Chapter Thirty
Elliot glanced over at Olivia's face staring out the side of the window, but then he brought his eyes back to the road, not wanting to crash in this city of crazy drivers. He refused to ask her if she was okay, fearing he had burned out that question after all the times he'd asked her in recent weeks. But he had to find a way to get her talking, because her mood seemed to have shifted from the chipper attitude she had flashed at him in the form of a smile when she first got in the car.
Now she seemed sullen, her eyes glistening with sadness, and he had to fix this, to find the right formula to bring her out again. But the only thing he could think to say to her was, "What's wrong?"
She didn't answer right away, just shook her head. Then she gave her standard answer, "Nothing." But instead of trying to convince him she was fine like she typically did, she said, "The usual."
He grabbed it and ran with it. "The usual? Like, voices and images? That kind of usual?"
She whispered, "Yeah," and then lifted her head to bring her gaze up from her hands. "But more than that. The voices are mild now, and I don't get them as much. But the doubts . . ."
He waited for her to finish, and when she didn't, he said, "Doubts?"
He could see her nodding out of the corner of his eye. "What if . . . what if I was wrong when I told Tucker I could have a better life now?"
He wanted so bad to hold her hand right now, but she kept it protectively resting in her lap. "You don't think you can have a better life?" he said gently, knots building up in his gut as he waited for her answer. Because if she didn't think she could, what did that mean for him? If she was never satisfied with her life, where did that leave him? Would she toss him to the curb when she got tired of him, like a pair of worn-out shoes? Had he taken too long to get back to her, so that now it was too late for her to accept him and trust him as more than just a friend? Maybe she would eventually never want to see him again. He gasped at the thought.
"I want to start over new—I do," she said. "But maybe I'm too damaged. Maybe I've been burned one too many times, and now I'll never be able to completely open up to anyone."
He didn't know whether or not to be relieved by her It's-not-you-it's-me attitude. If the problem was him, at least he had some control over that. He didn't know how to respond to her defeatist attitude, but he had to give it a shot. "You've payed your dues, Liv. Why not give yourself some hope? It's the least you deserve."
He pulled in front of the restaurant just in time to see her shaking her head. "I want to. It's not like I'm not trying to believe in a future."
He cast one last glance at her and rested his hand on the steering wheel instead of seeking out hers. "Doesn't sound like it. Sounds like you're close to giving up."
He could almost feel her blood pressure rising, her hand seeking out the door handle. She pursed her lips and said, "I'm doing my best, El," and then lunged out the door.
Maybe Elliot was right—her attitude was crappy right now. She had wanted to have a perfect evening with Elliot—Amanda had even offered to watch Noah tonight so they could have a worry-free night, and Olivia had overcome her fears of having her son taken away from her and took Amanda up on the offer.
But the visit with Tucker had been a reminder—as much as she wanted to believe there was good in the world to counteract the bad, most of what she had seen over the past few years were the worst offenders imaginable, and she didn't know if she could ever put aside what had been done to her, as long as there were lashes on her back and evil ghosts in her mind.
And she didn't know if Elliot would ever understand what that was like, so he would probably lose patience with her before too long. It seemed like he was starting to already, slamming his door as he got out of the car and handed the keys to the valet. Not wanting to see the exasperation on his face, she turned to face the door to the restaurant, clutching her bag in her hands, shrugging her shoulders against the cold evening wind.
His fingers touched her back and she flinched, and then she moved to the door, stopping just inside the up-scale restaurant. "What's wrong?" Elliot said quietly into her ear.
"I forgot to take my medications before we left."
He sighed. She shivered. Suddenly claustrophobic in this spacious yet busy place, the walls pressed in on her, and she wanted nothing more than to just turn around and run out the door. "Can you manage without them?" Elliot asked in a low voice, to avoid anyone overhearing their conversation.
She tried to force a smile so that none of these people, dressed in their fanciest clothes, would judge her hesitation at the entrance. "Yeah, I'll make it."
But she could almost sense him recoiling behind her. It was not the answer he wanted to hear, she knew. Most likely, he was hoping she would brush off any inconveniences and just have a good time with him, laughing like school kids. But that's not where her dark mood was headed, and she knew once she got into this mental space, it would be hard to escape the increasing visions of doom. The hostess led them to an open table in the middle of the floor, and her skin crawled from the thought of people surrounding her at adjacent tables.
And then she just couldn't breathe, and she had to remind her lungs to move in and out to bring in new air. Elliot must have noticed a certain familiar look on her face, because he said, "Liv, if you need—"
But it was too late—she needed to leave, right this second, and so she shot past the approaching waiter and the crowd at the front door, and escaped out onto the sidewalk, briskly clomping in her high heels down the street to an undecided location.