25. Olivia
Olivia
I groan, putting an arm over my eyes as the sun beats through the window. Shuffling outside my bedroom door makes my ears perk up as someone enters and then slams the bathroom door. Way too loudly. The boom echoes in my aching head, making me want to do nothing but hibernate for the next few hours.
Living with men hasn’t been too awful, minus the bathroom experience.
Apparently, their mothers never told them how to clean up after themselves.
Cleaning the toilet? They act like it’s not a thing.
Aiming and hitting the target? Yeah, that’s unheard of in this dorm room.
And considering I’m the only person here who has to sit to do my business, I’m constantly playing maid.
Honestly, living with Jordy was the same way.
The boy has no manners when it comes to cleaning up his piss off the toilet seat.
And these two? They’re ten times worse. Much to my dismay.
I groan again, because it’s the only thing I can do that doesn’t actively hurt me. Every time I attempt to move from my mattress—which won’t let me go—aches ricochet through my body.
Why do I have to move at all?
Wait.
I peek an eye open, staring up at the brightly lit ceiling, and instantly regret it.
The sun is too bright. Way too fucking bright.
I close my eyes again, attempting to chase away the streak of light beyond my eyelids.
If I could get away with it, I’d lie on this mattress all day long and not leave this room.
Sorry, Simon, I’ve become one with my bed, and it refuses to let me go.
Unfortunately, I don’t think he’d let me get away with that again.
He already indulged me for three days when I was down with the “flu.”
A headache forms in my brain, weighing down everything. I can barely think through the sludge moving through my veins. Why the hell do I feel like I got run over by a truck?
I need drugs. Good ones. Something to dull this ache in my head and body. Ibuprofen, here I come!
What time is it? And what the hell did I do last night?
I shake my head, trying to jostle loose the memories of the night before.
“You’re here!” Simon slurs, wrapping his arms around me the moment he spots me waltzing into the energetic party.
I swear the chaotic vibes bounce off the walls as the music gets louder and people raise their glasses in celebration.
“This is D-Daniel,” he hiccups in my ear, spinning us so we’re facing a tall man with dark brown skin, dark hair, and green eyes that light up at the sight of Simon’s attention back on him.
“Isn’t he the personification of tall, dark, and handsome?
” He giggles again, squeezing me tighter.
I snort, lightly patting Simon’s back. “He’s perfect, Si,” I murmur so only Simon hears me.
“Isn’t he?” he proclaims, pulling back. “Daniel, this is Oliver, my roommate,” he sings happily, wrapping an arm over Daniel’s shoulder and pulling him close to his side.
He audibly sighs when he lays his head on Daniel’s shoulder with half-lidded eyes and a soft smile.
Joy seems to waft from the two of them as they stand together, not saying a word.
“Nice to meet you,” Daniel says politely, nodding in my direction when he finally peels his eyes off Simon and holds out his hand. “Si has told me a lot about you.” He grins more when I shake his hand.
“Good to meet you too,” I say over the loud music and woohoos from the other partygoers, continuing their celebrations around us. I push my glasses up my nose, making sure they’re recording the people around us.
“So, shall we get started?” Simon’s grin promises a night of debauchery as he rubs his palms together.
Right.
The party. The loud music. The strippers. Alcohol. Simon. Meeting Daniel for the first time.
And the catalyst to it all? Jasper Jeremiah Jones.
God. That was last night. It feels like centuries ago I was in the small study room, staring down the man who killed me.
My stomach drops out of my ass, and sweat forms on my palms. I don’t remember coming home.
Did I pull a Simon and drink way too much?
Did I black out? The horror hits me like a brick to the face.
If I blacked out, then what did I do last night?
I smack my lips. Well, luckily for me, I don’t think I vomited. That’s a good sign. Or maybe not so good a sign. If I had puked my guts out, then maybe I’d feel more human today. Instead, I feel like the walking, talking billboard for terrible hangovers.
I need water, drugs, and maybe some food to settle whatever hell is brewing inside me.
I rub a hand down my face, groaning more, because that’s the only thing I can do.
More memories leak through my brain, and everything starts coming back to me.
Well, almost everything. The entire night is still slightly fuzzy, like it’s on the edge of my mind, but won’t come back to me.
