Olive
“Are you two OK?”Tori asks as I get back to the greenhouse after the “conversation” with Colin.
“Yeah, fabulous,” I say, reaching for my jacket.
“Livy, what’s going on?”Tori insists.She’s holding my wrist.
“I’m leaving.”
“It’s your birthday.”
“I’m tired.”
“It’s.Your.Birthday,” she repeats, stressing every word.“Have you been fighting again?”
“He’s an arsehole,” I hiss.
Tori sighs.I know I have two options.One, tell her everything, or two, stay here and bottle it up.I choose the latter and regret it not long afterward when Colin actually has the nerve to walk back in with Kit.OK, so it’s his party too, but...I just don’t want to look at him.
Luckily, I don’t have to, because it’s now so crowded that I lose sight of him.
It’s my birthday, I’m celebrating with my friends, this isimportant, and Colin Fantino isn’t going to mess it up for me.I just won’t let him.End of.
For a while, I succeed in forgetting everything.When I start feeling tired, I’ve lost all sense of time.I’ve barely been drinking, to save myself a repeat of the humiliation of a couple of weeks back, when Colin Fantino had to hold my hair while I boaked.I wish I could wipe that unpleasant memory from my brain—and from his.Where even is he?I haven’t seen him for a while, but it doesn’t take me long to spot him with Kit and his pals.They’re doing shots.My stomach lurches as I realize how drunk Colin is, but I ignore it.He can hold way more than me—he’s proved that.He can look after himself, and anyway, this really isn’t my problem.
I glance hastily away as he looks over.I hate him.I hate myself.I hate everything.
I want to look busy, so I pull my phone from my pocket and scroll through all the notifications I’ve had in the last couple of hours.Most of them are “Happy Birthday” snaps or party emojis on my Insta story.I didn’t repost the one Tori tagged me in.I’m all about understatement, and it would have been too much, especially now that I’ve seen it in Colin’s story too.Although the fact that he shared it gave me a pathetic warm glow in my belly.It’s silly, but this video goes beyond the private-but-not-secret snapshots we’ve posted now and then in the last wee while.Colin’s hands, my shoulder, our shoes, his back, never from the front, no faces, never any hint that there’s really anything between us.Today he’s broken his rule of only posting low-key stuff about us, and where’s the evening ended?We’ve had anotherrow, everything’s gone to shite, and I want to cry, but no way am I going to find him and apologize.Nobody has to tell me I’m being childish: I’m perfectly well aware of that, thank you very much.So I really should head out of here before things get any more complicated.It’s 1:48, which seems plenty late enough.This is the kind of time our midnight parties generally break up, but everyone else has gone wild tonight.Not that I mean they’re smashing the place up—they’re just having a really fab time, and that’s great.But the loud music is buzzing in my head, my eyes so tired they sting.
I’m about to click out of Instagram and say goodbye when I see a dot on message requests.It’s an account I don’t follow and not one I’ve ever noticed before.I can see that whoever it is has sent me photos.
I open the message cautiously, expecting dick pics or some creepy guy wanting to get in touch.That would be nothing new—my profile is public, I’m a woman, and I used to upload heaps of swimming photos.The sad fact is, I’m no longer shocked by that kind of thing.But this is different.
The first message is a comment on the photo I shared at the start of the party, back when everything was OK and Colin had just put his arm around me.You can’t tell who we are, at least if you don’t already know us well.I can’t fit the account to any of my friends, but it seems to be someone who knows Colin at least.
Sometimes, you read a thing and the very first words tell you it would be better if you didn’t.This is one of those times.But I can’t stop myself.
Did you ever ask yourself why he had to change schools in such a hurry?
This is followed by screenshots of various online news sites.From New York...
Several Injured After Fire on 91st, Including FDNY Firefighters
I don’t understand.
Breaking News—Female Firefighter, 42, Killed in Flames.Mother of Four Children.
My blood runs cold.
Accident or Arson?Investigations Continue
What the...?Now I feel sick.
Who’s the Firebug at Ainslee School?
It’s like my chest has been laced up, and there’s a crackling in my ears.
I look up because I feel like I can’t breathe.
