Olivia’s voice, calm and horrified all at once: “Alex…”
Shit. She hasn't seen me like this before. I have let my demons out to play.
I turn slowly. She stands there, eyes locked on me, taking in the blood on the floor, the screaming wreck of a man zip-tied to the chair, and the tools now officially all laid out on the table. She doesn’t even flinch. She just stares at me, like she’s seeing something she didn’t expect.
Something she can’t unsee.
“You weren’t supposed to come back down. You were supposed to stay upstairs,” I mutter, wiping my hands on a towel.
Olivia takes another step into the room, then halts. Her hand flies to her mouth.
The scent hits her fully now. Blood, sweat, piss, and that unmistakable stench of burning flesh. It clings to the walls, to the floor, tome.
She stumbles back a step, then doubles over, gagging. The dry heaves turn violent, and she turns away just in time to vomit against the concrete wall.
“Fuck,” she whispers, her voice raw, her breathing ragged as she leans against the cold surface, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her uniform blouse. She still hasn’t changed out of her work clothes.
I stay quiet. There’s nothing I can say that’ll soften this.
She spins on her heel, trips over herself, and bolts. Her boots echo off the concrete as she disappears up the stairs, one hand over her mouth, the other bracing against the wall to keep from falling.
The door slams shut behind her, and the silence returns.
I stand still, staring at where she’d just been.
Then I inhale slowly through my nose, and the smell doesn’t bother me anymore.
I turn back to Sam.
He’s barely holding on now. Head lolled, face slick with sweat, tears, and blood. His fingers twitch like his brain is still trying to escape, but his body has already given up.
Good.
I turn to Oliver, who is still standing in the corner of the room, watching. “I’m done with him. If you want to do anything, he is all yours; if not, leave him here to die. I’ll deal with it later. I need a fucking whiskey.”
Chapter forty-three
Rachel
Iwakeuptothe sound of Olivia throwing up downstairs. I get up and sprint down the stairs. As soon as I make it to the bathroom, I see Olivia holding onto the porcelain god. The bathroom and her uniform are covered in vomit as she continues to throw up in the toilet.
I walk in, making sure to do a little knock to let her know I am here, before I grab her hair and hold it back for her while rubbing her back. "I got you, babe," I whisper in her ear.
She groans and then starts to heave again, throwing up all of the contents of her stomach. I remember this, being pregnant and never being able to have stuff in your stomach without the baby being mad at it.
"Come on, love, let's go get you in the shower and let you brush your teeth." I grab her arm and pull her to a standing position, then grab her hand and help her up the stairs. When we enter the room, she starts to shiver uncontrollably. I sat her on the bed and walked over to the love seat to grab the throw blanket and wrap it around her.
"Stay here. I am going to start the shower." She stares down at the ground, lost in thought and not moving. I don't want to leave her alone; she looks so broken and fragile.
I start to walk backwards, making sure not to take my eyes off her, as I blindly reach for the handle of the shower, turn it on, and walk back to Olivia.
"Come on, beautiful, let's get you out of these clothes." I start to unhook the buttons on her shirt, slowly working my way down until I reach the last button, then slide the shirt off her shoulders. Then I untuck her undershirt and start to pull it over her head.
"Lift up, babe." She raises her hands, and I take off the undershirt. Leaving her in her bra and work pants. If it were any other circumstances, I would make her stay here just like this for me to admire.
"Alright, babe, I need to take off your boots and pants. Can you lift your butt so I can slide your pants down?" She nods, lifting her ass just enough so I can pull down her pants. Once they are around her thighs, she sits back on the bed, no emotions on her face. I squat down to start untying her boots, and the worry begins to eat me alive.
"Liv?" I look up, and her eyes focus on me. "Are you okay, babe?" She slowly nods her head, but looks away from me. I know she is lying to me, but about what?
