Pieces of Olivia Read online

  She pushed him and for some reason I felt a strange sensation in my stomach. Like jealousy, but that was crazy. I wasn’t jealous. I shook my head to push the feeling away and followed the others out of the elevator. I caught Rena nodding toward Preston and giving Sarah a devilish grin, causing the sensation to spike again.

  What was wrong with me? I barely knew Preston. He was nothing to me. Why should I care what Rena thought or what kind of past he had with Kara? It didn’t matter. It—

  “Hey, Olivia, we’re over here,” Kara called.

  I turned around and realized in my silent psychobabble I had wandered away from the group, who were now climbing into a black Silverado parked in a handicap spot a few yards away.

  “Nice ride,” I said with a smile as I went for the back cabin door.

  “No way, Small Town. You’re up front,” Preston said, opening the passenger side door.

  “No. Kara can. I’m fine back—”

  “Kara isn’t allowed to ride shotgun. Are you, Kar?”

  I glanced into the backseat to see Kara crossing her arms and looking annoyed. “It isn’t my fault you can’t drive. I only try to help.”

  “Yeah, and by ‘help’ she means scream obscenities at the top of her lungs, while I tried to exit off 85 in Atlanta. Needless to say, she always gets demoted.”

  I slid into the front seat, feeling immediately like I was overstepping some boundary between them. This was her spot, and I was sitting in it.

  I turned around and gave Kara my best I’m-so-sorry-don’t-hate-me smile. She grinned back. “Don’t worry. I seriously always get demoted, even when it’s just the two of us.”

  The girls in the back started up a conversation about their majors and classes and I tried to half join in, but my mind kept drifting to the last party I attended. The laughs, the dancing—the screams. It took an entire month of therapy for me to stop hearing them when I closed my eyes, and now I was throwing myself into a situation that could undo all my progress.

  “Hey, you okay over there? You seem a little distracted.” Preston’s eyes shifted from the road to me and then back.

  “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” I shook my head to clear my thoughts. “Thanks for the save back there. I’m not much of a dress girl anymore.” I cringed. Why had I said that?

  “Anymore? What, were you a pageant queen or something in a previous life?”

  I smiled. “Something like that. This is a nice truck, by the way. Is it yours?” I asked, changing the subject before it edged any closer to the too-personal zone.

  “Yep, all mine.” The way he said it made it sound like he wasn’t especially happy about that fact. “Do you have a car here?”

  I laughed as the image of my Land Rover parked in our four-car garage flashed through my mind. My parents had refused to let me have it after I turned down Columbia. I thought they would sell it or something, but instead they kept it there, mocking me. Look what an idiot you are, Olive.

  “No. No car.”

  “Something tells me there’s a story there.”

  I shrugged. “I had a car, but my parents took it when I decided to come here.”

  “Ouch. So they didn’t approve of the awesome caliber of education found at the good ole CofC?”

  I didn’t know what to say without sounding pretentious. “Let’s just say they had other things in mind, and when I chose this, instead of that, my car got parked.”

  Preston studied me. “So, where were you supposed to go?”

  I thought of my tour of Columbia with Trisha. How we bought matching T-shirts and pajama pants. How I burned them both a few weeks ago, like charring them could somehow burn away the hurt inside. “Just somewhere else.”

  “Uh oh. Was it Johns Hopkins? Is there a good girl trapped inside that body of yours?”

  “Johns Hopkins? Uh, no. And what do you mean that ‘body of mine’?”

  Preston’s eyes filled with mischievousness, before dropping to my legs, then returned to the road. “You know what I mean.” Warmth spread down my neck. “So if not Johns Hopkins, then where?”

  I looked away. I didn’t want to get into this, especially in the closed quarters of a truck, where I had no hope of escaping. The moment I said Columbia the questions would begin, and clearly, I wasn’t so good at lying.

