When I Lied

by Michelle Kemper Brownlow

  “Each time I drive from my home into London, I pass different people. My mind wanders and all of a sudden I find myself in a storyline of the guy in the red car in front of me. The way he keeps looking at his cell phone and veering to the side of the road tells me he’s terribly worried about something. The way he pounds his hand on the steering wheel when the car in front of him slows down proves to me he’s distracted. Automatically my mind races and I imagine him praying next to someone’s hospital bed. Tears stream down his face as he prepares to lose a part of his heart.

  “Now, you may not be following me yet but as an empath, I pick up part of this man’s panic, unrest and worry and hold it as my own while I try and put myself in his shoes. Or, depending on my mood, I may put myself in the shoes of the person waiting for him to arrive at their bedside. Even though I’m not actually living this man’s life, I get a sense of it by how much of his story, true or not, I allow the creative side of my brain to fill me with. This causes me anxiety just like a night terror could cause me to wake up in a panic, drenched in sweat. My mind knows the difference between reality and imagination but our brains process stress and anxiety in the same way, with a physiological reaction. So, my mind holds onto that anxious feeling and it makes another stress-related imprint in my gray matter.

  “My anxiety is a byproduct of my creative mind. And in order to write lyrics that touch people on a deeper level, I have to sustain long periods of time touching that part of my psyche. The part that hurts, the part that’s been damaged by years of abuse, desperate sadness, suicidal thoughts, my current addictions and paranoia. It’s what makes artists, musicians, writers, actors brilliant, but at the same time it’s also why they go mad.”

  Oliver walked backwards until the desk hit the back of his legs. He sat back and looked down and wrung his hands in his lap. I watched his eyes flutter beneath their lids and I waited for him to complete a couple deep breaths to clear the toxicity in his chest. My own chest stung with the realization of the sacrifice he makes for his art. So beautiful, yet so crippling.

  I walked over to Oliver and whispered, “Are you okay to answer a couple questions from the class?” He grabbed my hand and squeezed and held it on his thigh. A buzzing sensation crawled up my arm and filled my chest, my knees felt weak and my stomach filled with butterflies. I could sense the intensity floating around inside Oliver. It was contagious.

  “A couple questions would be fine, Kate.” He whispered in a low, tired tone. I’d exhausted him but he was willing to give even more.

  “Does anyone have any questions for Oliver?”

  Not a single hand rose. Everyone was still. A quiet hum of sheer awe swallowed them whole.

  “I think Oliver has helped us to peek inside the creative mind and see why many musicians, artists, writers and actors struggle so deeply with addictions of all kinds, suicide attempts, anxiety, depression and even afflictions we didn’t touch on,” I said. “Syd Barrett of Pink Floyd was schizophrenic, Naomi Judd struggles with a panic disorder, Beethoven and Kurt Cobain were bipolar, Barbra Streisand has social phobia, and Cole Porter, like many artists, struggled with many afflictions all at once.

  “I no longer question which came first, the affliction or the creativity. I now see it as an intricately woven design. Something beautiful but tragic at the same time. A brilliance that far surpasses what any of the rest of us can imagine but that is shared in the most intimate of ways, and in Oliver’s case, it’s through his music.

  “Thank you, Oliver, for taking the time to be here with us today. And, thank you for being so transparent.”

  I had to tie up my loose ends, be professional in my treatment of my interviewee and have purposeful closure to my presentation before I let my emotions get the best of me.

  “Thank you for having me.” He waved to the class and smiled a huge Oliver smile. He blushed at the roaring applause.

  “Professor Woods, would it be okay if I walked Oliver out?”

  “Of course. Thank you for coming, Oliver. This was a real treat. A presentation like none I’ve ever seen.”

  Oliver smiled and waved then grabbed my hand.

  Twenty-three

  Oliver led me out the door and into the hallway. He leaned up against the wall and let out a sigh.

  “I think I could sleep for days after that, Kate.” He tipped his head back and closed his eyes. I saw a couple girls do a double take when they walked past us.

  “Come here.” I pulled Oliver down the hall to a classroom I sometimes studied in after Psych. I’d never seen an actual class being held in it. I walked in and pulled Oliver in behind me. He immediately pressed me against the wall and took my face in his hands.

  “Kate, there are no words I can say to tell you how sorry I am that I doubted your loyalty to me. I treated you like a common criminal and you didn’t deserve that. I will spend the rest of my days regretting how I handled the situation. And I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you.”

