Clarity

18

CLARITY

I dream of a melody.

It soothes my brain, massaging it like Play-Doh squashed in large hands.

But it's only when a lick to my face wets my cheek that I realize I'm not dreaming anymore, the melody disappearing.

Blinking my eyes open, I'm met with Dog in my face. His round brown furry self, pawing my nose. He stands in the empty spot Olias was in last night.

I kiss his nose. "Hungry?"

He meows, stepping onto my boob. Ouch . I'll take that as a yes.

Rising from Olias bed, I rub my eyes, sliding out of bed and dropping onto the warm gray carpet. It's much warmer here in general, he must've turned the heat up.

Good, because I still wear his shirt, and it's kind of thin. It was the only thing that made me feel closest to him after he was gone for the past week.

The sun is barely up, just now rising and shining through the window.

I pad over to Olias desk, under it being the cat food for some reason. And I open it, pouring some in the small bowls that also sit in his room on a towel instead of in the bathroom. At least his kitty litter isn't in here. He did tell me Dog is his support animal, maybe he just wants him as close as possible even though he pretends not to like him.

I slide a hand down Dog's brown fur, petting him. "There you go, you poop."

He starts chomping.

Rising to my full height, I hear the pretty sound again. Outside the room door.

So I hadn't dreamt it.

Leaving the room, I walk down the hall, where the melody gets louder, until I see Olias on the living room couch, his feet propped up on his coffee table, shirtless as he plays the guitar.

His dark, shiny hair lays over his forehead as usual, and his face concentrates intensely on the strums he makes on the strings.

He plays the guitar?

I continue walking, slowly, not sure if I should interrupt him.

He's so content and focused.

Coming from behind him, I cover his eyes with my hands, bending down. "Happy Thanksgiving. Guess who?" I whisper in his ear.

I tilt my head to watch his face as he smirks. "Someone extremely hot?"

My cheeks burn, letting go of his face. It's too early for him to make my body feel all fuzzy and warm.

I instead choose to ignore his words. His eyes fall on me as I walk around the couch, tracing my figure with his gaze.

"I didn't know you played guitar."

He looks down at the instrument. "Yeah, it was something Vanessa and I did. I found it in my closet, looking for clothes for today. I thought I forgot how to play, but I didn't."

I go to sit next to him, folding my legs onto the couch. His arm wraps around the top of the couch, around my shoulders.

We naturally fit against each other. Like two pieces of a puzzle.

"Teach me how," I say, looking up at him. I've always wanted to be a rockstar.

He smiles, that dimple showing, licking his lips and pushing his hair back. "Really?"

I nod. "Mhm."

He brings me closer to him by my waist, sliding the guitar over my lap, his hand hanging from my shoulder. He seems excited to share this. "I'll show you just a simple cord, okay?"

I nod, his body heat radiating off me from his closeness.

His large hands find my right one, placing it where it probably should be.

"Here," he starts, "is where you strum. Do it for me."

I slide my fingers down the wires, creating a pretty sound.

I look at him, grinning proudly.

He nods. "Good."

His other hand goes to the long part of the guitar, holding the strings down. He plays, and a new sound comes out.

"Try it," he tells me.

I replace his fingers with mine, struggling to fix them correctly onto the wires, but eventually, I get there with his help. Then I strum the same sound he had.

"Damn, look at you, Clare," he says. "A pro already."

I smile, looking at him, feeling myself drawn into his green eyes. His pupils are dilated. His lashes are long, and they fit him so well. They're just so...

"Your eyes are pretty," my thoughts spew out.

He takes hold of the guitar, slowly sliding it off of us. "Not as pretty as yours," he rebuts.

I shake my head. "Your eyes are like emeralds. Mines? They’re poop."

His brows furrow, a hand coming up to my chin, lifting it to face him as he looks dead into my eyes.

"All I see is chocolate. Sweet chocolate."

My lips part as we’re stuck on each other eyes. My core twists with his thumb rubbing the side of my mouth, my mind twisting in confusion. I should be mad at him. I should be freaking furious. But the softness of his eyes, the frown pulling down his lips as he stares at my mouth, I can’t help myself

With the guitar off his lap, I find myself rising on my knees, his hand located on my hips when I throw a leg over his. Straddling his lap.

Big moves.

