A.N.: The culmination of Night School. Thank you for the reviews, and please keep them coming as a reward for my considerable efforts!
The Judgement of Actaeon
11
In and out of consciousness, saturated with pain and an unfamiliar lethargy that tasted foul on her tongue, she was aware of several things, details drifting like scattered fall foliage through her tired brain. The soft beep…beep…beep of a machine, someone gently holding her hand; a warm, concerned voice belonging to a woman, one she vaguely recognised and could have named if her tongue didn't taste so funny and her head didn't feel like it was stuffed with a feather duvet; another voice ,young, male, excitable and concerned. The scent of a steak sandwich.
Snuffling, Olive woke up. The sun was streaming through the hospital-window, baking everything inside it rich gold. As she fidgeted lethargically, she frowned groggily as there was a rustle, and something popped happily; she caught the scent of strawberry-lime Hubba-Bubba. She was always a loyal Bazooka girl; she and Mommy ganged up on Ruby about her 'unnatural' love of weird bubble-gums like 'liquid-centred' fruit-flavoured ones. Someone sighed, the sound bored; a glossy magazine was tossed on the wheeled table at the end of her bed, inside her line of sight, the focus of her eyes strange, fuzzy. She blinked them several times.
"Are you awake yet?" a voice asked. She blinked again, and a face popped so suddenly in front of hers that she jumped. Bright, burnished gold eyes, smooth coffee-coloured skin, an impish grin and Afro-curly hair; she was a very pretty kid now. As an adult, she'd be a stunner.
A slow smile curled Olive's lips. "Ruby," she sighed happily.
"Who were you expecting, Drew Fuller?" Ruby snorted, smirking; when Olive scoffed, Ruby laughed, so suddenly and so beautifully, Olive jumped. "Oh, right. You prefer your actors mature."
"As opposed to not being old enough to shave yet," Olive retorted, smirking.
"All I said was that Justin Beiber has nice lips," Ruby remarked serenely, examining her long, filed fingernails.
"You know I'll never let you live it down," Olive smiled, chuckling, and Ruby rolled her eyes. Olive glanced at her sister's hands; for a kid, they were extraordinarily elegant. Olive had high expectations for Ruby to keep her in the lifestyle to which she planned to become accustomed when Ruby became an international supermodel—specialising in watches and jewellery. "You haven't painted your nails."
"I took the old polish off, actually," Ruby chirped happily, bounding off the bed to collect a stuffed tote bag from under the chair beside the bed. "You haven't painted my nails in ages!"
"I haven't seen you in ages," Olive beamed, thrilled, that after so long, her sister was here. Here in the hospital with her. She frowned at Ruby.
"Why am I in the hospital?" she asked, suddenly confused.
"You know!" Ruby laughed brilliantly. "Daddy's so angry that that Alpha attacked you." Olive sighed, remembering the school.
"But why am I here?" Olive asked. "Mommy says never to go to the hospital; we heal on our own."
"Mommy says there were 'circumstances outside your control' when you were brought in," Ruby said, crinkling her forehead sweetly. "But you've got to slow your healing." Olive sighed, her stomach straining, the skin tight, rough, painful.
"I know," she said sadly. Love him as she did, the Sheriff hadn't done her any favours sending her to the E.R. She frowned around the room. "Where are Mommy and Daddy?"
"They're coming with me next time," Ruby grinned lazily, producing a tub of nail-polish bottles, shaking it so the bottles rattled against each other. "You're going to paint my nails. And my friend Samantha let me borrow her portable-DVD player."
"Not Duck Soup again?" Olive guessed, pretending to groan as Ruby produced the DVD-player.
"No! Seven Brides for Seven Brothers," Ruby grinned. "As you're maimed, I thought I'd better let you have your choice of movie." She said it begrudgingly, with a heavy sigh, but her eyes twinkled with mirth. The DVD-player was set up, Adam Pontipee started singing, and as Ruby shook the tub of nail-polishes under Olive's nose to choose colours from, they both sang along, word-perfect.
