4. Oliver
Oliver
They say obsession is a sudden-onset fixation with indefinite duration; an autonomous drive to secure, study, and possess a single subject.
I never understood it. Until I saw her. The first time, the sensation I felt was new.
Tight chest, air too thin, eyes that wouldn’t look away.
Panic attack, I told myself. That was the only conclusion.
That was a lie.
I meant to ignore her. After all, she was nothing special.
That was a lie, too. She was special in every way that mattered.
I didn't know it at the time. When she opened that pretty mouth of hers, the melodic tone of her voice and sharp tongue were the start of my undoing. The need only spiraled from there.
She’s fascinating. In five days, you can learn plenty about a person.
For Lyra, it’s how she chews her bottom lip when she’s thinking, how her fingers twitch when she wants to lash out, how her eyes dim when Jade enters the room.
Most people would look over such details.
I never miss anything when it comes to Lyra.
Now I know what the burning in my chest is. The why is yet to be determined.
Maybe it started the night I saw her sprinting through the forest, as if someone were chasing her. For a moment, I thought she was going to jump. For anyone else, that thought would send them into a state of panic. The natural instinct to go and help. A frantic need to stop it.
I felt none of that. Instead, a curious aching to approach.
I watched, waiting to see if I would be the one to watch her take her last breath. To see what it would do to me. Instead, she shocked me, skidding to a stop, breathing hard, looking defeated yet proud.
I didn’t plan on coming out of the trees and the cover of darkness. I was content to stay unseen. Something pulled me to speak to her. To make my presence known.
I intend to find out everything about her.
Why does she have shadows in her eyes? Why did she transfer?
Why does Jade hate her? How close was she to Blaine?
That one frays the leash I keep on myself.
I don’t do jealousy. Never felt jealous of a single thing or person in my life.
Yet the image of his hands on her makes me want to break them to ensure they can never touch her again. The leash tightens.
The only people I’ve ever cared to ask questions about have been Callan and Vienna. Even then, it’s few and far between. But with Lyra, I can’t get enough.
My father always said something was wrong with me.
Feelings were missiles, weapons to use, and emotions were punished.
So, I locked them away and observed instead.
Silence was suffocating, and the only acceptance.
It wasn’t until I was eight that something in me changed—an unmistakable shift.
I knew it, my parents knew it, and even teachers knew it.
Now my father is dead, but the damage is never too far from the surface.
Lyra Sloane has been the second shift in my life, and this one is…
puzzling. I watch her hang out with her friend, Roxy, and pull Vienna into her orbit; I watch her walk the lit paths through campus; I watch her go to the coffee shop one too many times to be healthy for her.
I watch her be nice to everyone, smiling, yet it doesn’t always reach her eyes.
I catalog it all.
She steps out of her dorm in sweats and a T-shirt, long blonde hair in a high pony, her face free of makeup.
She looks vulnerable, something I haven’t seen from her just yet.
Her face is flushed as she stares up at the night sky.
I lean back against a tree. What would she think if she knew I was watching her?
I didn’t plan to stay here all night; only until her light flicked out would have been suitable.
It never did. An hour passed, then another, and still I waited.
She steps off the steps and, tentatively, as if scared, crosses the grass toward the tree line.
This section of trees is sparse, leading to a cliff that overlooks the Pacific.
She doesn’t make it ten steps before she halts and, again, lifts her face upward.
I cock my head, waiting for her next move.
She takes a slow step, then pauses. Her chest rises and falls, tiny fists clenching at her sides.
She doesn’t go any farther—just stands there, staring out into the field before she drops to her knees.
What are you doing?
I itch to step closer, but I refrain. Lyra wipes her cheeks, stands, and marches back to her room. Before going inside, she flips off the forest like it personally wronged her.
A smile pulls at my lips.
I know getting close to her won’t be easy. Her walls are high and set for a reason. I will take them apart brick by brick. Patience is not a skill I practice, but I will for Lyra, until that patience wears thin.
The situation with Jade will be an issue.
If I have to cut her out completely, I will.
Fucked-up people recognize it in others.
It’s a quiet kind of understanding, a click you feel before you can name it.
I saw it in Jade the first week. It piqued my curiosity, but not enough to dig.
Not until Vienna started asking Jade questions.
After that, I started showing up, close enough to keep watch.
Jade stood beside a person Callan would bleed for.
Which means I would be there to make sure Vienna is never hurt.
And now that Lyra has stepped into my line of sight, no one gets to take her out of it.
“Where have you been?” Callan asks as I walk into my room.
“I went to watch Lyra.”
“Jesus, Oliver.” He pauses the show, looking at me like I am the problem. He isn’t far off.
“Why are you in here?” I drop my keys and wallet on the table before grabbing a water from the fridge. “You live off campus in your own apartment.”
“I’m waiting on Vee; she has a group thing until midnight.” He rubs the back of his neck. “After the other day, I’m not having her walk around at night.”
“Don’t blame you, not in the mood to clean up another mess.”
“Yeah.” He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. “I know I've told you, but…thanks for helping.”
I shake my head. “Don’t. I don’t want or need a thank you.”
He nods, letting it go. “So, Lyra?”
I push off the counter and take a seat at the opposite end of the couch. “She was the person from the forest.”
This information has him straightening. “Why didn’t you tell me Monday?”
“Didn’t feel the need.”
“Didn’t feel the…Fuck me. My god. Did she see anything?” He runs his hands through his hair, agitated.
I scowl. “No, she didn’t see anything. If she did, she wouldn’t be walking around campus.”
He lets out a long breath. “Okay, good. I like her; she’s good for Vee.”
“I agree,” I say, holding back a grin.
His phone lights up beside him on the couch. “Gotta run, Vienna’s out.” He stands. “See you tomorrow.”
I nod as he leaves.
The room goes quiet again, but my mind doesn’t. I stare at the blank wall and think about tomorrow—about seeing Lyra again—about how quickly five days turned into a pattern I can’t break.
And I don’t want it to.