His cheeks begin to turn pink, his lip parted as he looks up at me.

"Clarity," he chokes. Both his large hands wrap around my waist over his shirt, causing it to slide up my thighs even more. Showing my pink underwear.

My hair falls around our faces, encasing us as I bring my face down and kiss him.

His hips buckle up, pushing my hips down into them as he takes my lips.

I hold his face, devouring his lips like they might run away. And once his tongue slips through my mouth, I moan, pressing my body against his chest. He feels perfect. I find his hair, pulling it.

He lets out his pretty moan against my tongue, vibrating it through my body. But I begin to wonder. Wonder just how many others he’s shown those same pretty sounds to. The ones he lets loose from his lips and the ones from the guitar.

I break away, panting, and stare at him.

" Clarity ," he says in more of a plea against my lips.

My lips press together into a frown, my heart hurting. I’ve gone back to Jonah too many times; he’s tricked me too many times. I won’t make that mistake with Olias. I slide off of Olias, and his eyes shoot open.

“I shouldn’t be here. You’re safe and– and that's all I needed to know,” I whisper, the back of my eyes burning as I hug myself.

“Clarity–”

“You hurt me, Olias,” my voice shakes, but I need to do this. I need to talk to him, tell him I’m not a joke that everyone at that party thought I was. Anger soars through me. “That party, those girls…” I shake my head, my hand coming to my mouth as I begin to cry, turning around away from him as he stands up from the couch.

“Clarity,” his voice strains. “I never meant to hurt you, I promise. Look at me, please.”

I turn around, my face wet with tears and a heart whole of pain. He stands a foot or two away, not reaching for me, thankfully. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. You made me feel special, you kissed me that day. I thought maybe,” my breath hitches, “Maybe this guy is different—”

“Don’t do that, don’t compare me to him .” He steps forward and reaches for my hand. I move it away. Hurt in his eyes, he looks up at me and says, “Clarity, tell me what I can do to get you to believe that you’re the only person in my life I care about.” His red eyes turn glossy with tears. “Do you think I give a shit about those girls? About Jasmine? Do you think they’ve seen me cry or heard my life stories? Do you think I’d go to jail for them? Clarity…”

He halts and reaches for my face, touching my cheek briefly, then drops to his knees, taking my hand in his. This time, with tears dripping from my chin, I let him.

“You mean the world to me, baby. And I’m sorry—” his voice cracks and his face glows red from tears. One rolls down his cheek. He squeezes my hand, “I’m sorry that I hurt you. If I could do it over, save those things for only you, I would’ve. But I didn’t know someone as amazing as you would enter my life. I would’ve saved everything if it meant I could experience it all with you . One more chance, that would be all I ask for, please. And if it’s a no, then that's okay because I understand, I understand it if I’m not what you want anymore—”

I grab his wet chin, stop the rambling that's turned my heart into liquid, and lift his head, bending down and kissing him.

He sucks in a breath through his nose, his hand threading through my hair till it reaches the back of my neck. Standing up, both hands on my cheeks, he kisses me back hard, nearly making me run into the coffee table behind us.

Olias pulls away, a hopeful look on his face that reminds me of a golden retriever. “What does that mean? Talk to me. Tell me.”

My smile grows wide as I sniffle. Either he’s a Hollywood actor, or this guy is a severe mess for me .

“It means I’ve never been spoken to that way before. I’ll have to live with us sharing those moments with those girls… because we can make more, right? New memories? Ones only we share?”

His eyes softly look between mine, and he nods. "Only you. Those girls at the party... they were with me when I was in the worst place. You saved me, you make me a better person." His thumb draws circles against my face as he speaks. My bottom lip pokes out, and I drop my head against his chest, hugging him tightly.

“I never thanked you,” I say as he holds me.

"For what?"

"For saving my life, too. And for… dealing with Jonah.”

He exhales hard. "You're welcome. He won't be around you anymore, alright?"

I look up at him and nod, staring at the tears still dropping from his eyes for some reason.

“No more crying, sunshine,” I say, wiping his cheeks. “Let's make some happy moments.” I poke at where his dimple would appear. He smiles against my lips.

Before I realize it, our lips are rocking against each other, moving like they're made to move together. That heat running through my body comes back stronger than ever. Like we never even parted our lips to begin with.

