braved much worse to help Oliver heal.
OliverPh5: Our neighbor took Buster outside to get a better look at him. Our electric had been shut off, it was too dark inside to see his injuries.
OliverPh5: The guy walked into his house. Came out with a shotgun – he was a hunter – and locked eyes with my mum. She nodded and he took aim.
Oh my God. My heart was breaking. Tears streamed down my face and I tried to hold back the sobs. I didn’t want to let this crime all the way inside my heart. At the moment it felt like Oliver was just passing it to me so he’d be free of it; I’d have to pass it off somehow to lift the ache in my chest I felt for this dear little boy who just wanted his puppy to be okay.
Me: Your mom was helping him by putting him out of his misery.
Misery she’d inflicted as part of her own obvious mental illness. But, I grasped for straws to find an ounce of positivity in Oliver’s story.<
br />
OliverPh5: I wish. My mum leaned down & whispered, “This is what happens when little boys don’t mind their pets. Bye-bye Buster.”
OliverPh5: I held my ears and he shot him. His little body lay so peaceful in the dirt. Then she made me bury him. I cried so hard I vomited.
Me: Oliver, I am sobbing!
OliverPh5: Me, too. I never forgave her. Never. I ran away that night. She never came looking. Guess she figured she’d gotten rid of both of us.
Me: Never came looking? You were only five.
OliverPh5: Didn’t matter. Anywhere was better than with her.
Me: And your dad?
OliverPh5: Sweet Lexi. That’s a story for another day. I’m so sorry.
Me: YOU’RE sorry? You have nothing to be sorry for.
OliverPh5: I’m sorry for burdening you with that story. Maybe I should just continue to keep it all inside so she can’t hurt anyone else.
Me: Oliver Walt, you listen to me. I would have stood by you that day in your yard and I will stand by you now. We are friends, Oliver.
Me: This is what friends do, they bear each other’s burdens. One day you’ll bear mine, I’m sure of it.
“Um, hello? Anyone in there?” The sound of Gretchen’s voice snapped me back to the present. “So what do you think? Oliver Walt? Even if we don’t focus on sex addiction we should include him, right?”
“I mean, I guess we can keep Oliver as one of our focuses.” It felt so intrusive to Oliver to agree to it but it really could help me to navigate how to open up to him about Lexi. “But we should have a range of musicians from different decades to make our thesis well-rounded. Ya know? Who knows if Professor Woods even knows who Phobia5 is?”
“Yeah, I see your point.” Gretchen still looked offended that I didn’t see the humor in her sad attempt at insulting me with her “fruit punch” analogy. You didn’t have to be at too many fraternity parties before you got her message loud and clear: She was a slut. And that was no joke.
“So, Professor Woods may be more into Jim Morrison or Jerry Garcia. Or maybe even Sonny and Cher or The Beach Boys. We want to come across as serious students, not fangirls, right? Don’t you want to blow his mind with this project?” Shit, I pulled that rant from out of nowhere.
When I Lied Page 4