"I think I'd like a different pattern on each nail," Ruby said thoughtfully. "That magazine said mixed-print manicures are in. And ombre." She gave Olive a sparkling grin.
"You know, as I'm in the hospital, you should really be painting my nails," Olive said, carefully getting the excess lacquer off the brush.
"It wouldn't last," Ruby said sadly to herself, watching Olive paint her pinkie-finger. Olive wondered at her sadness, but didn't press it; it soon lifted, anyway, singing along to Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, giggling over everything and anything, strangely, despite it being so long since they'd seen each other, Ruby knew all bout Scott, and Derek, and Laura, whom she wasn't really old enough to remember; curling her skinny, leggy little body beside Olive's, they had a major gossip-session about bratty Allison keeping Scott behind in the Chem. Lab, making Ruby's eyes roll with how pathetic and needy Allison seemed.
They agreed—Ruby promised not to tell their mother Olive was teaching her bad-language—that Jackson was a tool, and if he wasn't such a jackass, he'd be halfway handsome. And though Ruby grimaced at the clothes that were 'fashionable' now, but agreed with Olive that it was refreshing to see a Queen Bee pull off the clothes with a remarkably curvy figure; Olive would rather Ruby idolise Lydia, recognising that she didn't feel the need to be a size-zero and that Lydia would graduate valedictorian, rather than skinny, breast-less and as far as Olive had yet learned, personality-deprived Allison.
They talked about a lot of things, and nothing important, as only sisters could, painting Ruby's nails and giggling over Stiles.
Ruby was infatuated with him.
Olive didn't know how, but Ruby knew every joke, every movie they'd watched, her dinner-nights with Stiles and his dad, everything happening with Scott, Stiles' churlishness over his dad getting hurt; calling Olive 'Sexy' had Ruby in hysterics for long moments. She wiped her face, grinning, her fresh mixed-print manicure shining, before saying softly with a shy smile, "I think Isaac is cute."
Olive smiled, her cheeks warming. "I do, too."
"Is he your new friend?"
Olive sighed, shrugging slightly. "I don't know…I hope so—I'd like to be."
"I think you should be," Ruby smiled warmly. "He seems like he needs a friend. "Ruby gave her the kind of warm, adoring smile she used to give Olive, when she believed whole-heartedly that her big-sister was a superhero.
"…I now pronounce you men and wives. You may kiss the bride."
Ruby's head turned, that smile still warming her pretty face. "Movie's over," she said, sliding a glance at Olive, her features inexplicably sad. "I have to go now."
"What?" Olive half-laughed. "You can't go yet, they haven't brought me any Jell-O for you to steal." Ruby gave her a sad smile, but her eyes were seeking, intelligent; she sighed.
"You know I have to go, Oley," she said sombrely. Olive's heart seized; only Ruby ever called her Oley. And something…niggled, at the back of her mind. Gazing at Ruby, she was startled to find tears splashing on her own cheeks. Why was she suddenly so heartbroken. She stared at her little sister.
"Why am I so sad?" she whispered.
"You know, Oley," Ruby said softly. She slithered up to Olive, linking slender arms around Olive's shoulders. She was forgetting something, something important. She clutched at Ruby, suddenly never wanting to let her go.
"You can't go," she cried. A soft, heartsick sigh.
"Oley…you know I can't stay… We've done this before. You know why I can't stay," Ruby said tearfully. "I only came because you needed me."
"How old are you?" Olive sniffed, giving a smile without humour.
"You know that," Ruby said softly. "We've had this conversation before." Olive gazed at her sister. Though the years had passed, she looked exactly the same as the last time Olive had seen her. The clothes changed, the nails too, but every time Olive had seen Ruby since that night, her physical appearance remained that of an eleven-year-old girl. She spoke with intelligence and maturity because…because Olive did.
As Olive got older, their conversations became more mature, sophisticated. But Ruby ceased to grow, physically. She knew to talk about different things because Olive did… She was a figment of Olive's imagination, this Ruby.