His hand slides up my shirt, touching every bit of my skin with his warm skin; I whimper at his thumb grazing my underboob. I dig my hips into him, and he curses.

Parting from me, he whispers in my ear, "It's Thanksgiving, isn't it?" He rises from the couch with me in his hands, on my cheeks. The bottom ones. "I think I want my dinner early."

"We don't go to dads until later," I manage to say with my unsteady voice.

He kisses between my collarbones as he walks to the kitchen with me. "I'm not talking about that type of dinner, Clare. Come on, I know you're smarter than that." He sets me down on the island table.

My eyes widen as I realize what he means.

Oh… Oh .

***

My back sticks to the kitchen's marble countertop, my shirt ridden up a bit as I pant aggressively from my release onto Olias’ tongue. He rises from between my legs and grins at me, licking his lips. “Such a sweet girl,” he whispers.

He pulls me up in a sitting position by my hand and kisses me, the hint of me already on his lips. Pulling back slowly, our gazes stay fixed on one another before he goes to talk.

"Clarity, the first time when I said—"

My ringtone from the living room echoes through the house, interrupting Olias. That could be Clarissa or Dad asking about my arrival today!

"One sec," I say. He sighs, stepping aside so I can drop down and run to the phone.

It sits on the coffee table from last night. I grab it, read Natalie's name, and then answer.

"Happy Thanksgiving!" She shouts through the phone.

I grin. "Hi! Feliz día de acción de gracias!" I say slowly.

Was high school Spanish useful after all? Holiday names were the only things I remember, besides how to say cookie.

She snorts a laugh. "Good try, gringa. But don't ever attempt that again. I'm calling with really good news."

I debate sitting on the couch or standing up, then realize the mess between my legs, so I stand as Olias puts away his Guitar.

"Oh really? Like what?"

"I got your NYU application!" She screams. I squeal with her. Why didn't I make her my friend earlier? "And guess what?"

"What?" I ask.

"I also printed out a UCLA application for you because I think you could do great there, too."

UCLA? In California? "Isn't that the college that rejected you? You think I'd get in?"

"Ouch. And Clarity, you showed me your perfect SAT score and grades. And you had a fucking 4.2 high school GPA, that's insane . Not applying is a wasted opportunity."

I bite my cheek. "I mean, yeah, I guess it's just really far. Don't you think so?" Across the country is a big move...

"What do you have in NYC that you can't leave behind for a few years? I know leaving me will break your heart; you don't have to tell me that, but I'll be okay," she jokes.

But I zone out, watching Olias tall frame walk back out of his room down the hallway, his hands in his red plaid pants pockets. His shirt is still off, the tattoos on his abdomen rippling against his muscles. He looks at me and makes a kissy face. I smile. Cutie.

He's here. He's in NYC.

"Um... I'll see, okay? I'll come by and pick them up tomorrow."

"Did what's-his-face come back yet?" She sounds like she's eating something, her words muffled.

"You mean Olias?" From the couch, Olias eyes me at the sound of his name, and I look away, remembering what he did minutes ago, blushing. "Yep, he's back."

"Yeah, give him the phone."

"Why?"

"I wanna make sure he knows that I can kill people. Duh."

I shake my head, walk towards Olias, and kneel on the carpet, putting the phone on speaker.

He lowers his eyes at me, shaking his head.

I nod at him, pushing his knee to speak.

Sighing, he speaks. "Hello," he deadpans.

I put a hand over my mouth as I snicker. I swear he hates everyone on this planet. Anti-social much?

"This is Natalie Reyes, Clarity's best friend," she asserts.

"And why should I care?"

"You should care because you'll be on my hit list for people to assassinate if you do anything to hurt her again. I—" A crash goes through the phone, like a plate falling, "—? Mierda ! Anyways, you better not make her cry."

He looks at me. "Oh, I can make her cry, just not how you think—"

I clamp a hand over his mouth, my eyes bulging out of their sockets.

He did not just say that.

" Gross . Actually gross," Natalie gags. “This is why I love women.”

He peels my hand from his mouth, "So you're gay. You do the same shit," he reasons.

"...Fair point, but it doesn't mean I want to hear about my best friend getting her hoo-ha eaten—"

"Okay, enough ," I pull the phone back, exiting speaker mode. " Both of you are gross. Natalie, I'll come over tomorrow to pick up the applications."

