8. Olivia
Day 1
I feel drained and weightless.
I’m sure my brain is about to have a seizure from the stress it has been put through from when I got here.
I haven’t had much rest, the sleep I’m just waking up from is not nearly enough to lower the heaviness in my head or get rid of chainsaw drilling through my system.
Barbara died after she ate the cake I made for her wedding.
And as if that wasn’t enough, I’m here in Ronan’s house as a prisoner.
What was I thinking when I kissed him right after he lost his wife?
I should have at least waited Why is it so hard to get it together with Ronan?
Why does he still have that effect on me?
It was like we had never been separated. The feeling, the rush, the urgency, the desire—everything was as it once was, if not even more mature and defined.
In the years we’ve been apart, I have dated men, but none has ever been able to set me on fire like Ronan effortlessly does. No hookups or friends with benefits have ever been able to even come close. Nothing has ever been as satisfying.
I was his.
And when he wasn’t there anymore, I had to focus on my career. There was hardly any time to think about Ronan, love, or men.
Except at night, alone in my bed, when the thoughts and longing came back with force. I even began baking in the middle of the night to distract myself, and it worked for a while.
Then last week, I realized that all I had been doing was avoiding the truth and the gnawing emptiness.
I huff and sit up on the bed. I’m not at all bothered by the bright light or the three-dimensional portrait of the Virgin Mary.
What would happen if I started to scream? I dart my eyes around the room, then, for the umpteenth time, I stand from the bed, fasten the sash of my robe tightly, and go over to the window to peep through the fog.
I can’t say if it’s spray paint or some technology at work, but it’s impossible to see anything through the window. And the most annoying part is that it takes up one-third of this room.
Absolute darkness wherever I look.
Are there people walking on the other side? The building is a castle. Ornate in its right. Intimidating like the owner. And a little cold and withdrawn from civilization. It’s mesmerizing at first glance and somehow creates an illusion of safety.
Ronan made a house that depicts his personality.
I tap on the glass wall with my finger and nurse the thought of banging hard against it. But then I withdraw it.
He is doing this to keep me safe.
I believe him.
But I’m not used to being locked up and restricted.
I’m not used to doing nothing.
What I love about my frenetic life is waking up knowing I have my bakery to go to, that I have people to feed, and that I can make them happy with the food I make.
I puff, my brain melting like gelatin under heat as I retire to the queen-size bed where I spent the night twisting and turning.
I can’t even tell what time of the day it is, and there is nothing in here to keep my mind occupied.
Absolutely nothing.
No books, no television, no nothing.
Just me and this oversized, intimidating sprawl of a warm brown and daring white bedroom. Just me and the thoughts of my captor, my high school obsession.
Because no matter how much I want to think Ronan is doing this to protect me, I cannot, and must not, lose sight of the fact that I’m here against my will. That I’m a prisoner in his house until he sets me free.
I wonder what will happen when he finds no evidence.
I didn’t kill Barbara.
I plop back onto the bed, letting my back rest on the mattress as I stare at the glossy ceiling, my mind drifting back to my kiss with Ronan.
We kissed.
I clamp my legs and twist to the side as I feel myself getting wet from the mere thought of his lips on mine.
The Ronan effect. Ever scorching.
I take press a finger on my lower lip, letting my eyes close for a bit. I allow myself a moment of respite from fighting my thoughts and give in to what my body needs.
How far do I really think I can go?
I let my finger stroke my lips, and this time, I bite on it gently.
I am startled when the door of the bedroom sways open.
I sit up, not sure what I should feel.
I can immediately sense it’s not Ronan. What if someone got in and wants to kill me?
I’m spiraling, but the instant I see a cart being pushed inside, my paranoia quiets down.
Oh.
I breathe.
It’s just food.
I eye the gold cart with the gold dishes. A nice way to delude me into thinking I’m not a prisoner.
The door is closed again now.
I stand from the bed, the sight of the food eliciting a growling sound from my stomach. I feel hungrier now than I did some seconds ago, and I hate that seeing food does that to me.
I hate that I’m faced with this weakness that I cannot get away from. If I were in my apartment, I would eat before I let my hunger drive me into eating more than I should.
I have learned to keep my hunger under control, but right now, I feel starved—the same feeling I used to have when my relationship with food was more challenging. It feels like going back there, and it doesn’t help that I feel like I’m being watched.
I scowl at the cart, taking a step closer.
It’s tempting, and I feel my blood tickling in my veins.
I like food. I like that it nourishes. But I hate the fact that it also evokes memories from my past in situations like this.
I stop beside the cart. The gold cover glints and reflects my image, but it is not me, the twenty-seven-year-old Olivia I see. It’s the high school Olivia, clutching the strawberry cream cake she made when the class was asked to showcase their talent to her chest.
It was all I knew.
My mind and world revolved around food.
I never thought anything else could be as beautiful as food.
“You made a cake for a talent showcase?” Aria, the dime piece of the class, snorts at me as I set my cake on my desk, waiting for the bell of the showcase to be rung.
I don’t lift my eyes to look at her or any of the other kids standing around my desk.
“The fat pig made some fat food to feed her fat belly,” James lowers his head to whisper in my ear, and I shiver, partly because I hate his weed-thickened voice but also because he stinks.
No one is talking about the fact that he always smells like weed. Everyone thinks he is cool, but just because I don’t look as slim as they think I should, I’m the weird one.
Maybe I am the weird one.
Sandra made a dress for a gala with paper bags, Khan made a robot, James made a wicker clock, and I made a cake.
Just cake.
“Can we have some cake?” Aria pokes my head with her fingers, “No?” She makes a sorry tone before smacking my head, “Why won’t you give me some cake?” She smacks harder this time.
“She is selfish,” Henry grips me by the chin and lifts chin so my eyes meet his.
I clench my teeth to suck my tears in. I have had to deal with until we finish high school.
I won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me break again.
I wanted to avoid them, so I came into the classroom to hide away from the main hall where the talent show would be held.
I sniff, my eyes skimming from the blonde Henry with his mean charcoal eyes. Lanky James, dark hair and pale green eyes. Aria, the Queen Bee, brunette bangs, a true beauty. And the minions behind her who carry out her every bidding.
“You don’t want to share?” Henry chuckles, “What do you want to share, then?”
“Not that ugly body, though; I could puke from the sheer sight of it,” Aria scoffs.
“Nothing to share then,” Henry lets go of my chin and lifts his hand to smack me for the fun of it. I close my eyes, but his hit never comes.
My eyes twitch, and I fear that if I open them, I will find him waiting to smack me.
I hold my breath, waiting.
Instead of a smack, I hear fingers snap in my face, and I eventually open my eyes. I know him. He is the huge, scary kid who never talks to anyone. Ronan.
I blink, and my eyes focus back on the surface of the gold cover.
It was the first day Ronan ever spoke to me.
I take off the cover and see sushi served in a fancy display, like a gourmet meal.
Sushi, which means Ronan still remembers the things I love to eat. That, or the cook thought it appropriate to serve sushi delicacies to a prisoner.
I pick up the dish and strut back to the bed.
I can get this under control, and I need to eat food.
I take my time to breathe in, then exhale. And I take the first bite.