  “Oliver…” I could barely breathe. The intensity of the moment was suffocating. “Please don’t relive that part of our perfect evening. I’m just so thankful you believe me now! But, how—?”

  Oliver’s mouth was on mine before I could finish my question. His lips were soft and gentle and spoke so many apologies as he suckled his way along every inch of my own. His tongue grazed my bottom lip before entering my mouth and encircling mine. Oliver’s familiar taste and the feel of his soft, warm hands on my face stole my breath. I panted into his mouth and tangled my fingers in his hair. My Oliver. My sweet Oliver.

  He pulled away quickly and left me hanging and hungry for more.

  “I love you, Kate. I love you with all my heart. I don’t want to do this life without you. I don’t care what I have to give up. I want to spend all my days with you. The last three days have been sheer hell, far more painful than anything my mum put me through. I don’t ever want to be without you again. Do you hear me?”

  I nodded, still panting from his kiss. I pulled his body against mine and wrapped my arms tight around his shoulders. His hands slid around my waist then slipped up under my sweater. His hands on my bare skin lit a fire within me that only one thing could distinguish. He pressed his hips into mine and there was no doubt he was having the same thoughts.

  “Oliver, wait. Not here.” I placed my hands firmly on his chest and tipped my head back to catch my breath. Immediately his lips were on my neck. He kissed a line all the way up behind my ear, along my jawline and to my other ear then back down my neck to where my scarf stopped him.

  “Oliver. Weren’t you supposed to leave Saturday to head back to the UK?” I needed to give my body a reprieve from all the sensations Oliver was passing to it or I was convinced I would spontaneously combust.

  “I was. But I faked sick and sent the guys back without me. Told them I just needed some mental health time before I’d be back. The events we were supposed to do were canceled when the story broke about the fight club. But we had planned to be home for at least a year, working on our next album and shooting the videos for it.” My heart sank. A year without Oliver. Then he continued. “And I needed time to figure out what had actually happened before I left the country.” Oliver took my hand and walked over to a loveseat that was tucked away in the back of the room.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Kate. That’s the last time I want you to say that. None of this was your fault.” We sat. Oliver held both my hands in his lap.

  “Yesterday I was writing in my journal—”

  “You have a journal?” I don’t know why that surprised me.

  “I do. Just like you.” His words took me back to when he and I walked back to my dorm to get Marlow’s guitar. He had asked me if I ever shared what was in my journal with anyone. “Anyway, I put my journal down and picked up my phone. It was the first I’d been on social media since Friday night when I posted one tweet after you left.”

  “Nothing’s ever really ok. No one’s totally honest. No life is
altogether painless. How could it ever be? The fairy tale is over.” Oliver’s words from that night spilled form my mouth as though I’d just read them. They would forever be imprinted on my heart.

  “Yeah, that’s the one. But yesterday when I was scrolling through comments, I saw I had a direct message that I hadn’t opened. It came in sometime while we were at the ball. I opened it and it was from Gretchen. It was an apology for pretending to be Lexi and she mentioned something about the tabloid story.” Oliver tilted his head like I should understand something deeper than just the words he spoke.

  I shook my head so he would know I wasn’t following.

  “That meant she knew about the tabloid story before my manager did. The BOOM is a London-based tabloid, there’s no way she would have had any access to that story that early. I thought back to your journal and something you said about using it to process what’s in your heart. It made me realize all the stories I’d dumped into your heart must’ve been in your journal as a means to shake your tree. It was then I realized someone must have found your journal. So, I went undercover and did a little investigating.”

  “Undercover?” I pictured Oliver snooping around in garbage cans.

  “Well, I was in bed so I, technically, was undercover.” A boyish grin spread across his face and my stomach twisted at the image in my mind of Oliver naked under a single white sheet. “I remembered her last name from our conversation in the limo so I called University information and got her number. I put a temporary block on my phone so she wouldn’t see my number if she, indeed, still had it on her phone. And I called her and pretended I was some guy from The BOOM calling to tell her she’d been misquoted on how much money she’d be getting for the fight club story. And she fell for it. She flipped her lid. She swore like a sailor, telling me she needed the money to pay for school because she lost her scholarship and on and on.”

  “OH MY! She is psychotic!”