She laughs. "He's definitely better than that Jonah guy, by the way. And okay, see you then, babes."

We end the call, and I go to the kitchen to make myself a bowl of Frosted Flakes. I'll eat, then take a shower, and then get dressed for Dad's house. That's a plan.

The thought of seeing him makes me nervous, but then I think of Clarissa, and I'm excited again.

"What applications?" I hear Olias ask as I reach for the new cereal box in the cabinet. But it's freaking tall.

"College ones,” I tiptoe, but Olias’ arm extends from behind me, grabbing the box and handing it to me. I give him a thankful smile.

He leans against the counter, watching me grab the milk from the fridge. "College, huh? Are you planning on staying in the city?"

I pour. "Yeah, of course." I'm sure I will. UCLA is off the table. Clarissa is here, Olias. My mom might wake up and need me, as well as my dad. I can't go so far. There's no way.

He sighs. "Good. I hope you get in, Clare. You will get in," he corrects himself.

I eat a spoonful of cereal and mutter thanks. "What were you about to say before Natalie called?"

He shakes his head, looking at the floor. "I forgot. Maybe it'll come back to me later."

***

"He's a businessman, right?" Olias questions as we walk into the tall building. "So why is he in a hotel?"

"That's because he owns it and the entire top floor." He manages the most popular five-star hotel in NYC, which also happens to be his home.

Olias opens the second door for me. "And yet he couldn't pay for college for you? Or at least get you a house?"

I sigh, walking towards the reception desk and taking his hand. "I don't understand either. But don't bring it up, okay? Today's going to be peaceful."

He nods.

"Hi, I'm Wendy, welcome to the Red Hotel. Do you have a booking reservation?" Creative name, dad . The lady at the front desk asks me, but her eyes are on Olias. Eyeing him.

I shake my head. "No, I'm Clarity Red, Denzel Red's daughter. I'm here for Thanksgiving."

She rolls her eyes, looking at me as if she just realized I'm here. " Sure . Are you paying with a card or cash?"

"Didn't you hear me? I'm—"

"Look, we get people claiming to be his family about five times a week." She turns to Olias. "Are you two together?"

I twist my lips, looking at Olias. Is she serious?

He squints his hard eyes, "Wendy, I don't know if you're fucking deaf , but my girlfriend wasn't finished speaking."

Girlfriend.

She begins to stutter sorry, her eyes dropping from him. "I didn't mean it like that. I meant—"

"Don't say sorry to me . Was I the one you interrupted with your rude ass?"

I grip his arm, urging him to calm down. He seems very protective. I like the sense of security, but Jesus.

Wendy looks at me. "I'm sorry for cutting you off, ma'am. May I see your ID for verification?"

I nod, pulling my ID out and handing it to her. Her eyes widen, realizing I wasn't lying, and she hands it back to me along with the elevator key card. "So sorry again. Both of you."

I brush it off. "It okay—"

Olias tugs at my hand. "You coming?" he asks softly, trying his hardest to get away from Wendy, it seems. He's such a baby.

Calling the elevator, we step in, pressing thirty-five. It might be a longer ride up than the car ride here.

"You were a bit excessive," I tell him.

He looks at me. "No, I wasn't. She wanted me, and I had to make it clear who I belonged to."

My guts melt when he says things like that. My lower lip pokes out slightly as I look up at him, stepping closer to lean my head against his shoulder.

He belongs to me ? All for free? This big package? I'm one lucky girl.

His long arm wraps around my shoulders, and he bends to kiss my forehead. "So if I have to be rude to make it known, I will."

"You said, girlfriend . That I was your girlfriend," I state, the words floating in the elevator. Was it just a fake reason like he did with the doctor?

He tilts my chin up with a hooked finger. I look at him. or more so, his lips as he speaks. "Did you like it when I called you my girl?"

I smile shyly, nodding. "Yes."

He smirks. "Yeah?" His voice low, kissing me slowly. Butterflies. E verywhere .

"Mhm." I kiss him, too.

"Then that unofficially settles it."

I tilt my head. "Unofficially?" What does that mean?

He nods. "You'll find out soon. Be patient, my pretty girl."

