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Chapter Nineteen
“You’re a thief in the night,
robbing my gaze,
swiping my hand,
stripping my breath,
cheating the odds,
stealing my heart,
and I don’t mind.”
—Oliver Masters
mia.
IT TOOK A LITTLE OVER TWO WEEKS to find our rhythm after the death of Chad, a boy I’d never known personally. Ollie hadn’t known him well either, but he explained the impact of Chad’s death on him. He’d said seeing Chad hit him like an atomic bomb of one hundred grieving people. Even Chad himself, feeling the emotions of his last moments closing in on him, and Ollie’s heart unable to contain it. I didn’t fully understand it myself, but the look in his eyes was that of a million broken hearts. The single moment had utterly drained him, and for a week Ollie ran on empty. It had been heart-wrenching to witness, how someone else’s pain could physically affect him in the way it did.
It was a cold mid-November afternoon, and I sat in Conway’s office wrapped in Ollie’s oversized hoodie. His familiar scent fought against the bitter winter and Conway’s unwanted opinion.
“You are capable of so much more than to skip out on college,” Dr. Conway said through a shake of her head, and spun in her chair to face her desk. My teeth sunk into the plastic end of the hoodie string and I rolled my eyes. “You’re a genius. And you’re throwing it all away. Why?”
“I don’t have to explain myself,” I mumbled, a
Empathy had never been my strong suit, so perhaps he did me a favor.
Conway narrowed her eyes, reading my body language because she couldn’t understand the words coming out of my mouth. “Do me a favor, Mia. Take a walk around campus tomorrow. By yourself. Fresh air and no distraction. Give your future an hour of your time to think this through before you make drastic decisions. It deserves that much, okay?”
The string fell from my mouth. “Okay.”
Sales trick one-oh-one: leave the question ending in “okay,” “alright,” or “sounds good,” and nine times out of ten your audience would reply with a positive response, automatically agreeing to whatever they said without thinking it through. A trick of the mind.
She got me.
Fuck.
I quickly came to terms with it and stood from the couch.
“See you next week,” Conway said through a knowing smile as I headed for the door. “Oh, and Mia?” Resting my palm over the door frame, I turned to face her. “I still cook for Thanksgiving. I’ll bring leftovers, and we can have a mini Thanksgiving during our session Thanksgiving Day, sound good?”
“Sounds good.”
Shit. She got me again.
I chuckled to myself. “You’re good, Dr. Conway,” I called out while walking away.
“I know,” she reminded me from behind.
It was difficult to dislike Dr. Conway. Since day one, she’d grown on me. Even when I’d thought I doubted her and couldn’t trust her, she’d proved she truly cared, being the only acting parental figure who pushed my limits and had been there every step of the way. I was going to miss her.
On my way back to fourth wing, Jake, Tyler, and Bria blew past me with cringed features. Well, except for Jake, that is. His eyes betrayed his disgusted expression, and I knew he missed me. But around Tyler and Bria, he wouldn’t dare defy his loyalty. I had to get him alone and talk to him.
I knocked on Ollie’s door before opening and found him asleep in his bed with a book sprawled out over his stomach. Gently, I lifted the book and set it aside before melting beside him. Ollie hummed, wrapping his arms around me, burrowing his head into my neck.
I dove my hand under his shirt and trailed my fingers over the surface of his warm skin.
“Conway give you the third degree again?” he asked, his breath brushing my neck.
Goosebumps flared, and I leaned into him with a small laugh. “Always.”
“She’s right, you know … ”—His arm pulled me closer— “You can become anything you want, and you choose to do nothing. It’s a waste if you ask me.”
“Wonderful. You too?”
Ollie pulled away and opened his sleepy eyes. “No. Conway has different reasons, then I do. Me? I believe everyone is sent to earth with a clear path.” He wiped a hand over his eyes. “What interests you, love?”
“I’m not so sure anymore.”
“Your body tells you every day of what you’re meant for. Any time you get goosebumps, never ignore them. Your body reminded you to take notice in case your brain didn’t get the message.”
“So, I’m meant for you? I wonder what major that falls under.”
His smile grew. “Give me your hand.” I lifted from under the thin sheet and held it out in front of me. Ollie’s hand disappeared from my waist. His fingertips touched mine and continued to trace down the length of my palm. Shivers rushed through me, and Ollie smiled. “You feel that?” I bit my lip and nodded. His fingers continued, merely brushing over mine, but the faintness alone sent the small hairs standing straight. “It will feel like this, and you will know it’s what you’re meant for. Don’t ever question it.”
“Is that how you feel about writing?”
Ollies fingers laced through mine and he brought our hands close to his chest. “Yes. I feel that way when I write, and I feel that way when you’re near. Even when the demons take me, my soul always remembers.” His lips landed over my forehead, and he lingered there for a moment before he pulled away. “but you never felt that way about playing the piano, have you?”
I shook my head. “How did you know?”
“Because if you did, you’d be playing all the time.”
“I guess I’m just not cut out for this life.”
“Or maybe you need to see things from a different perspective.” Ollie’s boyish grin returned, and his mischievous eyes bounced between mine. “I got you something. It’s under the bed.” I opened my mouth to speak, but my tongue wouldn’t work. “Go on.” He nudged his head.
I flipped the other way, reached under the bed, and waved my hand around until it grabbed hold of something. When I pulled it out, I laid back and took a look at it.
A camera.
And not your average camera.
A machine of some sort I had no idea how to use. “Ollie?”
“Another perspective, love. It may help you see the world a little differently.”
I sat up and crawled over him, pulling the camera over my face to look through the lens. “Nope. You’re just as beautiful, but I prefer the real thing. And how in the world did you find this?”
Ollie’s hands clutched my hips, and his eyes beamed up at me. “You’re smiling. You like it.”
“How, Ollie?”
“I asked a friend,” his head tilted into his shrug, “It doesn’t matter. Come here, let’s take our first picture, yeah?” His fingers dug into my hips, and I curled over, severely ticklish and falling on top of him. Ollie grabbed the camera from my hands and held it above our heads, snapping the picture before I had a chance to be ready for it.
When I looked back up, the film came from the top and Ollie dropped the camera beside him on the mattress and held the picture over us. We both looked up, waiting. “You didn’t let me get ready.”