Chapter IV
When Saturday came around, I started feeling nervous, as though I was going on a first date with someone I really liked. In many ways, I felt like an actual first date. The very first time I'd gone out with Owen, things didn't end well. He wasn't dressed appropriately, and I had printed a schedule for the night. I didn't like what he'd worn, and he didn't like that I'd tried to control the evening. We never had a second date after that, though we occasionally saw each other at the park.
It all felt so long ago, almost as if it had never happened, in a way. Twice already, the two of us had been thrown together in a situation where either one of us could have been killed in the blink of an eye. Today, we were going out and doing something normal. No dinosaurs, no work, no being together because we had to—just enjoying the day because we wanted to.
I was up early (as if I'd slept much, though I was feeling more awake than usual) that day. I found myself debating how to fix myself up for the day. After I took a shower, I looked over my makeup items. I didn't have all that much. Not that I needed to even have any at all, but I didn't want to look like I didn't put any effort in. I settled for some light foundation, powder, and a bit of lipstick. I tied my hair up, changing the height of it every few seconds. It either looked too high, and it looked tacky if it was too low, and I just couldn't get it right.
I was stressing too much over nothing. Owen would probably show up in the most casual of clothing, making me look overdressed for the situation. I changed clothes more than a handful of times. I didn't want to look soccer-mom-sporty, but I didn't want to look uncomfortably casual. I ended up settling for a dark pair of workout leggings and a gray t-shirt. I was about to change that when I heard a knock at the door. I stepped over the clothes tossed all over my floor and answered the door. It was, of course, Owen.
Unsurprisingly enough, he was in a pair of graphite-colored cargo shorts, and a heather-gray shirt. We were half-matching, which made me inexplicably happy.
"Ready?" he asked.
"One sec," I said. I had to grab a small purse with the stuff I needed, and then we were out the door.
Neither one of us had ever decided on what we would do today. I had no idea what we could do, and I never agreed to his suggestions. I wasn't opposed to them; I just never actually said yes. All he ended up saying was, I'll pick you up at this time, and we'll wing it. I didn't argue. Though it wasn't in my nature to "wing" things and go about most activities without a plan, I didn't give a shit anymore. You couldn't control everything. I had to learn that the hard way. Sometimes, you'd plan things, and things still went south.
"So," Owen said once we were in his car, "I was thinking breakfast."
"Okay," I said. "Do you have a plan for today?"
"Nope," he said. He pulled out of the driveway and started taking a familiar route. "We never did decide on what we'd do." He looked over at me and gave me a lopsided grin. "Plus, I never plan things."
It was weird to be doing this. It felt like it'd been so long since I went out with someone—anyone—and did something normal. What was normal anymore? If it didn't have to do with work, or getting chased down, hunted, or had a gun practically shoved in my face, I wasn't used to it anymore. There were many things Owen and I could've done together that day. We could've gone to the movies, gone to a museum, or even driven to Disneyland. It would have felt at least somewhat normal. Instead, we opted for breakfast and trying to decide what to do after that.
We stopped at a local diner that I'd been to a few times before. The menu was overwhelming, but I picked something small: scrambled eggs with toast, bacon, and sausages. I wasn't doing the best job feeding myself lately, but even then, my appetite was in and out most of the times. Sometimes I felt hungry; other times, not so much. Today, I wasn't feeling very hungry—mostly just anxious about the rest of the day. (Not having a plan, or even an idea was starting to drive me a little crazy, even though I was trying to push past that.) Owen, on the other hand, was apparently hungry since he got a huge breakfast sandwich and a side of pancakes and toast.
After we placed our order waited for our food, I decided to start a conversation. Because who didn't want to start a Saturday morning with this of everything there was to talk about. "Owen," I started, knowing I should have kept my mouth shut before I said something I couldn't take back, "do you ever wonder what things would've been like if we'd never been on the island?"