Ever since that night…Ruby and tehir parents had taken six, eight months for Olive to let them go from her dreams. She had visited them every night, existing through the waking hours only for her dreams to start again. Months it had taken her to realise—with a lot of therapy—that she couldn't live in that false reality, existing only for those brief twenty-minute dreams with her long-dead family. It wasn't healthy for her. It had broken her, the last time her dream-family had forcibly abandoned her, forcing her to accept their gone-ness, to start working through things with her counsellor. Her grief; her anger; her sorrow; frequently having crippling panic-attacks; waking up from nightmares screaming; bursting into tears at the oddest things.
This wasn't real. Ruby…wasn't real. Wasn't alive.
But she was here. For the first time in months, she was spending time with her sister.
"Stay," she said gently, reaching for Ruby's hand, her painted nails shining.
"I can't," Ruby sighed softly, with complete adoration and compassion in her eyes, the desire to stay shining from her face, warring with knowing she couldn't.
"Please." Her voice cracked on the single word.
"I can't," Ruby whispered sorrowfully, gazing at Olive. She packed the tote-bag up, resignedly and sorrowfully ignoring Olive's pleas for her to stay, screaming Ruby's name…sobbing, the fresh scar of her grief ripped open as consciousness plummeted back into her with the overwhelming scent of sterile cleaner, the beep of machines and a woman's voice saying crossly, "Get her something to calm her down! Stop all that ridiculous screaming—You, get out of the way!"
"She doesn't need anything to calm her down," said a gentle voice, and Olive was vaguely aware of the mattress dipping, before she was engulfed in a warm, fragrant embrace—a masculine embrace. Clean-boy smell overrode the smell of the steriliser burning her nose as her screams were silenced, clinging instantly to the skinny frame of the boy cradling her head to his shoulder, forehead pressed to his neck as she sobbed, gripping his sweatshirt. Cradling her head, whoever he was shushed her gently, whispering comforting things she didn't really hear, oh so subtly rocking her as she sobbed and cried incoherently for her sister.
"Was it a bad dream?" the gentle voice whispered in her ear.
"It was a really g-good dream!" Olive cried, sobbing into the plain black sweatshirt. She loved those good dreams with Ruby and their parents—but they broke her heart as badly as the nightmares.
"Ruby was there," the voice said gently. Choking on her sob, her eyes burning like acid, Olive nodded silently. "What did you two do?" Olive choked again, squeezing the boy whispering so gently into her ear.
"Painted nails and watched—m-movies!" she cried.
"Did you talk?" the voice whispered.
"L-lots," Olive choked, sniffing, aware that she was beginning to calm down. Lethargy swept over her, sighing heavily, distraught, but no longer hysterical, no longer screaming for the sister…who was long dead. Tears still coursed freely down her face, burning, but with her head resting against the boy's shoulder, she started to relax her death-grip on him, soothed by the one arm tucked at her lower-back, keeping her close, reassuring, and the other hand, fingers gently tracing up and down her bare back as he whispered comforting things to her, things she needed to hear just then; "She's still here, Olive… They all are… You keep their memory alive… They did…and they did love you… They'll always be with you when you need them the most."
"They're gone," Olive whispered.
"Yes," the soft voice said sadly.
"Gone forever… They left me," she choked silently. The boy's arms tightened around her, holding her together.
"They died," he said, so heartbrokenly for a second Olive's grief lifted, and she wondered whether he was talking about her family…or someone he knew.
"Died and went where I can't follow," Olive cried silently.
"I don't like being left behind," the boy whispered hoarsely, and Olive shook her head slightly. She didn't like being left behind either. She gripped the boy back, hearing a tiny hiss of breath, a stifled moan of pain. She loosened her grip, lulled by the soft breaths of the boy cuddling her and his fingers rubbing so steadily up and down her back, spreading warmth and…comfort. As she remained in his arms, she started to gentle, lethargy creeping over her, but it was he whose voice and cuddles and scent soothed her, relaxed her tense body, coiled like a trap; she wanted to trap this person in her arms and keep him close to her. But as she drifted off to sleep against him, she remembered the concealed moan of pain, and the detail seemed important…for the life of her, she couldn't remember why.