Which is wonderful, if you ask me. Not. This is not how Agents of Veritas conduct themselves.
We’re smart. Calculated. Always on task.
Well, some of us, anyway. Some of us are back in their own personal nightmare, surrounded by the men who ended their lives.
It’s me. I’m the someone. No one else in Veritas has ever had to face what I have.
Their own trauma and bullshit. But here I am wading through it like a champ.
Okay, well, that’s a lie. I’m not a champ.
I’m barely hanging on by a thread right now.
Obviously, I let myself drink way too damn much. Ugh.
You know, it all started the second my stomach dropped when I walked out of the library after I met with JJ, with my old charm bracelet weighing down my palm.
I didn’t want to let it go. Yet I wanted to chuck it into the ocean and never think of it again.
Every time I looked at it, it brought all those chaotic emotions to the surface.
Instead, I stuffed it into my dresser for safekeeping.
Out of sight, out of mind, right? Why is he doing this?
Why is JJ adamant he had nothing to do with my death? Were they really in Vegas?
When I got Simon’s invitation to go to the party at Malic and Wilder’s, there was a strong feeling in the back of my mind.
It was warning me away. Danger. Danger. Don’t go near those two.
Especially Malic. He’s got this weird hold on me I can’t shake off.
Hopefully, I’ll get over the dickmatized state I’m in and forget about our night together.
But I don’t see that happening any time soon.
I contemplated sitting the party out and not going.
But that little devil on my left shoulder whispered sweet promises of numbing my pain into my ear.
And what does a depressed, backed-into-a-corner Olivia Viotto always do when she’s feeling sad and alone—she drinks herself into a goddamn stupor to numb the feelings and drown out the demons gnawing at her mind.
Because she’s a genius and apparently thinks of herself in third person.
Fuck.
I need to get a damn grip on myself. Letting loose on this college campus is like asking for more people to find out my identity. Or take my internal organs. Fuck. I shudder. I’m slowly sinking to rock bottom, and it’s all because I’m back here and being forced to face my goddamn trauma.
I hate this.
I want to burn this city to the goddamn ground for what it did to me. But then again, I need to get to the bottom of everything. JJ insists they didn’t do it.
But I’m so confused by everything. My gut says he’s a liar, because everyone in this town has been born and bred to be a liar.
You can’t fake the look in his eyes, though. The sincerity when he proclaims his innocence.
My heart is tugging in two completely different directions. I’m unraveling at the seams, being torn apart from the inside out, and I don’t know how to stop this.
Will I ever?
Maybe this was needed. Maybe this will make me buck up and face my demons head-on, while taking them down for what they did.
I need to investigate further, but first, I have to get out of this bed and take care of my hangover like a responsible adult.
Because that’s what I am, right? An adult with a big girl job.
An agency that counts on me to solve the cases they’ve put in front of me.
People who need me to potentially save their lives and figure out who is stealing organs for their own gain.
I groan again when I sit up, wishing all adult responsibilities weren’t a thing, and throw my legs over the side of the bed.
“There, I’m sitting up,” I mumble to myself, pinching the bridge of my nose. Music leaks from beyond my door, barely thumping. “Too early for this shit,” I grumble, reaching for my phone and checking the time without unlocking it.
9:00 a.m.—wonderful.
What the hell time did I get home last night?
“These are for you!” Simon shouts over the music, carrying three glasses sloshing with a mysterious pink liquid I’ve never laid eyes on before.
I blink several times when he pushes the red cup into my hands with a grin.
“Err… What is it?” I ask, sniffing the concoction.
“Holy shit, Si.” It smells like kerosene in a damn glass with a hint of lemonade.
It could burn my hair right off, and it burns going down my throat.
I cough several times. “Fuck,” I cough more, shaking my head. “What did you put in this?”
“It’s a new concoction!” Simon grins, taking a long gulp of his drink without flinching. “Isn’t it delicious? It has like five different types of booze in it. You love it, right?”
“Yup!” I say, taking another drink and holding back the tingle in my throat. That time around, it doesn’t make me cough, so I drink more.
And after that? I don’t remember a goddamn thing. I’d say he slipped something into my drink, but I trust Simon. He’s kept my identity a secret without judging me or telling others.
So it had to be the alcohol he gave me.