Page 77 of Antidote

“You’re lying, Blue,” he says gently against the shell of my ear, then kisses it. “And if it makes you feel better, I’m not Hunter right now. We’re just Green and Blue. Hunt and Ollie.”

Hunt and Ollie.

Ollie and Hunt.

Forever and ever.

My eyes sting some more, and I let the tears fall. They trail over my nose and onto the pillow as my shoulders shake from sobbing. “Everyone hates me,” I cry out. “And I hate myself even more.”

“Don’t say that,” Hunter replies, and I shake my head. He couldn’t possibly understand. No one has ever hated him for anything—blamed him for anything. He’s the golden boy—the one who can do no wrong. And I don’t resent him for that. I just don’t want him to act like he understands. Because he doesn’t. He can’t. “Shhhh.” He squeezes my hand. “I’m here, Ollie. Just cry it out.”

I flip over in bed and bury my face in the crook of his neck. Our legs tangle as I shove one between his own, and I try to keep it down, but my body is shaking the entire bed as I cry. He rubs my back in circles, soothing me.

At some point, I must have fallen asleep…because when I open my eyes, he’s not here anymore. I sit up in bed, groaning as I stretch, and let my body guide me downstairs, my mind foggy. I grab my phone from my back pocket, text Jamie, and send him my address.

Oliver

Can you come get me?

Jamie

Be there in three minutes. I’m right around the corner.

Oliver

Thank you.

I don’t know what the fuck he’s doing in Cary, but I also don’t care. I just want out of here. I wait at the bottom of the stairs until he texts me back, saying he’s here, then walk by the living room.

Hunter and Dad are whispering to each other, then stop as soon as I stand there like a dumbass. I’m not delusional enough to believe Hunt is telling him about us, and it hurts, but right now, I don’t care enough to say anything. So rather than speaking, I just walk past them, open the door, and slam it on the way out.

For the first time in a long time, I’m the one leaving them behind.

Instead of the other way around.

Ican’t fucking believe Conrad. The way he treated Ollie is not only downright disrespectful but also unacceptable. I left my boyfriend in his room—sleeping—and made my way downstairs to chew my dad out. I thought he would be receptive, but he just said he’ll always have a reason to believe Ollie will relapse. It pissed me off, and right as I was about to tell him about it, Oliver came downstairs and looked at me with so much rage in his eyes that it stunned me. And then, he stormed out of the house. I should’ve stayed with him, not left him alone, but I had to talk to Dad.

I obviously didn’t tell him about our relationship, but after the shit he spewed about Ollie, I figured it should wait. It’s going to be hard enough to get Dad to accept us, if not downright impossible. I didn’t want to make the situation even worse by talking to him while we were all angry. It wouldn’t have been helpful. In fact, it would’ve backfired.

Conrad isn’t an understanding man. Just look at how he treats my Ollie. I’m afraid he’ll kick us out or, worse, disown us. That’s why we have to tell him on a good day—I just wonder if we will ever have one of those. And today only tells me we probably won’t.

I’ve been back at the apartment and waiting for Ollie for about five hours. He won’t answer his phone and won’t read his texts. I’ve been trying to reach James, but he also won’t communicate with me. It’s fucking frustrating, and I want to rattle Ollie for this shit, though I also can’t blame him. I don’t even want to know what he was thinking when he came downstairs to find me talking to Dad in hushed whispers. However, I didn’t want to scream and make things worse for him.

That has clearly backfired.

The lock turns and my spine stiffens, and in strolls Ollie with his head held high. But he’s not fucking fooling me. His eyes are bloodshot and puffy, his face red and blotchy. He’s obviously been crying. We just stare at each other for a moment, but then he scoffs. The sound wraps around my heart and squeezes, and my eyebrows furrow in confusion.

What the hell is he thinking?

I get up from the couch and try to get to him, but he just goes around me and attempts to walk past me. I’m not having it though, and my fingers wrap around his wrist and I tug—hard. His chest crashes against mine, and my hands lift to his face as I cup his cheeks. The way he tries to pull away turns my blood to ice in my veins, so I squeeze harder. Ollie whimpers, his nostrils flaring, and I can tell he’s pissed the hell off. But I don’t care, I’m not letting him go. Not now, not ever.

“Stop it,” I growl when he keeps trying to escape me. “Listen to me, Oliver.”

Ollie’s eyes narrow on my face and his nostrils flare again, but he stays stock still. “What the fuck do you want, golden boy?” He growls at me, the sound reverberating between us, and I cringe slightly, my grip faltering on his face. “It will always be him, won’t it? You’re never gonna grow balls and tell him, are you?”

“Ollie, what the fuck?” I huff in exasperation. “After all that shit blew up, do you honestly think it was the time to tell him? I already had to tell him to fuck off. I didn’t want to make things worse—please, baby.” I press our foreheads together, and he lets me. Our eyes are locked, and my breathing shallows. “I’m going to tell him, but not today. I couldn’t tell him like that.”

“I don’t believe you,” he breathes.

---