  I thought of my parents, specifically my mom, when I told them I wasn’t going to Columbia. Dad stood and started pacing the room in rage. Looking back, I was surprised he didn’t throw something. But my mom’s reaction was the one that cut deep. She looked like she had failed me, like she had worked her entire life, done everything she could possibly do, just to get me into Columbia, and she had failed.

  I didn’t want that for her. This wasn’t her failure. It was mine. And even though I wanted to be here, and even though I knew I would do fine with my studies, and even though there was nothing in the world that was wrong with this college, I would always view coming here as a failure. Not because it was less of a school, but because I was less of a person now. A strong person would be able to cope, carry on with her life, and do what was right for her future.

  I wasn’t that person now . . . though maybe I never was.

  Preston pulled into the apartment complex before I had to answer. Cars were parked everywhere, making it hard to weave through the parking lot to the back of the complex, where the party was supposed to be held.

  Preston drove around to the basketball courts adjacent to the building and parked. “Sorry ladies, we’re walking.”

  We got out of the truck, and I forced myself to draw a few steadying breaths before joining up with the others. I could do this. I would do this.

  When we reached building 320, we realized the party wasn’t in just one apartment. It was in the entire building. Doors hung open on each level, music blaring from all of them. I felt a wave of nausea move over me as we edged closer. What would my old friends think of me now? Would they tell me to get over my stupidity and have a good time or would they call me an idiot for even trying this after what we had been through? I didn’t know. I would never know.

  Kara settled on apartment M, declaring that M seemed the most mellow, and sure enough as we stepped through the doors, a soft melody hit our ears instead of the raging music from most of the other apartments. A guy sat in the corner of the living room, playing a guitar and singing, and while most of the people around him were fairly buzzed if not completely drunk, he seemed disinterested in anything but what he was playing. There were conversations throughout the small space, but here they were held at normal tones. No screaming to be heard or yelling from those too drunk to know the difference.

  I liked watching people in this setting—their expressions as they spoke, their reactions as they listened. I liked to see if their eyes matched their facial expressions and was often amazed by how often they didn’t. It was as though inside, deep in a place they refused to address, they were different, hurt, afraid. It made me feel a little less alone.

  The old me never noticed anyone. I went about my days never seeing the people around me and likely never caring. So, in a way, I was better now. In a way.

  Rena and Sarah dove in first, finding the keg and passing around drinks to the rest of us. I shook my head as Sarah handed me a red plastic cup.

  “Thanks, but I don’t drink,” I said, my arms wrapped tightly around my sides, like they alone held me together. My mind flashed to that night. Blue cups instead of red. I closed my eyes, but quickly forced them back open. They were all around me, watching—judging. God, I didn’t want to be this crazy girl.

  Sarah looked taken aback, and I knew what was coming. “You don’t drink? But it’s a party. Everyone drinks.”

  I stood my ground. That was the one thing I managed to hold on to after everything that happened—my resolve. I wasn’t willing to lose face in front of my old friends and that unwillingness nea
rly cost me my life. I wouldn’t make that same mistake again. Screw everyone else. Screw their judgment and their expectations. Screw them. I could survive coming to this party. I could stand around and talk and forget the fact that every second I was here felt like torture. What I couldn’t do was drink. I had no idea what I might say or do if my inhibitions were down.

  “I don’t drink,” I repeated, this time with more force. I hated that I had to be that person, but it was either come across as a bitch or come across as crazy. I chose the bitch route. At least that resulted in a bit of respect. Crazy just equaled crazy.

  Sarah turned away with a glance at Rena that said she wasn’t so sure about me and immersed herself in the party. Whatever.

  “Don’t worry about her,” Kara said. “I’ll drink enough for both of us.”

  I grinned. “I bet you will.” I liked Kara already, which put Preston off-limits. Completely off-limits. I didn’t need to complicate my life by getting close to my roommate’s best friend. And besides, something told me there was more to their story. I just couldn’t put my finger on exactly what yet.