Two panic-attacks she'd forgotten and waking up from a nightmare screaming for "Ruby" all in one night had the nurses' emotions roiling over their young ward; Mrs McCall had taken charge of Olive's wellbeing, knowing she had absolutely no family, no mother. She had seen her son hanging out with this pretty girl the month before school had started up for the kids. A little part of her had hoped, pre-Allison, that her son and Olive might have bonded. So it was therefore a little surprising that Scott hadn't come to visit his friend. They couldn't get rid of Stiles.
That didn't surprise Melissa.
She'd known Stiles as long as Scott had, the weird, motherless little boy with an immense heart. She'd sensed the bond between Stiles and Olive much more than with her own son, but she adored Olive; she had a touch of maturity, a levity and sincerity she hoped Scott would pick up from proximity with her. But Olive also had the best sense of humour of anyone she'd met in a while, and she absolutely had her enormous heart in the right place. Melissa was very glad Scott and Stiles both had a friend to turn to outside their close-knit partnership.
Another person they couldn't get rid of was Derek Hale. He put off quite a few of the other nurses and Olive's attending with his cold expression and unapproachable attitude; but Melissa had to interact with him, if only to tell him to get some rest and eat something as he spent the entire night and most of the next day by Olive's side. It was that second night, when Melissa had convinced Derek Hale—to whom she was infinitely grateful for alerting the sheriff's department to the danger posed to her son and his friends—to at least go home, take a shower and have something to eat, that Olive had woken from a nightmare, screaming for "Ruby" not to leave her, sobbing. It had been a heartbreaking sight; all of the nurses had watched in wonder, sighing wistfully over the gorgeous skinny boy who'd so shyly and politely asked to see Olive, dive in to hug Olive, sensing full well that human-contact worked far better in some instances than a syringe full of sedatives. He'd held Olive while she sobbed, choking for "Ruby", gentling and calming her, whispering to her, until she'd relaxed in his arms, falling asleep cuddled up to him. He'd had more than a few of the nurses weak at the knees, swooning.
After the first night, getting her through those two panic-attacks, forgotten before she'd passed out again, caused by dreams she wasn't conscious long enough to soothe her about, Olive had started getting visitors. Never family; Derek Hale had confirmed that Olive had none left, and that only endeared the pretty, injured girl to her carers more. Especially during her first panic-attacked, petrified of sleeping in the hospital because she'd seen Kill Bill, shocked and violated that some stranger had removed her clothing without her consent while she was passed out, never having been topless in front of a boy let alone naked, a sixteen-year-old girl alone at the hospital, unknowingly playing on her nurses' heartstrings.
Beacon Hills was a relatively small town; it was certainly no metropolis, but it wasn't exactly a tiny hamlet; it was small enough that anybody who knew Olive quickly knew she was in the hospital. Thanks to the protection of minors, nobody knew Scott and his friends were responsible for the damage to the high-school; but everybody seemed to know Olive had been attacked by the same animal that had killed the bus-driver and the video-store clerk.
Stiles didn't seem to leave; he hovered about anxiously, bringing out portable speakers and putting a playlist on his iPod that Olive had put together, willing the music to rouse her into consciousness.
After lunchtime had come around, Melissa went to check on Olive, concerned she'd been asleep so long, worried she hadn't had anything tangible to eat. She hadn't seen Olive since last night, an early shift for her for a change, the soft beep…beep of machinery greeted her, and she adjusted the blinds over the window, went to straighten out the blankets over Olive. They'd stopped trying to stop Olive curling up on her side, tucked up like a girl far younger than her age. Something about Melissa fussing over her must have woken Olive, because she snuffled softly, peeking around blearily, curiosity just registering on her sleepy features. Melissa paused, wondering whether she'd turn and fall back to sleep. When she didn't, Melissa smiled. "Hi, sweetheart."
"Mrs McCall?" Her head felt heavy, foggy, but her tongue felt worse, too big for her dry mouth, which still had that horrible taste on it. She knew what it was now; sedative. Pain-killers. They were fighting her body's natural healing-process. She blinked her eyes several times, Mrs McCall's pretty face coming into focus. She looked…relieved. A warm smile spread across her face.
