Haha I started writing this at like 3AM and passed out halfway through. I finished it later during the day but then people started showing up for this party we had. Anyways, I've had a few and I need to sleep on some ideas of where to take this next. Probably the next chapter will make the rating go up to M. Just FYI. I apologize for this truly disappointing, boring author's note, as I pride myself on being entertaining, but my mind is moving at the pace of a snail.
PETER
She stops so abruptly that I nearly collide with her. I position myself about a foot from her and I breathe in and out raggedly. I'm tired, I still ache, and she wasn't exactly easy to catch up with. She spins quickly on her heels and practically shouts at me, "WHAT?" She is livid, but I'm not entirely sure why. I also notice that tears are streaking down her face.
"Olivia," I breathe out somewhat softly.
"What?" her voice is tinged with her crying.
"Olivia," I murmur again, placing a hand on her shoulder, which she promptly shrugs off.
"No," she protests firmly. I cock my head at her, hoping she will let me explain. But she huffs at me, "Leave me alone, Peter. Go back to Rachel. If you want to be with my sister, that's fine. I don't care." She breathes out her last three words heavily, for emphasis.
"No," I state simply. She looks at me disbelievingly. "Nothing happened, Olivia," I start explaining, hoping that she'll listen, "I just needed someone to talk to."
She scoffs and turns her face away from me. "And to kiss?" she adds with sour sarcasm.
"I don't know why I did that," I confess. Her head snaps around to look at me again, and then she looks down, shaking her head. "It was wrong, and I'm sorry, but it was nothing compared to what you've done to me," I tell her, but as soon as the words leave my mouth I regret it.
She looks at me and says, "Look, Peter, I'm sorry that I lied to you, and I know it was wrong. But what you did, with my sister, I just can't accept that. So, just go."
She turns and starts to walk away, but I can't let her go, so I reach out and touch her arm. She winces, but just continues walking. At least this time I can keep up with her.
"Olivia, nothing happened. We didn't do anything. I just kissed her. It was wrong. I don't...we don't have those kinds of feelings for each other. Rachel and I, we're just friends," I offer, hoping to stop her again, or at least slow her down.
"I thought we were friends," she nearly whispers.
"We are," I tell her.
"Oh, really? Could've fooled me," her tone is full of cynicism.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask her desperately. I stop walking.
She walks a few feet, then stops and turns to face me again. "You left, Peter," she finally explains, "You left me here, alone, to deal with all this shit, and I can't do it without you. You know that. You left me. And now I have to come to terms with the fact that I'm not good enough. I was not a good enough reason for you to stay. I am never good enough." She stops and lets out a heavy breath, clearly fighting back more tears. She turns and walks away from me again.
I feel a hot tear trace its way down my cheek, and I say in a soft whisper, "You are good enough."
At first, I'm not sure she hears me, but as she continues walking I see her shake her head. I quicken my pace to catch her again. I place my hand on her arm, which causes her to wince yet again. Not sure whether I'm feeling bold or desperate or both, my hand goes to her waist and I turn her towards me.
OLIVIA
He touches my arm, right at the bruise. It's tender so I wince and instantly feel defeated, again. I try to keep walking, I can see my car only a few feet away, but the next thing I feel is the pressure of his hand on my waist as he turns me towards him. I'm so surprised that I just stare at his hand, resting on my waist. I expect him to remove it once he realizes I've stopped, but he doesn't. It just sits there and I just stare at it. I feel his eyes on me, and my attention focuses on them. I can see a faint trace of a single tear that he had probably tried not to shed. I already know that my own face is streaked with tears, and a few bruises and cuts, which thankfully are hidden by the shadows cast from the streetlamps. Our eyes lock and I expect it to feel tense and awkward, but it doesn't. Suddenly, I feel somewhat calm and safe and I hate him for that. I pride myself on my independence, but for whatever reason, I've allowed myself to come to depend, at least partially, on him.
"Olivia," he speaks softly, "you are good enough."
I swallow. I've been hurt before. I won't let it happen again. I counter, "Then why did you leave, Peter?"
"I was hurt, and confused. I felt lost. You can't imagine what I went through," he tells me, in a tone that indicates I should at least understand this much already. And I do, but that isn't what I mean. He knows what I mean.
"Fine," I grumble and turn to get to my car.
"I didn't think that you cared," he says, and his words stop me dead in my tracks.
So I turn, and I look at him. His face is only a few inches from mine. "Peter," my voice is softer than normal and I'm fighting back tears again, so very unlike me. "Peter, I do care. When you were gone, after you left," my voice breaks so I pause, and then continue so quickly I'm nearly tripping over my words, "I was so worried. I couldn't eat, or sleep. I kept thinking 'What if something happens to him?' 'What if he gets hurt, or worse?' and it's all my fault. I have no one to blame but myself. How could I do this? How could I be so stupid?"
He stands there silently, not saying anything, just staring at me. I assume he must still be upset with me. I shift slightly, and glance back at my car, wanting to just leave so I can go home and wallow, alone, in my misery, like I always do.
But then he speaks, "I'm sorry." His voice is near a whisper and shaded with pain and obvious pangs of guilt as he repeats himself, "I am so sorry."
I want to tell him. I know I should tell him. Right now. Exactly how I feel. But I've never been good at putting my feelings into words. I've always been better at showing. All I know is that I need to do something, because if I don't, I feel as though I'll explode with regret. So, I do the only logical thing that my body and mind tell me to do.
I place my hand carefully at the nape of his neck, and tilting my head slightly, I lean up slowly, pulling him into a gentle, yet passionate kiss. Although my eyes are closed, I can tell that he is somewhat surprised, as it takes him a second to respond. But when he does, oh God. I feel him wrap his arm around my waist and pull me tightly into him. He cups my face with his other hand, and gently brushes a tear from my cheek. Unable to resist, I run my hand through his hair and press my lips more firmly into his. His tongue glides across my lip, begging for entrance, which I would have more than willingly given him had he not pulled back.
I know why he pulled back. He must have tasted the blood from my split lip. He studies my lips intently and I see his brows knit concernedly. He gently brushes my hair out of my face and turns me so the light shines directly on my cuts and bruises.
"Olivia," he sounds worried and extremely guilty, "what happened to you?"
"Nothing," I mutter, "Peter, I'm fine." It's not his fault.
His hand runs down my shoulder, and then my arm and again I cringe when he reaches my bruise. He knows something isn't right. He seemingly accepts my answer and tells me, "I'm taking you home." He holds out a hand expectantly. I look at him undecidedly.
"What?" he says, "You didn't actually think I was going to let you drive, did you? You smell, and taste," he smiles, "like a distillery."
I begrudgingly hand over my keys and he smirks victoriously. Pain in the ass he may be, I still love him. Wait. Did I just admit that to myself? Anxiety travels down my spine, causing me to shiver, but this is a good kind of anxiety and I like it. Peter notices and draws me in closer to him as he walks me to my car and settles me into the passenger seat. I hear the engine rumble to life, and as he backs out of the space, I look up into the night sky and thank whomever or whatever that he is back.
