Stay with me

Chapter Three

“Exposing truths and stripping her lies all at once,

And just like that, panic and peace consume me.”

—Oliver Masters

ALL NIGHT I TOSSED and turned over the thin, and incredibly stiff, mattress. Jet-lagged from the change in time zones, and having gotten too much sleep over the last twenty-four hours between the plane ride and my nap in the afternoon, trying to sleep was useless.

I’d managed to count every crack in the cement, every bolt in the steel door, and if I concentrated hard enough, I could see constellations in the swirls of the marble floor as the moon shone over it. A loud click, precisely at six in the morning, sounded when the doors automatically unlocked.

I was the first one in the community bathroom with a toothbrush, my new Dolor shirt, and ski

The cement walls in the bathroom were painted white, and a row of six sinks were to my right. Tall mirrors lined the wall evenly, one above each sink. Across from the sinks were the shower stalls. Subway tile stretched across the back wall, and each stall was separated by cedar wood planks with a white curtain enclosure. Clean towels were stacked in the ski

I chose the farthest shower at the end and turned it on to wait for it to heat up. Even though I was fully clothed, I still felt naked and exposed without make-up on in the mirror. Impressing people had never been a goal of mine, and even though I never needed it, I still wore make-up because I knew it bothered Diane. I wore the heaviest of eyeliner, the boldest lip shade, and black on my nails for the simple fact it drove her crazy.

Staring at my reflection, I was just me, looking five years younger with the lightly sprinkled freckles under my eyes and across the bridge of my nose. Though, my eyes didn’t lie. One look, and you could see the secrets, the pain, and the misery beneath the dull brown. My thick brows would usually distract others from the story my eyes held. No one ever took the time to look hard or close enough.

Take my father for an example.

A presence entered the bathroom, triggering my attention to shift. Tattoo Guy shuffled toward me with clothes over his shoulder, wiping the corners of his eyes. Gray joggers hung low on his hips, and a plain black tee covered the rest of him as his wild brown hair lay flat on one side.

After he dropped his hand from his face and he noticed me, he stopped walking. His face held no expression as he stared at me from about five feet away. Then, a sleepy smile greeted me before his voice did. “Hi.”

I returned a smile, but it was only because his was contagious—nothing more. “Hi.”

But he still didn’t move.

Once it dawned on me how long we’re standing there for, I faced the mirror again and flipped on the faucet to brush my teeth. He drew nearer before he appeared in the mirror’s reflection behind me, and leaned over to grab a towel off the shelf, careful to keep a distance, but also lingering longer than he should.

He switched the water on in the stall next to mine and hung his clothes and towel. When he turned back around, he approached the sink beside mine.

Our eyes met in the mirror’s reflection. “Mia, right?”

It was in that moment I noticed his green eyes. They were beautiful. Rare. A color so distinguishable, but indescribable at the same time. It was the color of the reflection of palm trees across a shoreline when the sun was at its highest point in the day. The color was noon. It wasn’t the deep blue shade of the ocean past the reflection of the tree line, or the white when the foam gathered in the sand, but the sweet spot in the middle. It was the perfect timing when three of God’s creations collided: the sun, trees, and water.

It was breathtaking, even in the damn mirror.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

He turned his body to face me and leaned into this sink as he extended a hand, his eyes even more beautiful when they were looking into mine without barriers. “I’m Ollie.”

His lovely eyes and formal etiquette caught me off guard. After darting my eyes between his face and his hand, I accepted his gesture. I hadn’t shaken a hand in a long time. Was I even doing it right?

Ollie gri

He placed his toothbrush and a razor over the sink, and his face fell as he attempted to fix his thick and rebellious hair by ru

“How can I get one of those?”

Ollie looked down at the counter and back at me, a small wrinkle forming between his brows. “You haven’t got a razor?” I shook my head, and he slid the razor in my direction as if we were dealing drugs. “You can have this one. It’s fresh. I haven’t used it.”

“Thanks.”

We shared a smile, and he dropped his head in acknowledgment before turning and disappearing behind the curtain.

The water didn’t take long to heat up as I undressed behind my curtain before stepping under the showerhead. It wasn’t hot, but warm enough to bear. I squeezed shampoo in the palm of my hand and massaged it into my scalp, taking my time and hoping Ollie would finish before my water turned cold. I wasn’t good at small talk. It was awkward and pointless, and I avoided it at all costs.

His water cut off, and the sound of his curtain against the rod followed shortly after. “I would suggest hurrying if you want to avoid rush hour,” he called out over the sound of my ru

Without a response from me, he left. Not even five minutes later, people trickled in as showers and faucets turned on around me, and a few comments were thrown around in the air.

Today was my first full day of classes and my first counseling session. I was not looking forward to either. My schedule consisted of four rotating courses. Mondays and Wednesdays were the same, with a one-on-one session to follow, and Tuesdays and Thursdays were the same with a group session to follow. Fridays were free days for extracurricular activities, in which I didn’t plan on taking part.

I arrived here on a Wednesday, making today my first and last day of the week for classes before a three-day weekend. Even though today was supposed to be a group session, Dean Lynch left a sticky note over my schedule to remind me I would continue one-on-one sessions with Dr. Conway up until my second week here.

Since I wasn’t allowed to have a blow dryer, I left my hair down and air-dried, and wore my combat boots over my black ski