  “Yes, she’s definitely got some issues. And yet I paid her a visit this morning.” Oliver looked up at me with a sheepish grin.

  “You what?” I couldn’t help but laugh. My daring Oliver Walt.

  “I knocked quite early and told her she needed to give me your journal immediately. I gave her a piece of my mind about the tactics she used to get what she wanted and then how she ultimately thrust two lives into turmoil by being a sadistic bitch. She didn’t take that too well. She threw your journal at me and screamed a few obscenities then slammed the door in my face. But not before mumbling something about making her late for her Psych class.”

  “So, you knew you’d find me here.” It was like one of those sappy ’80s movies when the guy spends all his time looking for the girl so he can profess his love for her after a misunderstanding. I was a sucker for those stories.

  “Yeah, I did. And I passed Gretchen on my way in, who assured me, ‘You can’t save her this time!’”

  “She deleted our whole project. I had nothing but a slush pile of notes before you walked in.” The anxiety from that moment welled up inside me yet again.

  “I knew it had to be something diabolical. I peeked in the room I saw her leaving and that’s when I heard your opening statement, then saw you struggle. I knew I could help. I think it worked out well, don’t you?”

  “I do.” I laughed and leaned forward and kissed Oliver’s soft lips. “Thank you, Oliver, for fighting for us. My hands were tied; I had no way of contacting you when I realized my journal was missing.”

  “I’m so sorry for blocking you, love. I thought I was irreparably broken and I needed to cut all ties so I could at least attempt to heal.”

  “Oliver, I feel like we are living our very own fairy tale.”

  “I believe we are, Kate.”

  There was a knock on the door. Oliver and I jumped and turned to watch it slowly open.

  “Miss Green?” Professor Woods walked in.

  I stood and walked over to him. I wrung my hands with nervous energy, not sure why he needed me.

  “Miss Green, I just wanted to let you know that we have one spot available for the study abroad program and after the presentation you and Mr. Walt gave, I’d like to recommend you for that spot if that’s okay with you.”

  “Oh, Professor Woods, that would be amazing!”

  “I would also like to offer you a full scholarship as long as your GPA falls within the appropriate range at the end of the semester.”

  Oliver walked up behind me and placed his hands on my waist. “Professor, where will Kate’s placement be?” I hadn’t thought too much about my placement in the program. I just wanted to get away for a semester.

  “That was my next question. Like I said, we only have one spot left and it’s not your first choice, Kate. Would you be interested in spending your semester in London instead of Paris?”

  “London?” I squealed the word and tears pricked the corners of my eyes. “This is too good to be true.”

  “Well, you think about it and let me know in class on Wednesday. My formal recommendations are due that afternoon. Thanks again, Kate, for your amazing presentation.” He shook my hand and then extended his hand to Oliver. “And thank you, Oliver, for sharing a piece of yourself with my class. You’ve made an impression they’ll never forget. And that’s quite a gift.”

  “I’m honored to have been a part of Kate’s project. Thank you for allowing my unannounced participation.”

  Professor Woods nodded and smiled then left the room.

  I turned to Oliver and he grabbed my face and kissed me. “Kate, I have so much to work out in my life. So many demons to chase away and I was dreading leaving the states without you. Just knowing you will be with me soon gives me hope that all of the hell I’ve been through has taken me on a journey that’s not been so accidental. It’s been a journey to find love. A journey to you. I love you, Kate.”

  “I love you, Oliver.”

  With his hands still on my face, a glimmer in his eye and a wide, boyish smile, Oliver created a memory for us that had so many emotional levels it was exhausting to think about.

  “Now, in the words of Cole Porter: Kiss me, Kate.”

  And, so I did.

  Again and again and again and again.

  And when I boarded that plane to take me to where the other half of my heart resided, I longed for him to say those three words again almost as much as I longed to feel his lips on mine.

  When I lied, I had no way of knowing I’d find my happy ending. But I did.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Michelle Kemper Brownlow likes her music loud and prefers live concerts but will happily settle for the eclectic playlists on her iPhone. This Penn State grad and former high school art teacher is easily distracted by colorful art supplies and Eddie Vedder’s voice. When she’s not in her studio, writing, she can be found putting off housework for a good romance novel that has her heart pounding and tears flowing. She is married to her college sweetheart and is mom to three fantastic humans, a black lab, a tabby cat and a Chinchilla named Wodney.

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