10. Oli
Oli
Can You Feel My Heart
“ H ey, big bro!” Nyx blurts as she all but falls out of her car with a black bulky item. She got the clumsy gene from our dad.
“Hey!” I wave and jog over to the curb, abandoning my newest project. Peeling off the gardening gloves, I stuff them into my back pocket and pull her into a hug. “Thanks for bringing it.”
She claps me on the back briefly before pulling away. In her hand is my guitar case. I don’t know why I wanted it after so many years of refusing to touch the thing, but after Jorge admitted to me two days ago that he wanted me , I got an itch to play. I kind of want to play for him—that’s if I still can.
“No problem. Whatcha doing over there?” she asks, leaning to peer around me.
“Oh!” I grab her by the arm and tug her down the walkway and over to the side of my studio where my new garden rests. Well, the holes for the garden anyway. “I’m growing strawberries,” I say with a dramatic wave of my hand.
“I see no strawberries.”
“Because I haven’t gotten the plants yet. But it’s springtime. So I’ll hopefully have some before fall if I get more mature plants from Home Depot.”
“Why strawberries?” she asks, causing me to blush like I’m twelve.
Jorge loves them. He smells like a fucking strawberry. His favorite flavor of Pop Rocks is strawberry. “Trying out my green thumb.”
“No flowers?”
“Not yet. I want to try these first. I’ve already asked Dan if I can set up another bed if I need more room.”
My landlord is a cranky old man who would rather have free labor than pay for it himself. So he was thrilled about the potential for a nice flower bed up front. “That’s nice of him.” She chews her cheek and pulls her sunglasses up on her head. “Mom knows.”
“About?”
“She knows you’re clean, Oli.”
Fuck. Seems Phoenix’s boyfriend really burst the bubble I was trying to live in forever. “Did she tell Dad?”
“Not yet. She hasn’t told Veronica or Damien either.”
“Is she pissed at you?”
For some reason, Nyxia has always been trustworthy to me, at least with small things. She was the first person to know I went back to rehab last year, with the exception of Jorge, who helped motivate me to do it. She’s kept my secret fiercely, understanding that I’d tell my family when I was sure it wouldn’t be a lie.
The thing about me and drugs is, I don’t ever really believe I’m done with them. I struggle all the time. How can I say I’m all better when I don’t feel better? Or how can I confess that I haven’t touched drugs in a year, but I crave them?
Addiction is forever, regardless of sobriety.
Telling my family feels like I’m setting myself up for failure. They’ll be waiting for it, anticipating it. That’s how it’s happened every other time. Nyx gets that. So she hasn’t told anyone the truth.
Up until recently, my parents still assumed the money they gave me was to help me survive on the streets, and not actually to cover my rent. I’m sure they’ve had to have some idea because, at this point, Mom just sends the money to my cash app instead of me dropping by, shivering with withdrawals and begging.
“A little. But she understands why you haven’t told her. I think she already had a feeling, too. They haven’t seen you in a long time, and that’s not normal. You know you can call her. She misses you. We all do.”
I miss my family, too. It’s just not time. Not yet. “I will eventually.”
“Well, the jig is up, broseph. Next time you ask for money, she’ll—”
“I know. I’ll handle it.”
She nods. “Okay.” Then she goes back to looking at the holes. “So, what else have you been up to?”
D istracting myself has only gone so far.
Once Nyx left, I went to Home Depot, bought my strawberry plants, stuck them in the dirt, and then worked on my bike for a while. After that, I showered and stared at my guitar case for too long before deciding to tackle that another day. Then, I rearranged a few of my MTG decks before running late again for my meeting.
I hit traffic on the way there and had to pretend I didn’t see Eli watching me from the corner of the room. I almost didn’t go to my meeting, but I have to be in the right headspace to deal with…Jorge.
And group helps. A lot more than I thought it would.
So, when I’m slithering out of the building, avoiding Phoenix’s boyfriend like the plague, I stop dead in my tracks when I see my brother standing outside his car, puffing his vape. Our eyes slam into each other like colliding rockets. I’m pretty sure there is some collateral damage.
I don’t know what to do, but my stomach revolts instantly. My lunch crawls up my throat. Images and sounds assault me. Flashes of his laugh through the door, asking where I was while I sobbed face down on a pillow.
I shake myself out of the memory as Phoenix stuffs his vape in his pocket, his long hair blowing in the breeze.
“Oli!” he calls and runs to me.
I can’t do this. I can’t.
My pulse hammers with rage, and my eye twitches.
Glancing over to where my car is parked, I dart in that direction. Phoenix bellows, demanding I stop and fucking listen to him. He lost that chance. He fucking lost it. I tried to reach out, tried to cough up the horrors that I’ve lived through when I was at my lowest. And he ignored me. My body slams into the side of my car while I drop the key fob.
“Please, Oli!”
He approaches fast, but I’m faster.