"Hi, sweetie," she beamed, as Olive rolled carefully onto her back. The skin over her stomach felt tight and itchy. She could scent the dried blood on the air. "How are you feeling?"
Olive frowned thoughtfully. An emptiness weighed on her stomach. "Hungry." Mrs McCall chuckled, a warm smile lighting up her face.
"I'll have something brought up form the cafeteria for you," she promised, making to walk away; Olive reached out quickly, gripping her hand, suddenly tired again. Blinking as the acid-burn in her eyes surprised her, Olive blinked quickly, testing her tongue.
"Can…"
"Can I what, sweetie?" Mrs McCall prompted gently.
"The sedatives…and pain-killers…"
"Are you in pain?" Mrs McCall asked, quickly scanning her. "Do you need more?"
"Take them away," Olive whispered croakily, gazing imploringly at Mrs McCall. She had only a faint idea where she was had no recollection of what day it was or how long she'd been here, was fairly sure she'd had a panic-attack over her clothes being removed without her consent, had been knocked out by one of the nurses with a syringe… She was losing control of her entire existence. After so long taking care of herself, to lose that control was terrifying.
"Are you sure you don't want them?" Mrs McCall asked gently. "It might be easier to sleep through the pain." Olive gazed at Mrs McCall. Sleep through the pain. She'd tried that. For months and months, she'd used sleep to shelter herself from the pain of her grief and guilt, living in the false reality that her mind had created, where her family was still alive.
"It doesn't work," Olive whispered hoarsely, gazing at Mrs McCall. "Hurts worse…waking up…"
"Okay, sweetheart," Mrs McCall said gently, squeezing her hand. Olive cried silently while Mrs McCall tinkered with several tubes and drips; she cried not for attention, but because she couldn't help it, and perhaps Mrs McCall knew from her own son sometimes to back off and let a kid cry it out by themselves, because if she'd come and hugged Olive, she knew she would have broken down again.
Either way, Mrs McCall unhooked several tubes from Olive's arms, and privately Olive felt a wash of relief that was tangible as the drugs that made her entire being slothful stopped circulating through her system; another hospital-employee appeared with a tray of food for Olive. She carefully sat up, aware of her stomach twinging, both at the pain slashing across her skin and at the scent of food.
"Thank you," Olive said softly, but with feeling, as the young man placed the tray on the table at the foot of her bed and wheeled it up to her. "Please tell me it's a steak."
"Sorry," the man chuckled. "Chocolate-pudding though."
Olive gazed up imploringly. "No green Jell-O?"
"Sorry," the young man chuckled again. Olive, feeling better already since the sedating pain-killer drip had been removed, sighed, lips twitching.
"That's okay," she sighed lightly. "When I get a new IV I'll ask for watermelon-flavoured." Mrs McCall laughed, and the man left, smiling.
"Your colour's returning already," Mrs McCall observed with a smile, as Olive lifted the lid off her dinner-plate. "Do you mind if I check you over while you eat?"
"Um… No," Olive said, glancing up from the steaming plate of roast-beef, mashed potatoes, fresh peas and carrots, gravy and a biscuit. Sensing her hesitation, Mrs McCall smiled.
"I'm just gonna check your vitals, I won't remove your bandage." Olive nodded, and sat still and cooperated while Mrs McCall checked her over. "You're gonna be absolutely fine," Mrs McCall smiled happily, tucking a tiny flashlight into her scrubs breast-pocket after checking Olive's pupil-dilation. "That was quite a night you guys had, huh?" Olive gazed up at Mrs McCall, eyes widening… She hadn't even asked…
"Did the others get out okay?" she breathed. Mrs McCall smiled warmly.
"They got out just fine," she said soothingly. "Though Stiles has been clamouring for us to get you better so much some of the nurses almost put him in the room next to you."