The door opens, but as soon as it does, a scream bursts my eardrums open. And a second later, I'm getting tackled .

"CLARITY!" Clarissa greets me, squeezing me tight.

Her hugs are a solid nine out of ten. Olias has some serious competition here.

Her hair is just like mine, brown and long. When she smiles largely, her eyes wrinkle like mine. But she's at least an inch or two... or three, shorter than me. But besides that, she's still me and my mom's mini-me's.

"Issy! Hi!" I cackle, leaning my head on hers.

She leans back and ushers me out of the elevator into a very furnished and expensive-looking hallway. These five-star hotels are insanely nice.

Olias follows behind quietly.

"Clarity, I have so much to tell and show you—" she gasps, "—can we have a show and tell? Please?" She asks.

I laugh. "Yeah, sure. You still have to show me your logos; those sound awesome." She jumps, excited at my interest, as we walk down the hall.

Clarissa looks behind her and then at me. "Who's that guy following us?" She whispers.

I giggle, stopping my walk to take Olias in my other hand. "This is my boyfriend," I introduce him, and a sense of relief floods over me.

A boyfriend that doesn't punish me. Or yell at me. Or hurt me. I smile.

Clarissa's eyes widen, running across us to walk to Olias’ side. I can't tell what he's thinking, and his face is straight.

She holds Olias hand. "Hi, I've always wanted a brother."

Olias immediately cracks his expressionless face and smiles down at her, his hand 7holding hers and mine. Him in the middle.

"Brother?" he says curiously.

Clarissa nods. "You two are getting married in the future, right? Then I'll be your sister-in-law, and you can be my brother. Do you do piggyback rides by any chance? I heard brothers are good for that."

Married? I always thought I'd marry Jonah. Now, that's out of the question completely. But honestly, I hadn't thought about me and Olias future much.

But we look at each other with smiles before he turns to her. "You’ll just have to find out. Won't you?”

Clarissa points to a door with a turkey cutout on it, and we pause.

"Here's Dad's door," she says.

My nerves jump, and my hand tightens around Olias. His thumb runs circles on the back of my hand, gradually easing my nerves as Clarissa knocks.

"I waited for you out here for an hour after you said you were coming," she blurts. She's the best.

The door opens, and I'm greeted by the fantastic scent of food. I can't wait to eat. I haven't eaten since this morning—

My dad comes from around the door, but he's different from how I remembered him.

He's in a wheelchair .

My brows lift as I stare at him. A smile is on his face. "Girls, Clarity , it's so good to see you!" he says, then glances at Olias for a second. I should probably close my hanging mouth and say hi, but I can't get him being in a wheelchair out of my head.

Clarissa lets go of Olias hand and walks between us. "Dad, this is my soon-to-be brother..." she cups a hand around her mouth to whisper, "What's your name?"

"Olias."

She turns to Dad. " Olias ."

My dad raises his eyebrows and looks at me. "Married?"

I shake my head, embarrassed at the awkwardness. "No, this is my boyfriend. Clarissa is just excited."

"Ah, that sounds like her. Clarissa, go get Regina."

My sister rushes into the house, and my dad wheels backward so we can enter. Olias lets me go in first. We hang coats on a hook. When I try to let go of his hand, he clasps it around mine tighter.

I stare at him, and he looks around blankly—my big, shy baby.

The house is amazing—actually, amazing is an understatement. It's supercalifragilistic—I have to get that word out of my head.

A small chandelier hangs from the living room ceiling, and leather couches and candles are on the side tables. A Christmas tree decorated to perfection is up, although it's next month. A table sits at the side of the dinner area, with a few chairs, plates, and dishes of food already on it.

"It's amazing in here," I say to Olias. He hums in agreement.

I turn back to Dad, who's wheeling his way inside the living room. He looks the same, face-wise. The same chiseled chin and brown hair that's now turning gray at the roots.

But I keep eyeing his wheelchair. When did he get it? And how?

"Clarity, you're so big now. You look just like your mother, along with Clarissa."

I smile. That's not false.

He waves a hand to the dinner table. "Come sit. My wife's in the kitchen finishing the potato salad."

"Potato salad? You mean the one I like?" I question, walking to the table.

My dad laughs. "I wasn't sure if you still liked it, but I'm glad I made it now."