Snatching the fob off the ground, I unlock the doors and jump inside. I start the car, throw it into reverse, and narrowly miss hitting him with my bumper. He jumps out of the way, eyes wide and wet. I peel out of the parking spot with a screech, slam the shifter into drive, and take off like a bat out of hell. He just doesn’t get it. He never will. The worst part is that I don’t know I can trust him despite his attempts now.
Phoenix knows who broke me. He knows him well.
What if he doesn’t believe me? What if he thinks I made it all up?
He’s said in the past that nothing bad has ever happened to me. Nothing should’ve made me an addict because I was raised in a loving home.
Fuck him.
Fuck.
Him.
I shake my head, swipe at my face, and drive. I don’t even know where because I don’t want him tailing me back to my place.
Eventually, I end up at a bar I used to come to before I got clean. My fingers squeeze the leather of my steering wheel as I pant in my car, nauseous and so fucking upset.
Twice, I’ve tried to tell Phoenix.
Once, a little over a year ago when I knew if I didn’t do something, I’d kill myself.
And once more, eight years ago, when I actually did try to kill myself.
Both times, I wasn’t important enough to listen to. Both times, he left me alone with my demons. I glance back at the bar, knowing I need to leave. This isn’t the answer, but fuck, it feels like it might be. Just a taste. A single moment where I’m utterly numb. A blip in time where I’m not reminded how broken I am.
“Don’t do it,” I tell myself, but get out. “Go home,” I try again. My legs keep striding forward. “It’s not too late,” I whisper and open the door.
I control my actions.
“Hey, hun, what can I get you?” the bartender asks me.
Sweat forms on my upper lip as I stare at one of my old vices. No one knew that I drank. They all assumed I just did drugs. I did everything. “I shouldn’t be here,” I whisper, clenching my hands over my thighs.
She studies me for long seconds, then leans her elbows on the bar. Her honey-brown hair falls over her shoulder. “How about a glass of water? It’s warm out.”
I nod, thankful she doesn’t pry.
A minute later, she slides the water over to me. I take a shaky sip, feeling my restraint crumbling as I glance back at the bottle of Jack Daniels on the shelf. “Are you alright?” she asks.
No. No, I’m not alright. Again, I nod.
“Let me know if you need anything.”
I need to leave.
Get the fuck out of here.
Any of those bottles would do, honestly.
My throat dries out just thinking about it. The water is forgotten as I stare and stare, wetting my lips. Just as I part them to call her back over and order a drink, my phone goes off.
Ratt’s Round and Round blasts through my pocket.
Fuck. Jorge is calling. I pull my cell out, debating what to do. His face lights up the screen, a selfie he took specifically for his contact ID.
I stare at it so long that the ringing stops. A second passes, and it starts again. It feels louder, like his urgency for me to answer somehow amplifies the volume. I slide the answer bar and place the phone to my ear.
“Oliver,” he says carefully. He doesn’t usually call me by my full name unless it’s serious.
I don’t say anything because guilt cripples me.
“Talk to me.” Some country song plays through the old jukebox in the corner, and some patrons laugh down the bar. “Oli,” he pleads. “Please, beautiful.”
My eyes flutter shut at the pet name. He’s never called me that before, and it couldn’t have come at a worse time. I feel so ugly. So fucking disfigured and broken. “There is a reason why we have our locations shared. Can I come get you?”
“Yes,” I croak.
“Wait outside for me, okay? I’ll be there soon.”
“Okay.”
“Hey,” he says a little firmer. I don’t reply because my eyes are locked on the alcohol again. “Listen to me. You don’t need it. You don’t need it. ”
“What if I do?” I whisper.
I can hear a door shutting over the line, then his breaths. He’s running to his car. That’s how worried he is about me. “You don’t. I promise you.”
I can control my actions. But can I? It’d be so easy to order the drink. It’d be even easier to find my old contacts. I know where they hang out. I have cash…
“ Oliver .”
“I’m here.”
“You are stronger than the pull.”
“I don’t think I am.”
“Go outside,” he demands. “Right now.”
My body stiffens.
“Do it, beautiful.”
I suck in a harsh breath, blink myself out of the spiral I’m falling in, and lift from the stool. “That’s it. You’re doing so good.”
My heart rattles in my chest, but I turn away from the bar and breathe. “Keep moving.” So I do; I let his voice guide me right out of the building.
The warm air brushes over my face as I tilt my head back. “Fuck, I’m proud of you.”
“I’m outside,” I tell him.
“I know. I knew you could do it.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice cracking as it comes crashing down on me what I almost did. “Fuck. I just…I saw Phoenix and—
“It’s okay. It’s alright,” he soothes, and it feels like a firm hug. “You’re allowed to fumble. You’re allowed to slip. Just don’t fall. I’m five minutes away.”
“Can I come back to your house? I…I don’t want to go home.”
“Of course.”
