Olivia

by Donna Sturgeon

  “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Mitch grumbled around a forkful of devil’s food cake.

  “I know that guy.” Olivia combed through her memory, searching for how she knew him. “I know I know him. How do I know him?”

  “How the hell should I know how you know him? Maybe you slept with him.”

  Olivia rolled her eyes and sighed. He had been in a fairly good mood all night, but he was getting restless. And when he got restless, he got grumpy. And when he got grumpy, he picked fights. And when he picked fights, Olivia fought back. She couldn’t stop herself.

  “You seriously think if I’d slept with the guy I wouldn’t remember him?”

  “Maybe.”

  “How many people do you think I’ve slept with that I would forget a face?”

  Mitch said nothing.

  “Great. My boyfriend thinks I’m a slut.” As Olivia rolled her eyes, they drifted back to the singer on stage. Who the hell was he?

  Mitch’s eyes narrowed. “How many guys have you slept with?”

  “I don’t know… Eight or nine, maybe,” she said with a dismissive wave.

  He choked on his cake. “Nine?”

  “Is that a lot?” Olivia worried.

  “Who were they?” Mitch demanded as soon as he could speak, which took awhile. Apparently nine was a lot. Huh. Who knew?

  “I’m not telling you that!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because,” Olivia said. “End of discussion.”

  “Like hell it is! Tell me.”

  “No.”

  “Do I know any of them?” he asked. His face started to take on that particular shade of red that Olivia hated and made her angry.

  “How should I know if you know any of them? You’ve never introduced me to any of your friends,” she accused.

  “I have too.”

  “You have not.”

  “Have too.”

  “Have not.”

  “Would you like another cup of coffee, sir?” the waitress asked with a smile.

  “No!” they shouted in unison.

  The waitress flinched and slipped their check onto the table, then made a hasty retreat.

  Mitch stared Olivia down. She stared back.

  It was about to get ugly.

  “Tell me who you’ve slept with,” Mitch ordered in a low growl.

  “Kiss my ass,” Olivia said with a growl of her own.

  “Fuck you.” Mitch shoved away from the table so hard he knocked over Olivia’s glass of wine, spilling it into her lap.

  Anger flared, sanity slipped, and she picked up the last of the chocolate cake, hurling it at him as he strode away. It hit him square in the middle of his back in a chocolate glob. He froze mid-stride. His shoulders came up and his hands balled into fists. His neck turned fire-red, but he didn’t turn around. Instead, he continued toward the exit with devil’s food cake sliding off his back in gooey, brown dollops, and sticking Olivia with the check.

  “Stupid fucking…” Olivia muttered to herself. She cleaned the cake frosting off her hand and the wine off her new dress as best she could with the probably very expensive linen napkin off the table.

  The waitress knelt in front of Olivia and handed her some more napkins “Are you ok?”.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” She felt like a fool, but she was fine.

  “If you need anything, call this number, day or night.” The waitress pressed a card into Olivia’s hand, and then moved on to one of her other tables.

  Olivia finished mopping up her lap then glanced at the card for Catholic Charities Domestic Violence Shelter. “Oh, for crying out loud…” Olivia ripped the card up and tossed it on her plate. “Stupid people need to mind their own fucking business…”

  “Excuse me?” a voice came from Olivia’s left.

  She looked up and her heart about stopped when she saw the singer from the stage standing beside her. “Oh, I’m sorry, what?”

  “No.” He laughed. “I was asking you what you said. I thought you were talking to me and I didn’t hear you.”

  “No, I was talking to myself. I do that a lot.” She smiled as best she could. Up close and personal he looked even more familiar, but she’d be damned if she knew who he was.

  “Well, I’ll let you get back to it.” He returned her smile and started to walk away.

  “Hey,” she called to stop him. “I know you probably get this a lot, but you look really familiar. Do I know you from somewhere? Have you maybe been on TV or something?”