He just glared at me for a few moments. Underneath the table, I was fiddling with my thumbs. Now that I couldn't take back anything I said, I just had to deal with the way this conversation was going on. And, surely, he was on to me.
"I can't say that it's necessarily crossed my mind," he said. "I mean… I have wondered what would have happened if things went differently than they did, but…" He paused, studied my face as though he was trying to read me. "Why?"
I shrugged. "Just wondering… if it's crossed your mind…" Yeah. Great cover up, Claire. I'm sure he has no doubts now.
"Claire, you're really starting to worry me," he said. I guess I expected there to be some sort of sly smile from him, something to lighten up the mood, but there was none. He genuinely looked concerned, and I felt bad for even bringing it up. I had no idea why I did. We were trying to enjoy a weekend together, and here I was bringing this situation up.
"Forget it," I said. "I don't know why I brought it up. I shouldn't even be thinking about that right now. Sorry. Just… forget I mentioned it."
He didn't look convinced. I thought maybe he'd shrug it off and change the subject, but he didn't. He kept looking at me, only this time his face had slightly softened, and now he looked at me like he pitied me or something. "You shouldn't be thinking about that at all."
Right. Of course. His life, my life, Franklin's and Zia's lives were all in danger because of me. Dinosaurs died on the island because of me, and they were let loose in California also because of me. But, no, I shouldn't be thinking about it all, ever. Right, sure.
"I know you think everything that happened was your fault," he said. "But it wasn't. You couldn't possibly know what was going to happen, that Mills was going to use you and lie to you." He was right; I didn't know. I should have known, though. I should've known that it was too good to be true. That a crazy-rich man like him wouldn't care to save any dinosaurs. I was so stupid to think otherwise, to have blind faith in him like I did.
"I don't know why I brought it up," I said. "Just forget it I did."
"I know why you did," he said. My heart skipped a beat too many. Did he know something I didn't? Was someone telling him something? Not that I mentioned anything to anyone, but sometimes, things got around anyway. "You need to talk about it. You don't think I've noticed a change in you?"
What change? Was I making something painfully obvious? I could feel the palm of my hands start to sweat. As if every secret I ever held was about to be told right to my face that exact moment.
"You're losing weight, you look tired all the time, you're telling me you have nightmares, you're not sleeping. I want to help you, Claire. But you have to let me help you."
For a moment, I considered telling him. I not only wanted to kill myself, but now it was set in stone. I didn't know how I was going to do it, or even when, but it was going to happen. I almost opened my mouth to say this. But I thought against it and said, "Owen, if I needed anything, I would've come to you by now. Wouldn't I?"
He raised his eyebrows. "I don't know," he said. "Would you?"
I couldn't blame his uncertainty. The fact of the matter was that I wasn't coming to him at all with what I was really feeling. Still, I pretended like everything on my end was just fine. "You know I would." I was surprised at how second-nature this lying thing was starting to feel. I didn't think I'd ever lied so much in such a small timeframe. I felt like I didn't know who I was anymore, as pathetic as that sounded. "Let's talk about something else. This is too depressing for a Saturday morning."
I saw a glint of disappointment in his face. I felt terrible bringing this up. I really didn't even know why I did, but I could tell he was trying to suppress the frustration of not getting through to me. Not that there was much to get through to anyway. Still, I mentally scolded myself for bringing that up. I always knew what to say to lighten up the mood.
After breakfast, we still didn't know what to do afterward. In the car, we talked it over and just decided to head downtown and just walk. That kind of stuff was not usually my idea of hanging around the weekend. I was used to being busy and having something to do, so my days off were mainly spent at home, relaxing. That was probably one of the biggest reasons I didn't have very many friends to hang out with. But being with Owen just made even the simplest activities nice. I would probably never walk around a downtown area for the sake of walking and killing time, but being with him made it better.
As we were leaving and making our way back to our car, he stopped a random guy walking by and asked him if he could take our picture. I was surprised, to say the least. Owen was a lot more outgoing and daring than me, but he showed a side of himself that I very rarely saw: this subtle, almost-sappy, lovey-dovey side of him that wanted a picture of us, probably just to keep it on his phone and remember this moment. Our first time hanging out together, willingly, doing something completely normal.