"Has he been bugging you?" she asked gently, smiling. Oh, Stiles…
"He's been Stiles, let's put it that way," Mrs McCall smirked. "I'll give you a little while before I call and tell him you're awake. I promised I would." Olive chuckled.
"No, it's okay," she said softly, tucking into her roast-beef. "I can handle his exuberance." Mrs McCall chuckled, as Olive suddenly dropped her cutlery. "My insurance-card!"
"Don't worry about that," Mrs McCall said soothingly, before Olive could get worked up. "Stiles went to your house and found your insurance-card." Olive relaxed.
"He did?"
Mrs McCall nodded. "You know, some of the things those two got up to when they were kids…but I'm glad Stiles has a good head on his shoulders."
"He's a great friend," Olive said, and she meant it.
"Well, I'm glad you and Stiles and Scott have each other," Mrs McCall smiled. "High-school's hard enough, without having good riends to lean on." It went without saying that Olive was especially lucky with the boys because she had absolutely nobody else to help her through the most trying time in her adolescence. Mrs McCall couldn't know that, because she had no family, high-school was the easy part. She sighed softly, frowning as she caught a scent on the air.
"Flowers?" She glanced up. She hadn't taken the room in before, but now, quickly tucking her dinner away, she was surprised. The dresser opposite her bed was overloaded with five large bouquets of the most beautiful flowers she'd seen in a while. Above the dresser, where a generic art-print should be, someone had mounted a poster-board covered in pretty scrapbook paper, decorated with photographs. For a quiet life in her cabin, Olive hadn't realised how many opportunities she'd had to be photographed. Someone had put a lot of thought and care into putting together the collage, complete with stickers, stamps and other pretty embellishments. A stack of colourful envelopes rested on the bedside-cabinet, by a vase that contained a simple posy of vibrant sunflowers.
"You've had quite a few visitors," Mrs McCall smiled, gesturing to the other bedside-cabinet on which a stunning orchid and a huge 'Get Well Soon' card rested.
"Have I?"
"Mm-hmm. Stiles and his dad both stopped by; the bouquet with the freesias is from them," Mrs McCall smiled. "A girl named Erica came with her mom earlier this morning with the agapanthus and thistles. I'm not sure who the other three are from, they were deliveries, but the orchid is from Jackson Whittemore's mom; she came in with him yesterday." Olive glanced from the orchid to Mrs McCall, eyebrows raised. Jackson had come to see her?! Mrs McCall smiled warmly, tucking a lock of Olive's hair behind her ear. "You're quite a hero to those kids' parents, you know. After what you did. It was a very brave thing you did."
"I'm just glad that it worked," Olive said hoarsely, clearing her throat. "And that everyone else is okay."
"We're all just relieved you're going to be okay," Mrs McCall smiled. Gazing at the unaccounted-for bouquets, Olive's mind went to…Isaac.
Shyly, she asked, "Did, um…who else visited?"
"Well, your boss came in, in a huge fright," Mrs McCall said; Olive groaned; she had missed work for… What day was it? "He was very upset you'd been brought into the E.R. He was singing your praises to the nurses."
"He was?"
"Mm-hmm," Mrs McCall smiled. "How you're the most responsible and trustworthy kid he's ever met." Olive glowed; compliments like that, acknowledgement of her hard work, always made her exceptionally proud. "and that he's gonna pay you for the shifts you've missed."
"That's really nice of him," Olive said softly, not as amazed at her boss's generosity as she might've been; she knew how kind he was. He'd given her a job, after all, with hours completely suited to her schedule.
"I asked him if he was hiring," Mrs McCall winked. "After your boss, Mr Harris stopped by. He was worried you'd burned yourself with the Molotov cocktail." Olive was surprised her dour Chemistry teacher had come to check on her wellbeing. "And then one of Scott's lacrosse-buddies Danny came by to give you a card; he came with his friend on your gymnastics team. That big card by the orchid is from the team." All this was a little harder to take in; more difficult to handle than her physical pain. Danny, the team, her boss, Mr Harris, Jackson, the sheriff… She reached up to brush a tear from her cheek. "Sweetie, what's wrong?"
