Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
OLIVER
I 'm crouched down on my haunches, sucking in the smoke from my joint, as I stare off into the darkness. The sounds from within the house stopped a few minutes ago, but here I remain. I value my peace and quiet. That's one reason I don't like kids at all. They're too loud, much like the other occupants of the house. It's a good thing I invested in soundproofing my bedroom, but sometimes even that place is a claustrophobe's worst nightmare.
I spent a good part of my life in a small cell, staring at white walls, unable to let out any excess energy. It was no fun at all. The only companion I had was myself and I'm not the best at socializing, never have been. Part of it was my fault though. I did kill two kids in my first week at Arlene. It was their fault. They stared at me for too long.
Now, I crave the solitude, but if anyone tried to send me back there, it would probably drive me to true insanity. One stint there was more than enough to convince me not to kill people.
I was originally taken to Arlene to be assessed after watching my father die in front of me, but something about seeing what I did fractured something inside my mind. I'd never seen blood before and seeing his skull crushed on the pavement was too much for my young mind. I became numb to all human feelings so much so that the professionals at Arlene deemed me a danger to society and slapped the label of "psychopath" on me.
I was taught morals growing up, but even that didn't matter. I learned to weigh the cause and effects of all situations. "If I do this, are the consequences worth it?" That's what I ask myself every day. Usually, the answer is no.
The only emotions I have felt in any capacity since my father's tragic death are anger and protectiveness. Nothing else and those are very rare situations.
I felt the protectiveness stronger a few hours ago than I ever have and it was toward a crazy princess who looked at me like she was waiting for me to rescue her and what was she looking for me to rescue her from? Nigel, my only real friend.
Why did she look at me though? I've shown her nothing but the devil beneath my skin. I'm not her Prince Charming ready to storm the castle to defend her honor. I stay in my own lane and keep my head down until someone pisses me off or I have no choice but to step in.
I take another drag off my joint as I contemplate the possibilities, but my train of thought is interrupted by the door slamming open, ricocheting off the siding with a loud thud. My head snaps around at the noise and I watch from the shadows as the slender feminine figure runs out the door to the edge of the porch.
I know Judy is here and she has a much different shape to her and always stays covered, unlike the shadow before me. That only leaves one other possibility for who has intruded on my solitude.
She leans over, gripping her knees, and breathes heavily, taking air in rapidly. Then, she drops to her knees and vomits over the edge of the porch, sobs reverberating through the silence of the night. Not even the wind howls. The only thing I can hear is her.
This isn't the behavior of a woman who is ill. No, no, no. This is something much, much worse.
I won't admit it to anyone, but I'm guilty of watching every move she makes in my presence. Something about her draws me in like a moth to a flame and I've yet to determine what the culprit of my growing obsession is. In all the time I've spent watching her, I've never seen her like this, broken beyond understanding.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, announcing my presence before standing to my full height.
Her eyes lift to mine, the fairy green hue sparkling from all the tears, and she moves to her feet. Then, she utters a single word. "Why?" her voice cracks and breaks and I'm startled by the question.
"Why?" She rushes over to me with a mix of anger, pain, and shame across her face and she shoves at my chest, but my body doesn't budge from the weak attempt. She grips my shirt tight as more tears fall down her face.
"Why?" she snaps, her face scrunched in agony. "People are supposed to be safe here if nowhere else in Grove Hill and all of you fucking let him. You let him!" She sobs as she buries her face against my chest, her nails digging through my shirt and tearing into my skin.
I don't know what the feeling is that comes over me, but it's something I've never felt before—not even as a kid. It's something akin to sadness with a dash of anger and a bigger helping of protection.
I should be disgusted and recoil away from her. She is pressing her vomit-covered face against my shirt, but I don't push her away. That's what I should do, but for some reason, I can't.
I don't want to either.
I run my fingers through her damp hair as I feel the devil deep within my soul trying to claw his way to the surface and wreak havoc for whatever happened to her, for whatever one of the few people I give a damn about did to her.
I know that's the "him" she's referring to.
Nigel.
He did something and she was hurt by whatever he did to her. I don't know how much he has told her about what we do, but she knows enough to know we protect people and she was hurt in the very house she should've been safe in.
"Look at me," I demand but keep my tone as soft as I can, trying to be gentle but it's not in my nature.