When the guy took our picture and handed the phone back to him, I asked to look at it. It was a nice picture, nicer than I expected. If you didn't know any better, you'd even say I looked happy in it. My arms were looped around his left arm, and I was leaning my head into his shoulder, as if hanging on for dear life. In the background were storefronts of expensive sunglasses and jewelry stores.
"Didn't peg you as the picture-taking type," I said to him as we walked away.
"Well, considering you and I have absolutely no pictures together at all, I figured today was a good day to start."
He was right. In years we've known each other, we had nothing. We'd been forced into crazy situations twice before in which we had to adapt, but outside of that, we were nonexistent. It was nice to finally have something we could hold on to. As we made our way back to the car, my mind was still reeling from our time together. All we'd done so far was have breakfast and walk around the downtown area for a few hours. It felt like a first date, right down to the butterflies in my stomach.
I leaned my head against the window and watched the road drift by as he drove. It seemed like an endless stretch. I didn't know what we were doing next or where we were going. I didn't ask. I just didn't really want the day to end. It was unfortunate that, whether you liked it or not, everything had to come to an end.
The rest of our afternoon and evening was spent at my house. We ordered pizza, played a few board games (not that I owned many, so our selection was very limited), watched Netflix, and talked. I realized that, despite how long we'd already known each other, there was still a lot I didn't know about him. I didn't know much about his past, his hobbies, or what he usually did when he wasn't around me or getting chased by dinosaurs, really. In fact, I realized I didn't know where we stood either. It seemed pretty stupid to ask, but I needed to know.
I didn't really know how to word it, so I just said, "What's up with us?"
He raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"I mean… us. What—" Why was it so hard for me to just form words and say things sometimes? I didn't know why I was struggling to say what I wanted to say. I stopped for a moment and took a breath. "Look, we've both come clean about how we feel towards each other. We've…" Words, Claire. They're just words. "When we came back—I mean, after we left Maisie in Utah and came back—we talked that night. We said we loved each other…"
"I know."
"I guess I just wanted to know… where we stood. I mean… we're spending time in each other's house a lot. And today we did a normal thing. For the first time in forever," I said. "I just want to know if we're a thing. Are we… you know, official?"
"And this whole time I've been thinking we're friends with benefits." He smirked teasingly, sarcastically.
"Owen."
"Come on, Claire. We've said the 'L' word. How much more official can it get?"
"Well, we never addressed that."
I needed to know for sure, for myself. Maybe I needed to hear him say it so I didn't have any doubts. We'd crashed in each other's place a lot, slept in each other's beds, and he even visited me at work sometimes to bring me lunch. I knew Zia and Franklin would whisper about us at their desks like little schoolgirls gossiping. In reality, it couldn't get any more official, not to a normal couple. But for us, things were different. We'd been through things no one had been through before. We'd kissed once three years ago when the park was being run down, and we weren't official then. We'd been through too much together, only to separate and go about our lives like we hadn't been at death's doorstep. I needed to know for sure, needed to know this wasn't something we'd do and then go about our lives like we hadn't slept in each other's beds and confessed that we loved each other. I couldn't just assume.
Owen only smiled at me. "Well, now that all this confusion is cleared up—did I ever tell you about the time I got suspended at school for roundhouse kicking this one kid?"
A week later, Owen and I were in talks about possibly moving in together. The whole being alone thing was getting old, and I didn't want to be by myself anymore. Talking to him every day was always the highlight of my day, especially when things at work got stressful. My sister started trying to contact me again, and I wondered why I hadn't just blocked her. I wasn't going to stand around and be insulted by her. I didn't know why she thought that sending like ten text messages and calls in a row would warrant an answer from me.