"I…I guess I'm not as alone as I thought I was," she choked, smiling tremulously. She had lived in Beacon Hills two months…she hadn't expected this…care. Mrs McCall smoothed Olive's blanket then perched on the edge of the bed. Her expression was solemn, caring. A mother's expression.
"There's nothing like a hospital-visit to make people realise how much you meant to them," she said softly. "How much you've touched their lives." She waved a hand around the room, at the flowers, the collage. "This is the only way people know how to express their appreciation for the little ways you've changed their lives." Olive blushed.
"I haven't changed anybody's life," she mumbled.
"No? You didn't smash some guy's cellphone for trying to film Erica having one of her seizures?" Mrs McCall asked, raising her eyebrows as if she already knew the answer.
"That was…common decency," she mumbled.
"Something that's in short supply in the zoo they call 'high-school'," Mrs McCall said, sighing. She gazed at Olive steadily. "Erica's mom was especially touched you'd stood up for her little girl. And Stiles…he and his dad raved about you; they had the entire nurses' lounge in stitches over your prank in Stiles in the morgue. And even I've noticed your influence on those boys. After the grief you gave him over making me do everything around the house, Scott does all the laundry now; he makes dinner some nights a week; he keeps his room tidy; runs a vacuum around the house."
Olive smiled shyly. She had given Scott an earful, appalled he'd done so little around the house to help his mother. "I'm glad."
"So am I," Mrs McCall chuckled. "You're a good influence on those boys."
"They're nice boys," Olive said softly, and she meant it. She cleared her throat softly. It was nice to talk to Mrs McCall, the only bonding she'd done with an older lady in a long time. "Um… Did anyone else visit? The collage…who's that from?"
"That is from Lydia," Mrs McCall smiled. "She felt bad, letting you go off by yourself. She said she'd come back with all sorts of goodies when you're 'awake and more interesting'." Olive laughed; that sounded like something Lydia would say. "Apparently she wrangled some help from the Yearbook staff, Facebook and a boy called Matt for the photos."
Olive remembered Matt taking photographs during P.E. in the swimming-pool, and with a plunge, she realised she might have to sit out on swimming to keep up the ruse of her healing.
"And the pretty sunflowers are from a boy called…Isaac," Mrs McCall said thoughtfully. She smiled. "Who is he?"
"He's…a boy in my class," Olive said shyly, wondering when Isaac had stopped…by… Like an ice-bath, the memory flooded her, making her write with complete mortification… She hid her face in her hands, moaning in horror, "It was Isaac I sobbed all over." She was so embarrassed.
Not like you've never broken down in total strangers before, a tiny voice reminded her. After three months of complete and utter shcok, she had taken to breaking down in front of strangers for seemingly no reason, waking from nightmares screaming, having panic-attacks that forced her to throw up on bushes and in wastepaper-baskets. Last night—was it last-night?—had been the first time she had woken from one of those so-real-she-could-taste-the-scent-of-nail-polish dreams; the first time in a while she'd sobbed so completely. And Isaac had witnessed it.
But he had also…calmed her. He had soothed her…she had drifted off to sleep in complete…peace. She had felt utter comfort wrapped in his arms.
Still…how mortifying.
"If it lessens your embarrassment, I don't think he'd have stepped in if he wasn't willing to get cried on," Mrs McCall smiled warmly, and Olive remembered the tiny words of comfort he'd given her, things he'd somehow instinctually known she needed to hear; she remembered his questions, asking her the details of her dream with Ruby, not condemning it, and she wondered how he'd know… "He seemed to know exactly how to calm you down… And when you fell asleep, he did not wanna let you go." Olive blushed, lowering her hands, a tiny smile on her lips. "He was very sweet."
"He is, isn't he," Olive whispered, smiling.
"And so polite," Mrs McCall beamed approvingly. "Everything was 'please' and 'thank you' and 'I don't want to inconvenience you'… He had the other nurses fawning all over him."
"Did you see his eyes?" Olive whispered reverently.
"He had very pretty eyes," Mrs McCall smiled. "And such a sweet smile." Olive beamed.
