35. Chapter 35
LUNA
Oliver was gone.
The ultimatum I offered him last night felt like it already had its answer.
But my job wasn’t done. After sobbing by the door for God knows how long, I pulled my big girl pants on and pretended like Surly Bastard was the one who didn’t exist - it being the only way I’d get through the next few days.
Acting as if there was never anything between us, that he wasn’t the person who made me laugh harder than anyone else, the one who read me like a book, and worshipped every inch of my skin.
The man who flew back home early just to see me, or always found a way for us to touch; otherwise, the world didn’t make sense. I tried to act like that man wasn’t real, that it was all in my head.
It worked too; when I woke up Saturday morning, it didn’t feel like my heart weighed a ton.
Theo and I had a blast spending the day at the care home with Tracy and the kids.
We sang, laughed, and played all day to our hearts’ content, well…
It was almost the perfect day until my phone buzzed during the cab ride home.
While Theo gazed out the window, I received a notification to inform me that my monthly payment had come through. My payslip was sent through email, highlighting the bonus pay I received for looking after Theo on weekends like this.
Back when I first started this job, I always thought I’d be jumping for joy the day I got paid, what I was going to do with the money, how much I’d save, what portion of it would go to Tracy and the kids and how to treat my family too, but in this moment, all I felt was sick.
I wasn’t happy to have a stable income, less than thrilled to see so many digits in my account, because I didn’t want it.
I wanted Oliver…and Theo, the happy family dynamic we’d had the past few weeks. How I wished all this money could turn back time and take me back to where things were good. In that moment, I shoved my feelings down and pocketed my phone.
Then the rest of the day just fell apart.
When we reached home, Theo refused to go to bed because Oliver hadn’t called.
I tried multiple times, sent him dozens of texts and emails, trying to figure out how on earth I could reach him because his child was having a meltdown at the thought of not speaking to him before bed like he did every day.
I resorted to calling Min-Joon. He’d given me his number when he came to stay, but I never needed a reason to use it till now.
Luckily, he picked up after the second ring.
I explained that Oliver wasn’t picking up, I was overwhelmed, and Theo wouldn’t stop crying.
Luckily, he saved the day, calming Theo down and finding a good workaround as to why Oliver was unavailable and thanking his fine ass for convincing Theo to go to bed and that Oliver would be there when he woke up in the morning.
Min-Joon remains on the phone throughout the late bedtime story I read to Theo, and after I tuck him in and close the door.
Min-Joon’s gentle smile of understanding beams back at me.
Yet another person who could read that I was far from okay and who knew how exhausting it was being around a man like Oliver could be.
Thankfully, he didn’t pry, though I did feel desperate to ask him for help yet again, to ask if what I was trying to fight for was worth the battle, but I held back.
After all, he’s Oliver’s best friend at the end of the day, so his loyalty will always lie with him.
Instead. I express that I hadn’t verbally spoken to Oliver and just wanted to know that he was okay.
To which Min-Joon reassures me that He’d get in touch with him or Nigel and let me know when he does.
Nigel.
A person I’d forgotten was a form of contact; I could barely think straight. I was tired and just wanted Theo to stop screaming during his meltdown - the reason the house currently looked like it had been turned upside down.
Part of Theo’s tantrum earlier resulted in my chasing him around the house, while he threw his toys about in protest and anything else he got his hands on.
After Min-Joon hung up, I headed down to start cleaning up.
I got about halfway through when my phone pinged.
I unlocked it, expecting it to be Min-Joon or, better yet, Oliver.
In any case, I was ready to unleash my fury onto him…
but instead, my heart felt like it was in my throat and I almost dropped my phone.
TOP NEWS STORY:
MASS SHOOTING TAKING PLACE OUTSIDE SEATTLE HOTEL
The taste of acid crept on my tongue, and I forgot how to breathe, clicking on the article. The more I read through it, the more panic arose within me.
T-this was right outside the hotel Oliver was staying in.
Information I knew because Nigel always sent me the name of the hotel and its contact info when Oliver went away, on the off chance I couldn’t reach either of them.
I tried it earlier, but they wouldn’t give me any information, probably assuming I’m a psycho stalker.
