I had never experienced what I’d felt in that one time with her, when I had let go of everything that I was and just drowned myself in someone else—body, heart, soul, wounds, and all. I didn’t know why those words had come out of my mouth—I want to drown in you—all I knew was that I had felt them. It wasn’t knowledge; it was feeling. The need to be one with her as if it could transform me, transport me from myself, take away all the ugly and replace it with something beautiful; beautiful like her.
But then it was over, and then I had to leave. I’d had to, anyway, a few weeks later, and maybe it was better that it had happened sooner. At that point, I had become numb. I had shaken her hand. Fucking shook her hand. I couldn’t even hug her, not withhimfilthying the moment with his presence.
I didn’t know if he was sending me away so he wouldn’t have to witness the result of his actions or because he had thought that sending me to London was a treat that would make up for those actions. Or maybe he was afraid of me. I remembered seeing how he would measure me with his eyes when he thought I wasn’t paying attention—my height, my width, my strength. I thought he had known, just as I had, that if he did it again—raise his hand against me—it would end differently.
Because, you see, I was likehim.
I never punchedhimdirectly, but I spent years punching him by proxy—random objects that happened to be there, walls that stood in my way, and not the metaphorical kind of walls, as my scarred knuckles could prove, gym and home punching bags on better days, men in numerous bar fights I was only too keen to participate in or initiate on worse days.
By the time I had reached my mid-twenties, I had caused enough pain to myself and others to come to the conclusion—one that I religiously adhered to—that Oliver Twisted was too damaged to be anyone’s problem.
Chapter 11
January
My alarm woke me. I squinted at the morning sun, refusing to let go of sleep. My body felt strange. Sated. I then recalled that last night I had singlehandedly gotten rid of the fire that Oliver of yesterday and Oliver of years ago had ignited in my body. All alone in his cabana, I blushed. I couldn’t face him.
I got up and got ready for work, wearing my scrubs, as I knew there wouldn’t be time to change at work. Though I planned to leave quietly without facing Oliver, I wore my more flattering, scarlet scrubs, just in case.
Vi’s words had probably affected me more than I was willing to admit. And after the state Oliver had seen me in yesterday and at his party, I figured wearing these would be better than the pale green, blue, or the matronly-looking flowery ones. I even applied a little makeup and left my hair down.
When I got into my car, the engine coughed and made a lot of noise but wouldn’t start. The noise was enough to alert Oliver, and I didn’t want to see him yet. I hurried outside and jogged toward the bus stop. Thank God for my comfy sneakers. Not being an office worker with suits and pumps had its pluses.
I was a bit late to work that morning, so I stayed longer and arrived late back to the house. Before getting back on the bus, I stopped to get the Half & Half milk I liked, convinced that, at June’s, I’d only find soy milk. The prices were lower at the bakery toward closing time, so I stopped in Breading Dreams and, chatting to Anne, I got some pastries I knew June wouldn’t approve of. I was still planning on packing and moving in with her but needed an extra day to see if I could fix Pretty.
Because I knew Oliver was home, I bought a few things to fill his fridge, too.
The light was on in the upper floor when I reached the house, so after placing some of my shopping in the cabana, I glided through the garden to put the groceries in Oliver’s kitchen.
I was almost done when I heard him coming downstairs then smelled his aftershave. I had a feeling he wanted me to know he was approaching so I wouldn’t be startled this time.
“Your car’s fixed,” Oliver’s voice came from a few feet behind me.
Though he didn’t startle me, his words still caught me off guard. I closed the fridge door and turned to him.
God save my soul.The view that washed in through the French doors was breathtaking—the nearby ocean was dark blue, highlighted by the moonlit beach outside the house and the magenta bougainvillea that lined the garden—but that was nothing in comparison to the human view in front of me.
Oliver was leaning against the counter, opposite from me, his corded arms folded across his chest. Unlike his suits from the party and yesterday, he was now barefoot and casually dressed, looking like those male models you see hanging out on yachts on Instagram. In a white, perfectly-fitting Henley that accentuated the golden color of his skin, and a pair of khaki cargo pants cut below the knee, he was male beauty personified. A dark tattoo circled his right calf. I didn’t want to stare, so I couldn’t figure out what it was, though staring at his face and body didn’t make matters easier. I blushed as I remembered what I fantasized about inhiscabana,hisbed,hissheets last night.
To think that this body was once upon a time under me, above me, inside me, was unfathomable. The need to feel it again was unbearable.
“You’re not driving that old thing to and from Riviera View. You can use the Audi in the garage,” he continued without waiting for my response.
“How did you—”
“You left the keys in the ignition.” He was severe, as if he were delivering bad news.
“Oh.”
“I hope you being here means you decided to stay,” he said.
“I was actually—”
“I thought we agreed on this. I’m going away again. Just stay.” His words didn’t match the sternness he exuded. Thewe, as if my problem was his, too. Thejust stay.
God help me, it was tempting to just stay. But his effect on me had my entire body in fight or flight mode. I couldn’t flee anywhere, not for long, so perhaps it would be easier to fight myself as long as he was here, which he had just said wouldn’t be for long.
“Okay,” I admitted my defeat in a half-whisper. I was no June.