  “I’m going to check things out. You okay?” she asked, and after I nodded, she went on into the apartment. I glanced around, wondering what I was doing there. The only people I knew just walked away. I felt my insides closing up a little, the desire to escape so intense I had to concentrate to keep from fleeing.

  “So, no drinking, huh? You’re something of a mystery, Small Town.”

  I turned to see Preston still behind me. I expected him to be lost in the party. Seeing him still beside me was a surprise. An unsettling surprise. “What can I say? I don’t like to lose control.”

  He took a long sip of his beer. “See, I prefer to lose control.”

  I laughed. “I can see that.”

  Just then a tall girl with long red hair and a smattering of freckles across her cheeks came up. She wore a simple ivory dress that skimmed her calves and set off the golden tones in her skin. Not a speck of makeup could be found on her face, and I instantly thought she was just the sort of girl I pictured Preston being with. Earthy and natural. Beautiful.

  “Hey there. I didn’t realize you were back,” she said.

  I eyed Preston suspiciously. As far as I understood, he had never left.

  “Yeah. Just got back today.” He glanced sideways at me and then to the girl. “This is Olivia.”

  The girl’s enthusiasm level dropped a good ten octaves. “Hi. I’m Alexis.”

  Ah, the famous Alexis. I remembered the name from lunch. I nodded to her. “Well, I’ll let you two catch up.” I started to walk away when Preston took my hand.

  “I’ll come with you. See ya around,” he said to her.

  I shook my hand to free it from his grasp, but he locked his grip tighter. “Dude.”

  “Come on, help a guy out,” he whispered.

  I rolled my eyes and sighed, allowing the weight of his hand to settle in mine. I had to suppress the urge to smile. I hadn’t held hands with anyone since my boyfriend, Matt, and even with him, it had been a long time since I’d had any feeling at all when holding his hand. It had become natural—too natural. Where his touch had once caused a flurry of butterflies, it had become stilted, boring. I remembered opening my eyes once during a kiss and wondering when I had stopped feeling the kiss. Was it just that kiss or all kisses? And how did I get to that point? When had my body stopped reacting to Matt? Probably the same moment that I realized I didn’t love him.

  A sliver of guilt hit in my stomach at the truth of my thoughts.

  “Thanks for the save,” Preston said as we made our way out onto the balcony.

  “Yeah, well, I owed ya. And just so you know, you’re still holding my hand.”

  He glanced down at our intertwined fingers, and then cocked an eyebrow at me and grinned. “Oh, I know.”

  I released my hand, shaking my head. “God, you’re so typical it’s almost laughable.”

  “Listen. I am anything but typical.” He edged closer. “And I’m willing to show you just how untypical I am if you’d like a test drive.”

  I released an exaggerated breath, but I couldn’t keep myself from smiling. Damn flirty guy and his penetrating stare. “So that was the famous Alexis?” I asked, desperate to shift the topic from him and me and test-driving him.

  I turned around so my back was against the rail and noticed Alexis inside talking to Kara. Uh oh. Kara’s hands were moving quickly, and she kept looking around like she needed an escape.

  “Look out, Kara’s going to kill you.” I pointed inside. Preston glanced in, only to turn back and duck his head.

  “Shit. Hide me.” He pulled me in front of him and squatted down behind me, his hands on my hips.

  I shook my head. “You know, for a guy who looks like you, you sure are acting like a douche. Why don’t you just tell her you’re not interested or some other halfhearted letdown? Why run?”

  “First off, I take offense. You’re assuming that I’m an asshole, and I’m not. At least, I’m not the kind of guy that gets off on being an ass.”

  “So you’re just a coward?”

  “Easy now. And secondly,” he said, a smile in his voice. “What do you mean, ‘a guy who looks like me’? Am I sensing a compliment somewhere under the rest of that shit you just threw at me? I realize I need a shower to find it, but I think it’s there.”