I tried again, explaining who I am and forwarding the email Nigel sent me as proof I’m not crazy, but it didn’t do any good.
Whether it was because of the panic of what was happening, the hotel clerk was unhelpful and took no shame in hanging up on me to answer another call.
I slump against the back of the sofa, and anxiety churns in my stomach as I try to think about what to do…I tried Oliver’s number again, a few times, but the last time it didn’t even ring; it just went straight to voicemail.
Of all the fucking times this bastard doesn’t answer his phone, I groan in frustration, gripping my phone painfully tight and feeling the panic crawl up my throat. Quickly, trying to will it away, I dial Nigel’s number - but that goes to voicemail too.
Chewing on my bottom lip, I leave Nigel a voicemail expressing my concern, wishing him well and asking if he could kindly call me back when he can.
Next, I text the article I’d seen to Min-Joon before trying to call him again.
Aware that I spoke to him a mere twenty minutes ago, but I was starting to spiral, and I needed something to ground me - anything to reassure me that my panic was just an overreaction, but like the others, he doesn’t pick up.
Why couldn’t men answer their fucking phones?!
I try once more before settling on sending him another text to check if he’s heard anything. The anxiety within me travels to my legs, sweat starts to seep through my pores, and I have to clutch the sofa tightly to force myself to stay calm.
“Oliver is okay, Nigel is okay, and they’re probably caught up in the courtroom like last time, nowhere near the tragedy. They are safe.” Words I have no choice but to try to convince myself are true.
I tell myself this sense of worry just has me on edge because Oliver and I are in a tiff.
That I just needed to wait; no news was good news.
If I continued tidying up, that would keep me distracted, and everything would be okay…
but when the feeling in my legs doesn’t come back, I guide myself around to sit.
Hands braced on my knees, and I take slow, deep breaths.
A few minutes pass; my skin is hot and clammy, the deep breathing does nothing as my hands start to tremble, and as a bead of sweat rolls off my face, so does my ability to stay positive in the silence.
Oliver never said goodnight to Theo; he always says goodnight to Theo, even when he isn’t talking to me, even if it means storming out of a courtroom so he could keep his promise to his brother.
He never forgets about Theo.
There is only one reason Oliver wouldn’t have communicated with me by now, and that’s if he couldn’t, because he was injured during the shooting.
Or worse…
What if he was abandoned in the heat of the panic?
Oh my god…w-what if Oliver’s de-
Words I don’t dare voice as hot tears of worry trickle down my cheeks, and my trembling hands reach for the TV controller.
After another ten minutes had passed and still nothing, I forced myself off the sofa and tried to start cleaning again, hoping that organisation would be the perfect distraction.
About to do the one thing that’ll tip me over the edge, but Min-Joon hadn’t replied, Nigel hadn’t called back, and Oliver was nowhere to be found.
I was desperate for any information…even if it meant watching the news.
Another ten minutes passed, alternating between trying to clean up as a distraction, pacing back and forth on the carpet, and sitting on the edge of the sofa as the news covered the aftermath of the shooting. My eyes never left the TV, and I dread the potential sight of Oliver’s body on the screen.
Would I see him lying in the street with a bullet in his chest?
Had he been hit by a car trying to avoid the shooter? Now he was lying in a hospital bed labelled as a John Doe, or worse. Was he in the mortuary, waiting to be identified?
The spiral I was trying to keep at bay had reached its limit.
My breathing grew heavy, my heart raced, my hands vibrated, and the tears wouldn’t stop.
Every time I swallowed, it felt like nails were scraping down my throat as I hung onto the news anchor’s every word, the footage grew more graphic, and the death toll continued to rise.
****
Two whole hours had passed by.
All I could see was Oliver’s cold, dead body on the sidewalk.
He’s gone.
He’s gone.
That’s when the haunted memory of that day I showed up to the hospital played vividly in my mind: the bile in my throat, the pale look on Gran’s face, and I knew my Haraboji, my Ji-ji, was gone.
One day, my precious Ji-ji was laughing along with me on the phone prior…
and just like that, two hours later, he was gone.
Now Oliver is gone too.
A dead body on the news, poorly covered by a white sheet, was being peeled off the ground, onto a gurney, and into an ambulance; a male body wearing a suit.