I smile and go to pull out my chair, but Olias pulls it out for me. What a gentleman.

I sit down. "Thank you.” He swiftly sneaks a kiss against my cheek and sits beside me.

I love his outfit today. Even though it still looks like he's going to a funeral with a black button-up dress shirt and pants. I told him to wear a splash of color so he could match with me, so he ended up wearing a red ring for the short red flowing dress. Getting out of the house with this dress and Olias was a tough task. He couldn't keep his needy hands off me. We even went for round two with his mouth—no, it's not the time to think about that , Clarity.

He even combed his hair, but it still looks fluffy and messy. I like it like that, though.

"So, Olias," my dad wheels into the table. "How long have you known Clarity?"

"Two months and a day," he says off the top of his head.

My dad nods. "You look like a very respectable man. How old are you."

Olias leans back, and I can see irritation rising. "Twenty-three."

My dad looks at me and then Olias. "Five years apart..." he looks uncertain like something else is on his mind. "Have you finished college, Olias?"

"Dad..." I say, but Olias speaks.

"Why are you playing twenty-one questions with me when your daughter you haven't seen or talked to in years is right in front of your face?"

My face burns with embarrassment, I put a hand on Olias' bouncing lap. He's trying, I know.

My dad is spared from answering when Clarissa enters the room, along with a pretty lady—Regina, I assume.

She's a dark-skinned woman with long braids and a large smile that shows her pearly white teeth as she carries a pot with a cloth on the handles.

"Hi, you two! I'm Regina," she places down the pot of mashed potatoes. My stomach grumbles. She extends a hand to me, and I shake it. "Clarity, right?"

I nod. "Nice to meet you." I introduce her to Olias, and he shakes her hand too.

I know he's bothered with my dad, but I'm glad he's holding it in. Like I am. I can't blame Olias for thinking what I am.

Everyone sits down, Regina at the end, and Dad and Clarissa across from us.

"So," Regina tries to start a conversation with me, "Clarissa told me you both want to be doctors!"

I nod, reaching for the food dishes to fill my plate. "Yeah, I'm working on it. I'm applying to several colleges tomorrow, hoping for a scholarship or something," I laugh, but it goes nowhere.

"Dad, how did the wheelchair happen?" I ask. I would know if he called me... ever.

He looks up from his plate, then down. The subject must be sensitive. I'm the worst conversation starter.

"Oh, it was a couple of months ago, really. I was on the road when this car crashed into me. A terrible accident."

I frown. "No charges were made?" I ask, stuffing my face with potato salad. What careless drivers.

He shakes his head. "I was at fault. I was texting a co-worker at the time... and it was raining. Everything was just bad timing."

Clarissa buds in. "But he's better now!" she says, lighting the room up with her smile. My dad smiles, nodding his head.

Olias still shakes his leg against mine. Twisting the ring on his finger under the table.

I take his hand, locking it with mine, which seems to ease his anti-social problem.

We spent around an hour just eating, and the entire dinner was pretty awkward, but towards the end, the conversation picked up about random topics.

Olias was quiet for most of it. Not surprising.

As I help Regina clean up and pick up plates, she stops me and tells me she'll do it all. Then I turn to Olias as he taps my hip.

"What's wrong?" I say quietly. The look on his face worries me.

"Can I speak to you? In the bathroom?"

I squint my eyes. "Olias, this is my dad's house. If you’re thinking about—"

"No, I just need to tell you something. And I don't feel good."

I nod, realizing he's serious.

"Excuse us," I say, taking his hand and making my way to the back of the house, finding a bathroom.

Immediately, Olias lifts the seat and drops to the floor, throwing up all the food he's just eaten.

I gasp, dropping to the floor beside him. "Olias!"

A cold chill of worry rushes over me. My heart stops. I stand up, ready to yell for help, but he grabs my hand.

Wiping his mouth and leaning against the door, he pants, "No,"

I kneel beside him, grab his head, and feel his forehead. "Sunshine, you're sick. You need help. Was it the food? Are you allergic to anything?"

He shakes his head, tears forming as his face goes askew. "It was your dad, Clarity.”

My brows dip low as I try to understand him. “My dad,” I repeat blankly. “What was my dad?”

“My sister, my parents. He was the one that crashed into them. Your dad. It was your dad."