J orge taps his chin while studying me. We came into his kitchen when we first got to his house to get something to drink, and we’ve been at a standstill since. When he met me at the bar, I swear he looked ready to either grab me or kiss me, but since he agreed to go at my pace, he did neither. As strange as it is, I would’ve taken either at that moment. Something to snap me out of this funk.
“Well,” he starts, sighing, “Phoenix is upset. I had to think fast and come up with an excuse for him and Eli not to come over.”
I tense, hating that I’ve put him in this position, but at the same time, my brother can go fuck himself. Jorge is mine. “He ambushed me!” I defend, crossing my arms.
“Did he, though?” Jorge’s eyebrow arches, and it does things to me. He looks really good when he’s bossy. Like a protector. Fierce.
“I’m not an idiot,” I huff. “I know he was there for Eli, but…”
“You don’t have to talk to him. That’s your right as a human. I’m trying to figure out how seeing him led you to the bar.”
“I don’t know either,” I lie.
“Yes, you do.” Now it’s his turn to fold his arms as his brown eyes pin me in place.
“Why do you look so angry right now?”
“Because I am. A little. I was so worried.” Ah, there it is. The fissure in his paper armor. His chin wobbles as he blinks hard. “You’ve worked so hard, Oli. Too hard to let anyone make you go down that fucking road again. And you didn’t call me. You didn’t text me. I’ve been waiting for you all day.”
I drop my arms, stomach in knots. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize to me,” he sniffles, “I just—”
“I should have let you know. Should’ve asked for help.”
“Yes. Because that’s what I’m good for. Helping.”
“That isn’t all. You know that isn’t all you’re good for.” I take a few steps closer, searching his face when he scrubs at his eyes.
“I didn’t mean to say that,” he admits, looking up through his lashes at me. “I know I don’t bring it up or talk about it, but it does hurt me sometimes thinking that I’m only wanted when I can provide something. A shoulder to cry on, ears to listen, an extra set of hands. I need to be wanted, and I guess I sometimes think I’m not wanted for the right reasons. This isn’t directed at you. I’m just up in my feels.”
He tries to suck back his emotions, but it doesn’t work too well, so I take another few steps. I’m so close to him that I can feel the heat coming from his body. The thing is, I want to comfort him right now. More so than ever. Maybe it’s because I know he wants that from me—that he wants me in general. But something also has to give. I can’t keep living this way, afraid of my own fucking shadow. Jorge isn’t him . Jorge would never hurt me. I know that so deep in my soul, so why can’t my mind get on board?
“Jorge,” I say, my voice deeper than normal.
His face snaps up to mine. “Y-Yeah?”
“I want to…just…I want to hug you.”
Like a switch flipped, his eyes glitter, and I swear tiny hearts explode out of them. His face rips into a huge grin, his earlier feelings forgotten from one simple admission. And he moves before I’m ready, colliding his chest into my palm. “Stop,” I wheeze.
“Fuck. Fucking duck fuckers. I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”
I take a step back, shake out my hands and breathe. “I want to hug you, but I need you to not…hug me back. I know it sounds weird.”
His face drops a little, but he straightens his spine and nods. “I got you.”
My heart shoots into overdrive, thumping and shaking. “Is that okay?”
“Yes, Oli. Yes, it’s okay. Have your way with me.”
I bite my lip, swallow hard, and rush him before I can change my mind. My arms curl around his, pinning them to his sides. The way he goes limp makes my heart soar through the anxiety plaguing it. I listen to his calm, content breaths, and the tension expels from both of us. Good god, this is better than it should be. It’s a one-way hug. Something a grandpa would do to a bratty child, but Jorge purrs in my ear. Happy. Satisfied that I’m touching him at all.
“Fuck,” he rasps. “Oli. I can’t stop it.”
And then I feel his dick.
The moment shatters, and I scramble away. My hands fly to my head as my lungs cave in. I see spots, and my knees feel like jelly. It was so good. So perfect. And now…
“Fuck you, dick,” Jorge hisses under his breath and adjusts himself while I panic.
“This is why,” I croak, backing up until I’m in the living room. “I thought it’d be okay. That I could—”
“Try it again,” he demands.
“What?” I can’t fucking breathe.
“Please. One more time.”
“I can’t.”
God, his face crumbles. Just shatters right there on the floor. “You just felt so good. I swear I cuddle all the time and never get hard like that. I—fuck, Oli.” His hands cover his face. “I’m sorry.”
Before I can do or say anything, he darts down the hall and into his bedroom. The click of the lock echoes in the stillness, and I collapse on his couch.
What the fuck am I supposed to do? I need to talk to Doctor Langley. I can’t stand the way I am. Plenty of people with trauma have perfectly healthy relationships. Why am I not in that group? How the fuck do I become like those people?
At this rate, I’m going to break Jorge. He’s too good and kind to deal with this. Every time I refuse him, he’ll see it as rejection. He’ll take it to heart.
That’s just who he is.
He’s too good for someone as damaged as me.