21. He’s not my soulmate. He’s my problem
He’s not my soulmate. He’s my problem
The week blurs in fractured moments. No one warned me that having a psychopathic stalker would be so fucking frustrating. Every day, he changes tactics. Once he realizes I’m not playing, I’m just another girl on campus, he will fixate on someone else.
Right?
I’ll never feel secure with Oliver; a small part of me will always wonder if he’s performing with me, too.
I walk into English and slide into my usual seat.
Callan drops on my left; Oliver takes the right.
I calmly get out my laptop and sip my coffee.
We say nothing, but the silence is louder than any noise. I don’t even look at him once.
The next day is more of the same. I cut across the quad with Roxy at my side. A rare moment we both have free time now that classes are ramping up. The shadow at my back is ever-present. Roxy finds it all so hilarious.
“Your stalker looks not so jovial today,” she says, glancing back at him to me and back again.
“I’m glad. It’s a taste of his own medicine.” I settle for ignoring Oliver as he trails after us.
“I like this fuck-him attitude you have going on.”
“It feels good.”
By Friday, Oliver looks volatile. My hands are full of grocery bags as I make my way from my car to the dorm. Oliver is leaning against the front of my building—hands in pockets, skin glistening from the humid air.
“You’re really going to keep ignoring me?” His voice is conversational as people walk around him to get into the building.
“I’m not doing this right now.” I step right. He steps right. I angle left. He angles left.
“Goddamn it, move. These are heavy.”
“Walk away again, and I swear, baby, I’ll make sure we have this conversation. You won’t like how.”
I narrow my eyes. “Is that a threat?”
“Call it a promise.” He peels the bags from my hands without looking away and shoulders the door as if it offended him.
I follow, huffing.
By the time I step into my room, he’s already setting the bags on my small kitchen table.
“I could have done that,” I state, crossing my arms over my chest.
“You could just say thank you.”
“I would rather eat glass.” I smile sweetly.
“That would be very unpleasant.”
“No, unpleasant is being manipulated, lied to, and pulled around.” I point at the door. “Get out.”
He walks past me, stopping to look at the lock. “Lock this, Dollface. Never know who wants to sneak in.”
“No, no, someone please!”
“No one is here to help you, Lyra; you have to find your way out.”
My hand slides off the door handle. The door gives, and the trees swallow me. I’m not sure where I’m going, but I need out. I need help. Needles rake my calves and thighs.
“Help!” Only the trees and animals answer. I run and run. My knee throbs, my stomach bleeds. I’m never getting out.
I jolt awake with my chest locked and my heart punching against my ribs. The sheets are twisted around my legs, clinging to my skin, damp with sweat and tears. For a second, I just sit there, staring into the darkness.
Reaching for the lamp, I flick it on. The warm light spills across the nightstand.
I drag both hands through my hair and force myself to breathe.
I can’t keep doing this. I’m tired down to my bones.
I want normal. I want a full eight hours of sleep without waking up with my heart in my throat.
I want to walk through the trees and not feel my body tense like it’s waiting for something to jump out at me.
I want to sleep next to someone and not be afraid that I will scare them off as soon as I start thrashing.
I strip the sheets, piling them in the corner to do tomorrow, before grabbing my phone.
I hit Roxy’s name. It only rings twice before her groggy voice comes through the line. “Hey…you okay?”
“Yeah…umm, can you come with me to the shower stalls?”
Rustling comes from her end, then her voice clears. “Of course, be there in five.” God, I love her.
She stays with me in the bathroom, talking to me and not talking when I don’t feel up to it. She’s just a silent supporter. A person to make sure no one sneaks inside while I sit on the bathroom floor blasting Lady Gaga.
Callan is having a movie marathon in his living room the next night when I walk in, carrying a bag of snacks. However, the sheepish look on his face makes me narrow my eyes.
I groan. “What?”
“Don’t get mad.” Those three words together are never good. Oliver walks out of whatever corner he was lurking in. I go to walk out, but Oliver’s voice stops me.
“Running again. What is this now? The fourth time this week?” His voice is amused. “You’re avoiding me. Leaving every room I enter, making excuses. It’s exhausting. And frankly, it’s getting on my last nerve.” He stalks over to me, crowding my space until my back hits the wall.
“Maybe I just needed time to figure things out for myself without you always there.”
