I frown as I consider his question. He already knows I will be. I’ve nevernotspent Christmas with him and we’ve already discussed this year’s plans.
“Ah…yes. Nothing’s changed on my side.” He’s quiet again, the sound of papers shuffling in the background. “Are you sure everything is okay?” A pinch of unease settles in my chest.
“Yes. Yes. I’ll see you then.” He hangs up and I’m left wondering what the point of the call was.
“Okay?” Oliver asks, taking my hand again.
“I think so. Just my dad reconfirming my attendance at Christmas.” I shrug, pushing the strange conversation from my mind as we continue our evening.
The five of us walk for fifteen minutes before we’re standing outside a small Italian restaurant with fires burning on an enclosed patio. The table we’re shown to is at the back of the crowded restaurant, and we all take our seats, falling into easy conversation over drinks.
“Are you excited about your party?” Darcey asks, sipping at her glass of wine.
“Sure,” I say. “No doubt my father will go over the top and invite loads of people I don’t know, like he usually does. But you’ll all be there, so it should be fun.”
My birthday is on the thirty-first of December, and for as long as I can recall, my dad has thrown these elaborate parties at our family home in Chelsea which he passes off as for me, butusually uses as another networking opportunity, or chance to show off how successful he is.
We chat about it a little longer, mostly about what we plan to wear, and then when the time comes to order food, Oliver excuses himself from the table and heads to the bathroom. I know why he’s left when he has – it’s still the one elephant in the room we never address. I order a pizza, then leave the table and track him down. He’s standing outside on the far end of the patio, with his back to me, leaning on a picnic-style table. The light from an overhead street light illuminates the area, and while there’s no one else around, noise from the restaurant floats on the air.
“Do you want to order something to eat?” I ask, placing a hand on his lower back.
Oliver tenses, standing up straighter. “No, I’m fine. I ate before we left.”
“You had a protein bar. How about something small?”
He turns then, and his eyes are dark, his jaw tight. “Don’t make it a big deal, D.”
I don’t know what possesses me to do this now. Standing outside a restaurant in a heaving city days before Christmas, but I do it anyway.
“Itisa big deal, Ollie. You barely eat.”
His eyes dart around, checking who can hear us, but thankfully, it’s too cold for anyone to be sitting outside, even where the outdoor heaters are burning.
“I eat,” he mutters.
“Protein bars and shakes. Energy drinks. The odd piece of toast or fruit. Maybe a tiny bowl of pasta. That’s not eating, Oliver. That’s putting enough in you to survive.” Oliver fists his hands at his side, and I reach for one, but he shakes me off. “You need to eat, Ollie.”
I’m not prepared for the reaction that bursts out of him, so I can’t help that I flinch at the anger in his voice. “Just fucking leave it, Darius! It’s not as simple as you’re making it out to be.”
I lift a hand up. “Okay. I’m sorry.” Frigid December air wraps around me, and I shiver, wrapping an arm around myself. “Come back inside, please.”
Oliver rubs the back of his neck, shaking his head. “I need it to stop.” He taps the side of his temple with his fist, and I reach for his hand and pull it away before he hurts himself.
“What do you need to stop?” Closing the space between us, I take his other hand in mine.
“His voice in my head. The memories. He ruined so much for me as a kid and he’s still fucking doing it.” I don’t have to hear Alister's name to know that’s who Oliver’s talking about. “You don’t understand how badly I want to go inside and eat an entire pizza with you. How much I want to sit in front of the TV and feast on a tub of ice cream. But Ican’t.”
My stomach sinks, and as much as I could stop this conversation right here, take his hand in mine and lead him back inside, this is something we need to talk about. He needs help, and I wouldn’t be a good friend or boyfriend – because that’s what we are – if I kept overlooking it.
“Why not, baby?” I ask, dropping my voice. He looks at his feet and then at me, and the pain and defeat in his deep brown eyes twist at my heart. I think he’s going to answer, but he shakes his head, lets go of my hands and turns away from me. He takes three steps towards the street, putting a huge space between us, and I’m afraid this is the moment he shuts me out. With all he’s shared with me about his past, I don’t know why this is the thing he feels he can’t tell me, but then trauma is unique and he’s handling it his way. I respect that, but it doesn’t make me want to help him any less.
“Oliver,” I say his name, a plea for him to stop and not walk away. “Oliver, please.”
He spins around, his fists clenched again.
“What do you want from me, Darius? The truth? The truth is, I can’t eat a fucking bar of chocolate with you because that fucker took that from me. Every time he’d do shit to me and then sit me at a table while my body was in pain and my eyes were burning and he’d say I was his good boy and I deserved a treat and then he’d put food in front of me and make me eat it. Every last bite until I was sick or until he decided it was time for me to earn another treat. Now, my body recoils at the mere thought of eating. But guess what? I have to eat, so I do my fucking best, okay?” He laughs, but it’s dry and with no hint of amusement. “The first time I had sex with someone that I wanted to be with, I waited for the panic to hit, but it never came. And I realised I could enjoy it as long as I remained in control. Of the act. Of my feelings. But a fucking cupcake?” Oliver drops his head to look down at where his hands are wringing together, his fingers of one hand digging into the palm of his other.
My stomach rolls with the image that flashes in front of me of a young Oliver, tears in his eyes, a plate of food in front of him and that monster hovering at his side. I have never wished harm on anyone before, but I want that man to suffer. I only wish I knew how to make it happen.