  “No,” he said with another laugh. “I’m not that good a singer.”

  “Have you done modeling or something?”

  “No.”

  “Where did you go to high school?”

  “In Omaha,” he said. “Millard, actually. Class of ‘98.”

  “Huh.” She shook her head. “You just look so darn familiar to me. Weird.”

  “My band plays all over the state. Maybe you’ve seen us in a beer garden at a county fair or something.”

  “That’s probably it. You ever play in Juliette?”

  His face flickered with an emotion she didn’t recognize as he rushed to answer, “Never been there.”

  “Well then, I have no idea.” She shrugged. “You must just have a familiar face.”

  The singer hurried away from the table without saying good-bye. Olivia looked down at the mess she had in front of her and felt like crying, but she didn’t. Instead, she used a credit card to pay for dinner, secretly crossing her fingers, hoping and praying there was enough credit left on it to clear the over-priced meal charge, then hurried up to the hotel room to change clothes.

  Mitch’s dirty shirt was in a heap on the floor, but he was nowhere in sight. She took a long, hot soak in the whirlpool tub with the bottle of complimentary champagne as company. It was good and she made quick work of it. Between the heat from the tub and the champagne in her system, she was no longer angry and feeling pretty goddamn good when Mitch finally came stumbling back into the hotel room a few hours later.

  “How’d you do at the tables tonight?” she asked.

  “I lost,” he said, unbuttoning his pants on the way to the bathroom. He veered right the entire way, but managed to make it there without hitting the wall.

  “I’m sorry, baby.” Draped in the hotel robe, she stretched out on the bed, posing in what she hoped was a seductive position. It didn’t matter if it was or wasn’t. He didn’t look at her on his way by.

  Mitch stayed in the bathroom for so long she finally hopped off the bed to check on him. Knowing her luck he’d be passed out on the floor and they’d waste a night of passion on Egyptian cotton. She opened the door and found he wasn’t passed out, but he was having a hard time flossing his teeth. She leaned against the door jamb and watched him for a minute. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get the floss to go where it was supposed to go.

  “Do you really have to do that now?” she asked.

  He scowled at her through the mirror and went back to trying to get the floss between his teeth.

  “Are you still mad at me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” She sighed. “I don’t even know what you’re so upset about.”

  “Tell me who you’ve slept with.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Why the hell does it matter?”

  “It matters, Olivia.” Mitch fumbled with the dental floss a bit longer then wadded it in a ball and threw it into the sink. He brushed past her, stripping his clothes off as he worked his way to the bed.

  “Fine, I’ll tell you,” she relented. “But you get first names only and then you have to shut up about it forever.” She waited for a reply, but he only glared at her. She counted names off on her fingers. “Paul, Dave, Tony, Tyler, Eddie, Cal, Jimmy, Johnny, Zach and Enrique.”

  Ooh, Enrique… His name rolled off her tongue like velvety caramel as delicious memories simmered through her body.

  “That’s ten,” he said through gritted teeth. “Not nine. Te
n.”

  She counted them out again in her head and shrugged. So what?

  “You forgot one,” Mitch stated.

  “No, I didn’t… Oh, yeah! And Mitch,” she said with a cheeky grin, and Mitch glowered at her. She ticked them off on her fingers again. That made… eleven… Oh… “Ok, eleven’s not that bad… Is it?”

  “You’re still forgetting one.”

  “No, I’m not!”

  “What about George?”

  “I never slept with George!” Olivia huffed.

  “Yes, you did.”

  “No, I didn’t!” She wished…

  “You did too! I could tell by the way you two act together.”

  “And how do we act?” Olivia asked.

  “Like two people who’ve seen each other naked.”

  Olivia couldn’t stop herself before she burst out laughing. Mitch’s fist came up so fast she never saw it coming. But she sure the hell felt it.

  “You think this is funny?”

  He hit her again, the blow so powerful he knocked her off her feet.