She lifts her head and meets my gaze, heartbreak across her face. Her tears continue to spill as I say, "Tell me what he did to you."
Her eyes widen and her fingers only slightly loosen their hold on me, but she doesn't try to pull away or look somewhere other than at me. She holds my gaze in the palm of her hands. "Wha-what?"
"Tell me," I press again. "What did Nigel do to you?"
A part of me hopes she doesn't say it. If she does, my hands will be tied and I'll have to do something I really don't want to do. I have my duty, but not all of this is that. A sliver of my psyche needs her confirmation of what my assumptions are.
I see it in her eyes, but she has to say the words.
Nigel fucking raped her.
He broke the rules when we were all in the fucking house.
"I swear to you, he won't ever fucking do it again—not to you, not to anyone—but you have to tell me what happened. I will protect you myself, but you have to say it out loud." I cup her cheek in my hand and her trembling calms down. "Come on, princess. Say it." She leans her face into my hand and I watch something flash in her eyes that I've never seen directed at me, not even by the people I care about.
This woman trusts me to keep her safe and there's a sense of comfort in that. I have people who trust me for certain things, but that is not one of them. Everyone acts like they have to walk on eggshells around me, but no matter how scared she has been around me, she hasn't done that. This woman has gone toe to toe with me and never once acted like I could snap. Hell, I choked her until she almost fell unconscious and she trusted me with that.
She gives me a sense of strength with the faith she has in me—a faith I haven't earned or asked for.
The door flings open and Nigel steps out, rubbing his eyes. "Babe, what are you doing out here?"
Beth nearly jumps out of her skin as she looks at him. I don't want to let her go. In fact, some beast inside me growls at my best friend with a possessive energy and a voice in the back of my head demands I pull her back into me and escort her to my room.
Get it together, Ollie.
I take a deep breath without alerting anyone to my internal battle before dropping my hands from her. I can tell he's suspicious based on how his gaze zeros in on my hands. I was touching her and he knows I don't do affectionate touches with anyone, ever.
I must be going crazy.
"Nothing," she mutters before giving me one last look and darts into the house past him. Nigel narrows his eyes on me, but doesn't say anything about what he just witnessed.
Instead, he says, "Goodnight," but I'm not done.
"Get out here, Nigel," I demand, keeping my voice level.
His eyes widen, but he follows my instruction, letting the door close behind him.
"What's up?" he asks before a yawn tumbles out behind the words.
"I'm going to say this one time and one time only. If I find out you did to her what I think you did?—"
He interjects quickly. "Woah. What are you talking about?"
I glare at him. "Don't fucking bullshit me, man. I have a pretty good idea of what you did to that girl when you dragged her upstairs. We all heard her screaming and with her fucking mental state now…it's clear as day what you fucking did. She wouldn't say it, but I saw it in her fucking eyes. I've seen that look a million times. I know what I saw. If I ever find out that you raped her or anyone for that matter, I will handle you myself," I warn and his eyes widen with surprise. "If I'm not above the rules, neither are you. You got me?"
I don't want to do that to him, but I will if I have to. No one deserves what he did to her.
No one.
If people around this town knew what he did, I know exactly what they would say. "Of course, he's a rapist. Look at who he hangs out with." I may be a psychopath, but I've never raped anyone. I've never had the desire to, either. Rape isn't something necessary for the progression of society, no matter how much a group of conservative politicians would disagree. It's easily avoidable. The only people who do it are the ones who crave control over others and can't get it any other way.
There are no excuses, no logical reasoning that could ever be good enough to rape someone.
"Do you understand me?" I press again and he thins his lips, slowly nodding. "Good." He starts to walk away, but I grab his shoulder. "One more thing," I say, but the second he turns to face me, I punch him right in the stomach. He bends forward, wheezing from the hit. I didn't hit him nearly as hard as I could've. The intention wasn't to cause damage. It was a warning. "If you so much as make her cry again, a punch to the stomach will be the least of your worries. If you pull this shit again, I'll make you regret it. You know how I'll do that? I'll take her from you and I'll treat her so good that she'll forget your fucking name." Then, I turn and head back inside, the rage still swirling through my body.
If I didn't walk away, I probably would've done much, much worse than he can fathom. The thread was so close to snapping and all over a fucking woman.
Fuck my life.