Chapter 27 OLIVIA #2
How much did he see? Why isn’t he questioning me?
Why isn’t he asking me what happened? Instead he’s just comforting me, helping me.
Telling me it’s going to be fine and calming me down.
But I don’t believe him. I don’t think it’s going to be fine.
It doesn’t feel fine. It feels like I’m about to explode and-
“Hey, Olivia.” I hear his voice, but it’s faint in my head.
Everything goes black and I realize I’m having an anxiety attack.
A panic attack. Something. “Fuck, Olivia. Stay with me.” His words are faded, drifting to the back of my mind.
But he steels me, holding me up and trying to calm me down. But it’s no use.
For a moment, I squeeze my eyes shut and send my body flying off that fucking cliff, manifesting my fall, recrafting the scenario in my head.
It’s too much. There’s so much pain there.
I need something to anchor me, bring me back down to earth.
Something to pull me out of that danger in my own head.
I look up at him, able to make out the worry in his eyes and his lips moving, while everything else spins around us. He’s here. He’s here and I need something to stop the destruction, to understand what I just did and he seems to be that person.
Jensen.
I press my palms to his chest, an attempt to stop my surroundings from spinning. Then I lean up on my toes and…
My tears rack me, every emotion that swarms my heart shatters and cuts into me over and over again.
I realize I’m slumped against Trace’s body.
He’s holding me, running his hand up and down my naked back.
My pussy aches, and I can feel his cum seeping between us as he softens inside me.
But regardless, he just holds me while I cry; finally remembering what I did to him.
“I kissed him,” I state in a broken timbre. A fact that doesn't seem real. But it’s clear as day in my head now, the memory of what I did to Trace that night.
Tears roll down my cheek, burning a path from the corners of my eyes and down to the edge of my chin.
I bury my head into his neck, feeling like I’ve failed him.
Knowing that this is what broke him all those years ago.
He leans back and forces me to face him.
And his approach is gentle, an absolute contract to the last twenty-four hours alone.
He pulls me in, his hand resting against my face and he presses his lips softly to mine, kissing away the tears that shed over my mouth and replacing them with fleeting touches over understanding.
But I hate myself. The memory sink into my guy, a vile burst of affliction splinters inside of me and I pull away from his delicacy.
I don't deserve the sweet part of him. Now I know that I deserve his fucking wrath.
I know now why he's been so hell-bent on causing me pain, releasing his anger out on me.
I want to climb off of him. I don’t deserve to have him like this. But I can’t move. Numb to the memory, recalling the moment I cheated on Trace and broke my promise to him.
I promise you with my whole fucking heart, I’m all yours. There will never be anyone else, and I’ll never do anything to hurt you.
But then there was Jensen and I, alone in the forest. He brought me back from something—something I still can’t seem to remember—and I accepted his comfort, twisting it into something I could use. I kissed him.
In my memory, I’m wearing the same clothes I left the cabin in and the moon is higher in the midnight blue sky. A moment of weakness brought on by something I can barely even recall.
I betrayed Trace.
And he saw.
But why was I so distraught? What had me so afraid, so vulnerable to the point where I sought comfort in someone else? So much so that I practically needed it.
I blink. And blink again. Everything going numb. How could I have not remembered that after all this time? Why was the memory taken from me? How could I do something like that?
I attempt to remove myself from Trace. Sorrow engulfs me. But he holds me in place, forcing me to stay.
“Trace, I-”
I don’t even know what to say, my voice is hoarse and my eyes cloud with tears. And these damn stupid lights still flicker around us as cheers and chatter and screams melt with the sounds of Halloween music in the background.
He guides my head back down to his shoulder, holding me there for a moment before standing up with me still wrapped in his arms. He slides out of me, before turning and setting me down on the chair.
I can’t even look at him, but I hear him getting his pants back on and what I assume to be him tucking his gun back into his waistband, and then I feel him.
“Put this on, Liv,” he tells me and the chill I get—not the good kind—when he says my name like that, it breaks me.
He doesn’t call me Liv. He calls me Olivia, or Flower, or Reckless, or Livie. Even fucking fearslut. But never Liv.