  “No!” Her body and her mind disconnected as she struggled to push herself up off the floor. There was absolutely nothing funny about what was happening. She didn’t even know what the hell had happened or how it happened so fast—all she knew was the primal instinct to protect herself. She scrambled to get away, and when he lunged for her again and grabbed at her flailing legs, she drove her heel into his crotch.

  Immediately, he fell to his knees, his hands in protective-mode. He crumpled into the carpet with his forehead to the floor, gasping to breathe without puking.

  She hurried away from him and locked herself in the bathroom. She could hear Mitch groaning through the door, and she slid across the bathroom tile, into the corner of the room. Her face hurt, her head hurt, her heart hurt—everything hurt. She didn’t know anything anymore except pain.

  She cried in silent, racking sobs that she muffled into her arm so Mitch wouldn’t hear her. Her heart hammered in her chest and her head and her throbbing eye as adrenaline raced through her body, telling her, Run, run, run… What the fuck was she doing with him? How stupid was her heart that she didn’t see this coming? Was she this desperate to be loved? He was going to kill her. She was sure of it. One day, he would kill her. He was already killing her. Bit by bit, piece by piece, one broken shot glass to the face at a time, he was killing her.

  Mitch’s moans fell silent, and she exhaled the deep breath she had been inhaling in little bursts. She listened hard, but didn’t hear him breathing. Run, run, run… Praying he’d left, she closed her eyes. Her head hurt so bad from the champagne and his fist and the long, fucked up day she couldn’t hold it up any longer. She made a pillow out of the wet towels, curled up and cried.

  Time stalled in her tears. Slowly, her mind began to relax, and then simply went numb. Her emotions shut down, leaving her empty. Hollow. As she began to drift off to sleep, she heard a soft knock on the door.

  “Olivia? Let me in, baby,” Mitch pleaded. “I’m sorry.”

  “Go away,” she mumbled into the pile of towels.

  “Olivia?”

  “Go away,” she said, louder this time. Her face hurt and her eye was swollen to the point she couldn’t open it. She blinked tears out of the good eye and brought her hand to the swollen side. Shit.

  “Olivia, baby, let me in. I promise I’m not going to touch you.”

  “Eat shit and die.” Olivia threw her fuck-me heel at the door. The stiletto dented and scratched the rich, cherry wood before clattering to the tiled floor.

  The door knob rattled and the entire door jerked as Mitch kicked it. “Open the fucking door!”

  As Olivia threw the other shoe, the door seemed to come alive, dancing in the frame as he kicked it repeatedly. The sound echoed around the marble and tile and Olivia curled into a tight ball on the floor with her hands clamped over her ears, screaming for mercy. The room exploded as the door flew open and slammed into the wall. She screamed again, this time for help, as he crossed the room in two furious strides and ripped her off the floor by her arm.

  “You fucking listen when I…”

  The threat died on his lips when he saw her battered face and terror in her eyes.

  “Fuck, baby, what happened to your face?”

  Every ounce of evil was instantaneously replaced with tenderness as he brushed her hair away from her face. His sudden change of personality terrified her more than the threat of his fist. She stared at him wide-eyed and speechless, frozen in fear. His lips kissed her cheek and her forehead, feather-light along her tender jaw.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, and couldn’t bring herself to push him away. Fat, silent tears rolled out of her eyes, the swollen one burning as she trembled.

  “You have to forgive me, Olivia,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m sorry, baby. So sorry.”

  Tears came to his eyes and he gently cupped her face in his powerful hands.

  “I love you, Olivia. You believe that, don’t you?” He kissed her lips, her swollen eye. “Do believe me when I say I love you?”

  She nodded as her mind tried to understand what was happening.

  “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. If I lost you it would destroy me. I love you.” He kissed her again, and again. “I love you so much I can’t think when I’m with you.”

  Mitch had never told her he loved her. Ever. The timing of his confession seemed so horribly, despicably wrong a wave of bitter gorge rose up in the back of her throat.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered, and kissed her again. “Do you believe me?”