"He does, doesn't he?" she smiled warmly.
"A cute butt, too," Mrs McCall said, winking, and Olive laughed, beaming. Something that Olive had been thinking about the last few days threatened to bubble over her tongue as Mrs McCall, still smiling to herself and chuckling softly, made her way to the door.
"Mrs…McCall," she said, biting her lip, and the older lady hung back. "Can I ask you…for some…advice?"
"What do you need, sweetie?" she asked, perching again on Olive's bed. Olive took a deep breath.
"I think…Isaac is being hit," she said uncertainly, glancing at Mrs McCall as her expression changed. Carefully, she told Mrs McCall about the black eyes, the pslit lips, the bruises on his arms, his ribs the doctor had looked at after the lacrosse-game last Friday, Isaac claiming he got all his injuries from lacrosse; his apprehension to go home. "I just…wondered what you think I should do."
Mrs McCall sighed heavily, her eyes troubled and concerned. "Well, if he's protecting someone who's hurting him, there's not a lot you can do… The best thing I know you can do is…just don't try to fix it, just…let him know what you think is going on. Let him know you're there, let him come to you. Make sure he knows there's someone who notices."
Olive nodded thoughtfully. That's all she could think of doing, too.
After that, Olive let Mrs McCall go; though she had never been to hospital before, she had seen enough Scrubs episodes to know nurses were run off their feet. Then she was left alone. She sighed, glancing around the room. She tried to hone her Force to bring the notes from the unclaimed bouquets to her, suspecting the nurses might frown on her getting out of bed. So she opened the cards people had left on her bedside-cabinet; people from class she chatted to, other boys on the lacrosse-team had brought cards, people she'd never thought she'd had much contact with. Even if it was just a line or two, people had thought about her, had made the effort to buy and write the cards, and drop them off. When she had to use the bathroom, she checked her wirings, thankful Mrs McCall had unhooked her, and padded her way to the en-suite bathroom. Padding back out again, she stopped by the dresser, examining the two bouquets that were unaccounted for. Cornflowers, wild white roses and coral-coloured peonies made up one; a beautiful fragrant array of lilac stocks, tuberoses, gladioli and long-stemmed vintage lilac-pink roses made up the second. Smiling, suspecting who the latter was from, she plucked out the little note: Don't die; hit on the cute doctor! You're a total bad-ass and we love you! Ellen Ripley would be proud! XxX Tara, June, Campi, Ace and Milo. Olive smiled to herself, plucking the second note-card from the cornflower posy. Can't believe you landed yourself in hospital, you freak! Get the hell out and come party with us! All waiting to give you your birthday-spanks, love Jake and the Pack! Olive chuckled, pressing the note over her heart, closing her eyes, envisioning Jake and his pack of Betas. Derek and Scott? Paled in comparison to Jake's gorgeous boys. She eyed the posy, the cornflowers, and snorted; she'd always compared Jake's eyes to the colour of cornflowers. Tart, she thought, smirking, and the poster-board caught her eye, hanging over the bouquets.
Olive had to admit, Lydia had done a gorgeous job; she could frame this whole thing. She didn't know how she'd put it together so fast, but the photographs were all stunningly cropped, beautifully mounted, and not one of them was in any way unflattering. She knew Stiles had taken her photo before; Mrs McCall had gotten in a few over the summer month Olive had spent with Scott and Stiles; she knew Matt had taken her photograph during P.E.—there was an absolutely gorgeous one of her and Isaac perched on the diving-block, gazing at each other, grinning—but she hadn't realised people had taken her picture at parties, the lacrosse-game, in the dining-hall, between classes. Lydia had evidently gone through some of her most-recent Facebook albums, because there were also photographs of her with Jake and his pack, of her girlfriends; photographs taken at gymnastics parties; bonfires; picnics; camping-tips. Her stomach ached, gazing at those pictures, and not because of her lacerations.
A.N.: A sad chapter; I was inspired heavily by the novel Collision Course, which I think every teen-driver should read, it's heartbreaking and raw and amazing.