I can feel his pain. He’s been shoving it down for so long, and now that he knows that I can remember, it’s like he’s reliving it all over again too. I can tell he wants to comfort me, but I'm not sure I deserve it.
I lift my head to see that he’s handing me the hoodie he was wearing, but this time I take it without hesitation and slide it over my head.
My heart aches, shattering all over again.
I know how I would feel if I’d caught him kissing someone else, no matter the circumstance.
I know it would have crushed me too. But what causes me even more unease is the fact that I wasn’t in my right mind, at least that’s what it felt like, and I can’t even recall what got me that way.
The last thing I can remember before that was leaving the cabin.
Trace and I made love and then we said we'd give it the night. We’d spend one last night in this town, up here in the Pines before telling everyone about us, before telling his sister, my brother, my dad and then we’d go from there. But it was the last I ever saw of him.
I stand on my feet, collecting myself as I let the hoodie fall down to my knees.
Trace is watching me and I can’t tell what he’s thinking, his proverbial mask is slipped back on as usual.
But then I feel anger again. And this time, it’s not just towards myself.
It’s for him and for everything else. For the situation.
And then confusion greets me, wondering why the fuck my brain chose this moment to revive that memory.
He doesn’t speak, he just looks at me. I start to feel overwhelmed by my surroundings, feeling like my body is about to collapse within itself. Suddenly, my sadness twists into something sour, my pain manifesting into something I can’t quite get my finger on.
“I kissed Jensen,” I state stalely, craving a reaction out of him. “I kissed him. And you saw.”
Trace still stares at me, unmoving and it doesn't even really seem like he’s even here with me at all. Like his eyes are void of life and he’s looking right through me. But I know that’s the mask. I know he’s disguising his emotions.
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” I ask, the concept that this could have all been avoided had he just confronted me about it. I mean, that has to be the case, right?
But he doesn’t answer.
“Trace, I asked you a fucking question.” I raise my voice, starting to feel aggression take over even as tears of heartbreak still cover my face. “Why didn’t you just confront me about it?” My voice cracks, so does my heart. Everything feelings too powerful for me to control.
He steps in, lowering his voice as he lifts my face to look up at him. “Do you remember why you found yourself in Jensen’s arms, Olivia? Do you remember why you were that vulnerable in the first place?”
I shake my head, feeling tears threaten me once more. All I know is that I was distraught. I was disturbed. I was haunted. I can feel it even now, sunken into my bones, something happened and I can’t remember what.
“No, I can’t remember. But-”
“But,” he interrupts me. “But you kissed him. I didn’t know until later that you had lost your memory from that night.
But by then, the damage had been done. I already felt too fucking torn to pieces, and I knew I had to let you go.
” His answer doesn’t do anything except frustrate me more.
Only because I now know that he didn't come for me after that likely due to what he saw.
But had he just approached me, confronted me, I would have owned up to it.
I wanted to tell him. I remember that feeling, I remember pulling away from Jensen and feeling regret instantly.
But everything had happened so fast and by the time the bodies were found, the whole night turned into a blur.
Sure, I can empathize with his feelings.
I can see where he’s coming from, I would feel the same way.
I understand his anger and I believe it's valid.
Who am I to say it's not? But to leave me unanswered for as long as he did and then to terrorize me through this damn forest . . . I don’t understand.
“So, you just ghost me for four years, Trace? You thought that that was the right response?” I question him, knowing that I look like a fucking mess as I raise my voice.
“Olivia, you slept with me. You gave your fucking body, mind, and soul to me.
You let me fall in love with you. For a whole year I did nothing but yearn for you, crave you, learn everything about you.
I wanted a future for us, wanted to take you with me.
I ran after you that night. I realized I didn't want to leave you alone, not for another fucking second and not even an hour after I made love to you, you kissed someone else.”
I wince. His words hurt. They hurt because I know it's fucked him up. I can see that. But it's not fair. It's not fair to not even ask me for an explanation. Granted, one I don't even know I would have been able to give. But he could have tried.