I wasn't exactly doing all that better, either. Although being with Owen and talking to him made me happy, in the back of my mind, the thought of what could have been and what almost was, lingered. I was thinking of ways of moving things along. I didn't know yet if I wanted it to be painless or painful. Or if I wanted something in between. It might have seemed redundant to even think about moving in with Owen, if in the end I was going to off myself anyway, but I didn't want him to know anything was going on.
I went to work one morning and observed everyone from my office. What would be different after I wasn't there anymore? Who would be sitting here if not me? As I watched Franklin and Zia and the other employees and volunteers, I wondered if I would be missed. Probably not. There would always be someone else to fill in another's shoes. I would be a memory soon, a page in the history book. If not me, someone else would be sitting here. The show must always go on.
I should have been making phone calls and answering emails, but instead I took a blank piece of paper and started writing. Dear Owen. I stopped when there was a knock on my door.
"Buenos dias, boss lady," Zia said as she popped her head in.
"Morning," I answered. I tried to cover the piece of paper, although I hadn't written anything alarming just yet.
"Going for a coffee run. Want something?"
"No, thank you, Zia."
She looked surprised. "You don't want coffee? Sure?"
"I'm good. Thank you."
She shrugged. "Okay then. If you change your mind, just let me know."
I nodded. I waited until I saw her get into the elevator and continued my note. I wouldn't write the whole thing here, of course. I'd finish at home, where I knew no one would walk in on me. I looked at the two words written with my black gel-ink pen. Dear Owen. I stopped for a moment, thinking my words carefully. I am so sorry. By the time you read this, I'll already be gone. Please don't bother to come look for me, since I might end up in the evening news soon. Eventually, Zia came back, and she had an iced coffee for me.
"I know you said you didn't want any, but just in case." She placed the coffee on my desk.
I was trying to shield my note again, now that I had written even more. She must've noticed, but she didn't say anything if she was suspicious. "Thank you," I said. Tears sprung to my eyes, and I tried my best to keep them at bay. I didn't know if I was emotional from the note I was writing, or if the nice gesture just got to me (at the wrong time, I might add). But I meant that thank you. Zia just looked at me like I was crazy or something, but didn't push it. I was thankful for it. I didn't want to start bawling for no reason.
"You're welcome."
I waited till she was back at her desk to continue writing. But I felt like I was being watched or something. Like I was exposed. So I hid the note under a short stack of papers I had in the corner of my desk and waited until I was back home that night to finish it.
Later that evening, while I was on the phone with Owen, I was looking for my note. It was in my purse, which was tossed somewhere in my room. Ironic, that speaking to him helped me finish writing it out. I felt guilty, speaking to him about the stuff we planned to do (from recreational to downright living together), while on the other hand I was doing this. Not that it stopped me; I still went on.
Dear Owen,
I am so sorry. By the time you read this, I'll already be gone. Please don't bother to come look for me, since I might end up in the evening news soon anyway. I just can't do this anymore. I feel like I'm losing control of myself. I know you've said that things aren't my fault, but they are. I carry this burden every damn day, knowing you could've been killed on that island. This burden is too much to carry, too much for me to bear. I have nightmares all the time about what could've been, and I can't sleep, knowing you could have died because of me.
Please know this isn't your fault at all. I don't blame you and never have. I should've known things were too good to be true when Mills approached me. I'm glad things brought us together, but I can't live knowing I could've gotten you killed. I feel like a terrible person. You deserve better than me, and I hope you can find it.
I've never loved anyone the way I've loved you. You are an amazing person, and you deserve someone who will treat you the way you should be treated. I'm tired of this burden, of living. Please don't blame yourself for anything. Grieve if you must, find peace, and move on.
I love you so much more than I can express. And I am so, so sorry. I hope you can understand.
Claire
A/N: Sorry, ya'll, life has gotten in the way of things. I'm not feeling too inspired lately to keep writing this fic. I don't want to abandon it, but I'm not inspired, and the lack of most feedback isn't helping me want to continue writing anyway, so idk. We'll see.