  “I—”

  “I am going to kill you,” Kara said through gritted teeth as she shut the balcony door behind her. “I told you. I am not their friend. I am not their confidant. I am not an ear to listen to their whining, and I sure as hell am not a shoulder to cry on. Stop introducing me to these twits. Or date one for real. You don’t have to—”

  “Enough, Kara. I get it.”

  Their eyes met, his full of anger, hers guilt. What was going on?

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  I looked away, feeling like I had invaded something private.

  Kara let out a breath and smiled over at me. “I’m tired of this lame-ass party. Can we go get ice cream instead?”

  I smiled back at her. Nothing in the world sounded better to me in that moment than ice cream. I had survived the party, even if it was only because Kara wanted to leave early. Still, it was a step. A tiny step. But a step was much better than a fall.

  Chapter Five

  Dear Trisha,

  Sometimes I pick up my phone and scroll to your name and stare at it, waiting for you to call. I pretend everything is normal and we are just at different colleges. You would tell me about how electric the atmosphere is in New York City, and I would tell you about how I want to walk out on the Vendue Wharf pier. For a moment I think it’s real. My heart starts to do that anticipation thing, and I check the ringer to make sure it’s on, and I’m so excited I can hardly breathe.

  But then the time turns, the minute is up, and the screen goes dark. That’s when the sadness finds me again, washing over me like a tidal wave, bathing me in its misery. That’s the moment I hate the most. The moment just after hope.

  With love,

  Olive

  Chapter Six

  On Monday morning, I waited for Kara to leave for her eight a.m. class, then slipped from the building for the short walk to my own eight a.m. appointment, which unfortunately had nothing to do with class.

  My parents allowed me to come to Charleston on one condition: that I would find a local therapist and attend weekly visits. That was the reason why I found myself standing outside the white Victorian house with an elaborate sign reading Dr. Rose Campbell out front.

  I refused to see male shrinks. Actually, I refused to see male doctors in general. Not because I was an epic feminist—though maybe I was—but because eventually, something would come up that was a little less embarrassing to tell a female.

  I made the appointment at ei
ght a.m. on the first day of classes, which may sound insane, but since my first class was at 10:10, I knew there was no way this new doctor would make me talk for more than an hour. I’d need time to get back to my dorm and then to class.

  I pulled open the glass weather door and heard the hardwood floors creaking as soon as I stepped inside. The entryway consisted of a wide hallway with an antique sofa and two wingback chairs positioned in front of one another, like a makeshift waiting room. I glanced around for a sign-in form or an admin or a freaking bell if nothing else, but came up empty. I sat down on the sofa, expecting a puff of dust to greet me, but instead the door across from me opened, like the sofa had some sort of sensor inside it.

  “You must be Olivia. I’m Rose,” the woman in the doorway said. She had short gray hair and wore a crisp white dress shirt tucked into black slacks with pleats. Shiny flats peeked out from the bottoms of her slacks instead of heels. The look was entirely masculine, like she hadn’t quite gotten the memo that she was a woman, not a man. Everything else about her, from her smooth Charleston accent to the way she smiled like we were old friends, oozed Southern breeding. But the thing that had my attention and made me think I might actually like her was the long white cigarette dangling in her right hand. Not because I was a smoker—I wasn’t—and not because I necessarily approved of smoking, but because it suggested she had a no-bullshit, her-way-or-the-highway attitude, and I could appreciate that.

  “Olive,” I said as I stood, though I didn’t know why I was giving this lady permission to use my nickname. Maybe it was because her eyes pierced through me in a way that said she knew all my secrets before I spoke them. Or maybe it was just because we would be talking a lot about the old me and apparently, I didn’t feel right doing that out of context. Either way, her grin widened a bit at the name. Something about her felt familiar, as though her voice was one I’d heard a thousand times, but I couldn’t remember ever meeting her before.

  “Well then, Olive, come on in. My office is feeling terribly unused this morning. I’d hate to think what Doris and Gertrude will think if I don’t get in there soon.”