I can see his mind turning over this new information. Filing it in the Lyra folder I know he keeps in his brain. “That’s not your call to make. Not until you stop lying to yourself about why you’re doing it.”
“Fuck you both. Let me leave, Oliver. Now.” With growing irritation wafting from him, he steps back just enough that I can slide out and leave.
I’m only half listening to the discussion in my study group the following day when I feel a presence next to me.
I look up, watching as Oliver slides into the open seat.
He leans in, kissing my cheek and brushing his nose down my jaw.
“Thought you might need this.” He sets the coffee cup in front of me.
“What are you doing?” I hiss. My group around me has gone quiet. The girls all look at us adoringly, and the two guys look confused.
Oliver leans back, resting a hand on the back of my chair. “Being nice. Can’t I do something thoughtful without being interrogated by my girlfriend?”
I refuse to acknowledge the girlfriend comment. If I fight it, it will only make him enjoy this that much more. “You don’t do thoughtful.” I take the cup, eyeing it with suspicion.
Oliver’s smile doesn’t falter, and I can’t tell if it’s genuine. “Maybe I’m evolving.”
“That’s so sweet.” Cassie, a girl in the group, sighs.
Oliver looks satisfied. “Look, I figured since you’ve been so busy avoiding me, we can skip apologies and go straight to the part where you forgive me.”
“This doesn’t fix anything.” I take a sip. God, it’s fucking good.
Bastard.
“It’s just coffee.” Oliver stands, kissing the top of my head, dragging his hand through my hair, and leaving as quickly as he came, not bothering to say bye to the people at the table.
The more I ignore Oliver or appear uninterested, the more his patience wears thin. I take a seat next to Callan in the dining hall. Oliver is also there with a few others I don’t know.
“Are you going to talk to me finally?”
“No.”
“Lyra, stop testing me.”
I lean forward, pointing my fork at him, holding back the urge to stab him with it. “Oliver, don’t push me.”
“You’re so fucking frustrating.”
My mouth drops open. Is he for fucking real?
I sputter. “Pot meet kettle.”
“Both of you, shut the fuck up and go and talk, please, for the sake of my sanity,” Callan says in exasperation. “I’ve tried to get you guys to do that once, and it didn’t go well, but for fuck’s sake, it’s been more than a week. The tension is giving me hives.”
So dramatic.
Just then, Oliver's phone lights up on the table. “What the fuck is going on with your phone? Why are you so popular?” Callan eyes it with curiosity.
“No idea.”
“What are they?”
He picks it up and turns it around, revealing the praying-hands image and the note that reads, “God believes you can be better.” Callan bursts out laughing, and I hide my smile.
Monday, Oliver finally snaps. Class was just dismissed after a relatively easy lecture when Oliver slams a hand down on my laptop. I look up at him in surprise. This is the first time he’s lost control in public. “Lyra, my patience has snapped.”
Clearly.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I pull my laptop out from under him, continuing to gather my few items. Callan scurried off as soon as Oliver stood over me.
“Who are you trying to convince, me or you?”
I stand from my chair and attempt to move around him; he blocks my path. I look to see if the professor is still down at the bottom, but she’s gone.
“Move.” I can’t look anywhere else when he grabs my chin and turns me to face him, not hard but forcefully enough to not get out of his grasp.
“I’m tired of you running away from me or avoiding a simple conversation.
I’ve been patient. I’ve been polite. I even brought you coffee, and I’ve never done that for anyone.
However, for you, I will and would. But for some fucked-up reason, you still look at me like I’m the villain you wrote in your head.
You’re going to talk to me. Right now. I’m done letting you run.
We could’ve had an adult conversation a week ago, and you wouldn’t have been sulking.
” I push past him this time and walk out the doors, him following close behind.
“I’m not sulking,” I say indignantly.
He pulls me to a stop in the hallway, backing me up against the wall and once again grabbing my chin. “So, you don’t miss me. The way I make you feel.” I glare at him. “You don’t miss my touch.” His free hand comes up to the back of my neck under my hair, caressing my skin.
Damn it, I did miss him. I missed our conversations and the moments when he let his walls down, even just a little.
“Lyra, are you okay?” I’m too busy with Oliver to notice Molly and Blaine coming up from behind him. I turn to Blaine, Oliver finally releasing my chin, but his hand on my neck remains.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
Molly shakes her head, and I think I catch her eye roll. “Don’t know why you even care about her anymore.”