  She nodded.

  “Do you love me?”

  She nodded.

  “Say you love me.” He kissed her slow. Tender. “Say it.”

  “I love you.” She trembled. She had dreamed of the day she would first say those words to Mitch, but she choked on them as they came out of her mouth. They were dipped in fear and wrapped in hatred and the bile taste of them burned her mouth. Mitch heard none of the loathing, he only heard the words.

  “God, I love you, too.” He moaned as his kisses turned feverish. He pulled her into him and crushed her with his strength. His mouth claimed hers with such intensity she had to pull away to breathe.

  “Mitch.” She gasped for air. “Stop—please stop.”

  “There’s no stopping.” He breathed hot as his hands pushed inside her robe and slid across her bare skin. She shuddered from his touch. His breath flamed across her neck and shoulder as he kissed and nipped at her, his teeth breaking her skin in his urgency, his tongue like a slime-coated serpent. Everything about Mitch in that moment was wrong and confusing, but the worst part, the most disgusting part, was Mr. Happy was so fucking happy he was hard as steel as he pulsed against Olivia’s belly. “Fuck, baby, I need you so bad.”

  “Mitch,” she pleaded and pushed against him with every ounce of strength she had left. Her anger came back in full-swing, but she was so tired the fight was out of her. She just wanted it all to end.

  “What?” He pulled back in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “This! Fuck, Mitch! This is insane. We are insane! What the fuck is this?” She pulled away from him and caught sight of her battered reflection in the mirror. Quickly, she wrapped her robe tight and turned away. She sat on the edge of the tub and buried her face in her hands as she cried freely.

  Mitch knelt in front of her and placed his hands on her knees. “Baby, I’m sorry.”

  She jerked away from his touch, but he followed her and rested his forehead against her leg, stroking and massaging her calf and ankle with his hand. “I fucked up. I don’t know what happened. I never meant to hurt you.”

  She said nothing to him in return. They sat in silence, her hiding behind her hands, his touch begging her to forgive. But she
could not forgive.

  It took a very, very long time, but he finally realized that fact. He stood up slowly and stroked her hair as he looked down on her. She did not move.

  “I love you, Olivia.”

  His voice was low and tender. Had it been any other day, the tone of his confession would have melted Olivia’s heart. But on this night his words chilled her so deeply her heart froze solid. He left the bathroom and left the hotel room. She counted to a hundred to make sure he was good and gone, then packed up her shit and ran like hell.

  Chapter Five

  With her face a swollen, battered mess, and her hair reeking of the Greyhound bus that had brought her home, Olivia laid low. She didn’t want to see anyone. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She buried her phone in her underwear drawer. She kept the lights off at night. She didn’t go to work, and she didn’t bother to call Sam to say she wasn’t coming in. Under the cover of darkness, she pulled her car out of the carport and parked it in the alley behind the dumpsters of the abandoned building that used to be a Jiffy Lube, and then walked back to her trailer and locked herself in. She didn’t do much of anything except sleep and extract Mitch from her life.

  The stuffed parrot died a horrid death, attacked first by scissors, then by her bare hands, and finally set on fire and burned to a crisp while Metallica belted out “Die, Die My Darling” from deep inside the mini-hell she created in her backyard fire-pit.

  The parrot was the first to go in the fire, but it wasn’t the last. Everything Mitch had given her and everything that reminded her of him went up in flames—pictures of Mitch and pictures of the two of them together, notes he’d written, CDs he’d given her, CDs they had danced to, DVDs they had watched together, the pillow that smelled like his head, the sheets they’d made love on, the coffee cup he had favored. Everything that Mitch had ever touched, looked at or laid upon was sentenced to death by fire. The very last thing she burned was the little black dress she had worn that final night. She tossed it on top of their burned up life then stood back and watched the flames dance, her heart turning to ash along with the fabric.